Holly A. Heyser
I see wild plums. They're everywhere. And people don't know they're plums.
Even I didn't know. When we moved to California, I began seeing these odd red trees—the whole tree is a deep burgundy. Weird. No one seemed to know what they were called. One of these trees grows two doors down from me in a neighbor's front yard. Walking to the gym in summer, I'd notice it would be festooned with scores of what, to all the world, looked like cherries.
No one ate them. Could they be bitter? Poisonous, even? Finally, last year at around this time, I screwed up my courage and ate one. Wow. Tart, sweet, and definitely not poisonous or bitter! These little things tasted like a cross between a cherry and a plum.
I looked them up: sure enough, the trees, which are planted literally everywhere around here, are prunus cerasifera, commonly known as the red-leafed or cherry plum.
Holly A. Heyser
Now that I know what they are I see them on every block, in nearly every shopping center, especially in the nearby town of Rancho Cordova, where there must be some ordinance promoting the planting of plums.
Thus the conundrum: almost all of them are on private property. My first foray for cherry-plums was in my neighborhood park, which has several trees dotted around it. Unfortunately, either this was an off year for the park trees or someone had picked them before me. All I got was a small produce bag of them, which Holly and I ate without further ado.
I resolved to scope out more trees I could pillage when the owners were not looking. Maybe on a Sunday morning?
Meanwhile, while I was on one of my foraging walks in the area I caught a glimpse of something in the corner of my eye. It was a large, light-colored orb in a tree. My first thought was oak galls, which are all over the blue oaks around here. I stopped and looked. Wait a second. This was no oak tree, and those were not galls ...
I've made wild boar liver creme caramel, lemon verbena panna cotta, oddball cakes, and weird sorbets, but never a simple pie.
They were plums! Wild plums! And the tree is loaded with them. These are the plums you see at the top of this post. How this tree got here is a mystery to me. I cannot find references to wild plums living in our part of California; another type of wild plum, a red one, lives up north near Klamath. Maybe it is feral? Maybe it's just rare? My friend Elise knows of another such plum near American River College, so it's not unique.
These plums are very different from the neglected cherry-plums in suburbia. The wildlings tasted, well, wilder. More tannic, coated in a pretty bloom like a white wine grape. Tart like the cherry plums, but not as sugary. My kind of fruit.
And they are all mine. No one else knows about this tree. It is off the beaten path, and even though the tree is loaded and the fruit is ripe, not a one had been picked, at least visibly. It is my secret treasure ...
Back to the cherry-plums. Last week Holly, our friend Evan, and I went for a quick barnyard pigeon and cottontail rabbit shoot out at his ranch—my first hunt since my injury in December—and, after we dispatched a brace of cottontails and a trio of barn pigeons, we headed to a local diner for dinner.
Holly parked right next to a cherry-plum tree. A small one, too. As I got out of the truck, I looked into the tree out of habit. It was loaded. I mean groaning under the weight of so many plums! "We have to pick these," I told Holly, who was game for it. So after dinner, we furtively filled up a grocery bag fill and headed home with our booty.