How Family History Shaped Persimmon Moon Farm

In the heart of Arroyo Hondo, New Mexico, where the desert breeze whispers tales of generations past, there exists a haven of nostalgia and abundance known as Persimmon Moon Farm. This high desert land, steeped in the wisdom of the ages, is a testament to the enduring love and teachings of my paternal grandparents Margaret and Moon Mullen, whose legacy dances amidst the wind and fragrant sagebrush.

The farm, bearing the celestial fusion of two names, pays homage to the indelible mark left by Moon Mullen, a man whose spirit resonates through the rustling leaves and fertile soil. Born from the enchanting memories of Sunday family dinners and the captivating tales spun by Moon Mullen, Persimmon Moon Farm is more than a plot of land; it is a living tapestry woven with the threads of familial love and earthly wonders.

Margaret was a botanical virtuoso. Her woodland garden, an oasis of color and fragrance, boasted the proud presence of lady slippers, crocus, violets, gardenia, camellia, azaleas, rhododendrons, pecan, apple, pear, and oak trees. Most Sundays, the family gathered around the table for meals crafted with love and frugality, echoing Margaret's upbringing during the Great Depression. Her culinary prowess transformed off cuts into delectable delicacies, from tiny ham biscuits to bread & butter pickles, a testament to the resilience and resourcefulness of her generation.

As the autumn sun cast golden hues upon the landscape, the air would fill with the sweet anticipation of persimmon hunting. Moon Mullen, the man with a nickname earned on the Duke University football fields, possessed an innate understanding of the land. He knew the precise moment when persimmons reached perfection—too early, and they were bitter; too late, and they cradled mushy disappointment. Grandaddy's car, a vessel of adventure and gum-scented nostalgia, became the chariot for persimmon expeditions. The aroma of juicy fruit gum lingered, a fragrant reminder of journeys into the orchards, where grandchildren would eagerly gather the harvest in the folds of their shirts.

Moon Mullen's talents were as varied as the colors in Margaret's garden. From playing the juice harp to transforming handkerchiefs into mice, he was a maestro of whimsy and wonder. His subterranean workshop, a treasure trove of tools and stories, echoed with the rhythmic hum of mended objects and the laughter of those captivated by his tales.

Persimmon Moon Farm, with its roots in North Carolina soil and branches reaching toward the New Mexico sky, stands as a sanctuary of memories—a place where the essence of Margaret and Moon Mullen continues to inspire awe and curiosity. Stamp collections from faraway lands, National Geographic magazines, and a beautiful globe serve as reminders that the spirit of adventure and the pursuit of knowledge are timeless endeavors.

Persimmon Moon Farm tells a story—a story of love, resilience, and the enduring magic that happens when the lessons of the past are sown into the fertile soil of the present. This is a place where the harvests, like the memories of Margaret and Moon Mullen, ripen with the passing of seasons, creating a harvest that is as sweet and timeless as the moonlight that bathes the farm in its silvery glow.