Fruit on Veteran's Day

I was out in Maryland today, coming back from Frederick, wife driving, when it occurred to me that last night was the first frost of the season, and that tomorrow was Veteran’s Day.

“Turn right at the next exit,” I said.

“Where are we going?”

“A place I want to show you.”

We pulled into a small graveyard cut into the side of a field. I explained everyone buried here was black, and I wanted to show her some graves. I found them pretty quickly. It was a small cemetery, and they were at the back, near the hedge line.

The graves were of African Americans who had fought in World War I in one of the American "colored" units that served under the French.

Over 300,000 African-Americans fought for European freedom in World War I at a time when they were still treated as third class citizens, without full rights, back home.

These good Americans were assigned to the French Army because the US would not let them fight under white American command.

This Veteran’s Day, the 100th Anniversary of the end of World War I, I had come to pay respect to these men, and to remember their contribution to history.

I had also come for fruit.

Just above the graves was a wild persimmon tree, groaning under fruit, just now sugaring up after the first frost. I could just reach a few. They were no longer sour, but not yet sweet. The frost had not yet been long enough or hard enough.

Soon.

As we ate a few persimmons (my wife’s first), I wondered what Billie Holiday would think.

Strange fruit.

Bitter fruit.

Not quite ripe or sweet.