The Persimmon Tree and Grandpa

My parents' home is in a fairly rural area.
It is classified as a type of urban-rural community.
Right in the middle of the Kanto Plain, all you can see are houses, fields, and rice paddies.
The mountains are so far away they look like a haze.
When I grew up and traveled to various places, I was surprised that mountains were so close everywhere else.

Our family home is fairly typical for an old house, situated on a plot surrounded by windbreak trees, with the house, a shed, a field (too big to call a vegetable garden), and a parking space.
In fact, there was a chicken coop next to the house, and a small woods and a graveyard behind it.

Compared to the densely populated residential areas of Tokyo, it is spacious enough to make you wonder how many houses could fit there, but even if you sold all the land and buildings, you couldn't buy a single parking space in Tokyo.

A common feature of such old country houses is that they always have a 'persimmon tree' planted.
In my impression, every house has one planted in a fairly good spot, like a symbol tree.
A persimmon tree has vibrant green leaves in spring and summer (along with stinging nettle caterpillars that hurt like crazy if you get stung), bears orange fruit in autumn and turns a flashy red, and even in winter, the unpicked fruit hangs from the top of the tree in a dull orange color, sometimes being pecked at by crows, giving it a presence that catches the eye even if it's in the corner of the garden.

My parents' home also has a persimmon tree that has been there since I can remember.
When I was little, if I said I was hungry in the autumn, I was told to 'go pick a persimmon and eat it,' so my daily snack involved hooking a bug net onto the persimmon, pulling it with a 'heave-ho,' and harvesting it. I would eat that. It was wild.
Even now, that tree still bears fruit properly.
The lifespan of a persimmon tree can exceed 100 years, but I wonder how old our persimmon tree is.
Even when I was small, the snack tree was already a sturdy one.

What do I mean by sturdy?
It didn't budge despite Grandpa's repeated 'collisions' with his car.
Thinking about it now, it's terrifying, but the persimmon tree functioned as a stopper when Grandpa backed his car into the garage.
Why wasn't it terrifying back then?
I suppose you could say I was at an age where I didn't realistically understand what an accident was, but I watched it like some kind of event or show.

Grandpa's car is back! Run! (Event triggered)
↓
Watching from inside the house (excited)
↓
He didn't hit it today, huh (piquing my curiosity)

That was the feeling.
I'm sure my mother was desperate every day to evacuate the children.
She had a special ability to notice the sound of Grandpa's car returning faster than anyone else.

The persimmon tree isn't actually located directly behind where the car is supposed to stop.
It's to the side.
It wasn't a case of a bad driver getting too close and scraping the side of the car.
He was quite the incompetent driver, crashing into it at a fair speed, right in the dead center of the car.
There were no automatic cars back then. They were manual cars.
He might have been slamming on the accelerator from a half-clutch.
He would crash about once a month.

How on earth did he get his license?
How did he park at his workplace?
I'm pretty sure his profession was a 'school principal'.

Even though I say it was sturdy, persimmon tree branches are famous for being easy to break.
My younger sister was very active and agile, the type to climb any tree with ease.
One day, my young sister was caught by our father climbing the persimmon tree, which was forbidden, and she was scolded thoroughly at home.
While being scolded, my sister looked outside and said, 'Oh'.
My father looked outside, following her gaze.
'Old man!💢'
Outside was Grandpa trying to climb the persimmon tree.
Grandpa turned around in response to my father's voice.
Snap.

The branch broke.

'Old man!?'
My father rushed outside. Grandpa fled.
I don't have any memory of Grandpa getting hurt from that, but...
I wonder what happened with that incident.
For now, it seems my sister learned the lesson that 'persimmon branches break when a heavy adult gets on them, but it's okay for a child.'
The battle between my father and sister over the persimmon tree would continue for several years after this.

And then.
Even after Grandpa passed away, the connection between Grandpa and the persimmon tree continued.

On a certain typhoon day.
The strong wind blew a grave marker (sotoba) away, and it hit the persimmon tree directly.
If the persimmon tree hadn't been there, it would have hit the house directly.
If the grave marker had smashed through the house window, it would have been a big commotion about 'Grandpa's curse,' but the persimmon tree stood in front of Grandpa as if to protect the house.

'Grandpa, are you still hitting the persimmon tree even after you're dead...'
The memorial service was very lively.

Country houses have a persimmon tree that acts as a symbol tree,
and there is drama in that symbol tree.

#WhatAreYouTalkingAbout
#WhatAreYouTalkingAboutHome