Word: persimmon
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...politician has a sweet spot--the issues that stir his deepest feelings, trigger his best thinking and ignite his most persuasive oratory. John McCain's sweet spot may be the smallest of all the presidential contenders', but it's also the most powerful. He's like an old-fashioned persimmon-wood golf club--hit it just right, and the ball sails a mile; miss by a hair, and it squibs into the rough. Ask him what's wrong with the campaign-money game or Clinton's foreign policy, and McCain can be dazzling--puzzled and outraged but full of strong...
McCain is counting on that contrast to help eke out victory in New Hampshire, then South Carolina and Michigan. After that, he says, he (somehow) becomes inevitable. In other words, he needs a hole in one. Lucky for him that his old persimmon club has lately found such a nice, sweet stroke...
...Michael Corbett strolls around the gardens of Village Homes, his pioneering experiment in ecological living in Davis, Calif., life looks pretty good. Solar panels help keep the houses warm, shared backyards bring neighbors together, and natural drainage irrigates fruit trees. Corbett reaches up to a branch, plucks off a persimmon, and bites into it. "Just right," he proclaims with a smile. Village Homes is one of the world's best examples of sustainable development--it doesn't degrade the environment that future generations will inherit. But only a quarter-century ago, the ideas behind the project were considered so radical...
...where women eat grilled eel while watching Audrey Hepburn and go looking for candleweed and ghost mushrooms. Toshi is as much a foreigner in Tokyo as any American might be, yet his two worlds are knit together with an exacting precision, with fishermen's nets "the color of dried persimmon," and an American's blanket having "the color of squid just pulled from the sea." Like Audrey Hepburn, perhaps, Brown's art is meticulous and precise beneath its haunting surface...
...painfully memorable day this spring Jack Reese did a crazy dance in the middle of a persimmon grove on his farm in Oktibbeha County, Mississippi. Flailing wildly, he tried to yank off his pants and swat his ankles at the same time. He had made one of the worst mistakes a Southern farmer can make: he forgot to watch the ground for a moment and thus tromped on a foot-high mound full of fire ants. Incensed by the intrusion, the insects promptly swarmed up Reese's legs, stinging him mercilessly over and over again. It felt like dozens...