Ring of Fire

Love is a burnin’ thing
And it makes a fiery ring
Bound by wild desire
I fell into a ring of fire

I fell into a burnin’ ring of fire
I went down, down, down
And the flames went higher
And it burns, burns, burns
The ring of fire, the ring of fire.  (June Carter Cash, Merle Kilgore)

It was not long after we moved onto our property in 1987 that I started to plant fruit trees. Living on an old homestead in a house built in 1897, the square acre was fenced in half with one half for the house and the other for the cows. Since we did not want cows or horses, we chose to plant fruits. This was because fruit trees do not need a veterinarian and they very rarely break out of the fencing and wander down the road.

The trees included: two apple varieties, an Italian prune plum, a pear, three varieties of grapes, and male and female Kiwi bushes. After planting the young stock, we then waited five years for them to begin producing the fruits promised at the nursery. I must say that in the 36 years since they were planted, the yearly pruning and spraying has produced some plentiful crops of fruit. But the bulk of this story is about our Kiwi bushes.

Kiwi Berries — Actinidia Arguta

The Kiwi bushes which we planted are a hearty, cold weather variety. The size of the fruit is roughly the same as a large grape. The skin is thin and hairless, unlike the larger varieties which can grow to be the size of a plum. The fruit grows in clusters like grapes and when they are ripe, you grab a large cluster, pull them off the vine, and pop them in your mouth, skins, stems, and all.

This variety of Kiwi is not self-pollinating. It was therefore necessary to buy a female bush and a male bush to produce fruit. We have named them Edna and Reuban. Late in the spring, Edna gets all dolled up with white blooms, sets out wine, turns on mood music, and bats her eyes at Reuban. Sometimes it is just plain embarrassing.

The bushes themselves are low maintenance. They require little watering and no spraying because there are no bugs in our area that go after the fruit. The bushes though, do send out long runners which, when wrapped around you can be tough to get away from. I don’t know how many times Cheryl has looked out of the kitchen window to see the riding mower drive by without me on it. Those blasted vines will yank my hat, headphones, and me right off that mower seat.

The flavor of the Kiwi Berry is wonderful. Although they have the taste of their larger relatives, they also taste like strawberries with a dash of grape. The fruit is not ripe until mid-fall when the leaves are falling off the bush. The normal green skinned fruit turns brown and is soft to the touch. Once you start popping them into your mouth, the soft, sweet insides with their minute black seeds slide down your throat. It is hard to stop eating them . . . unless you know the side effects.

Kiwis, eaten in large amounts can cause gastrointestinal issues which includes diarrhea, and as the title hints, the Ring of Fire. As a matter of fact, the Chinese have used the Kiwi for hundreds of years for problems of constipation.  

It is my opinion that the Department of Agriculture should require a warning sticker on each female Kiwi bush sold stating: The overeating of this fruit will cause many painful hours on the toilet. Know your limit!

About five years after we planted the bushes out in the yard, we got a good crop of berries. At the time, the bushes were planted up against a cedar split rail fence, twelve feet apart. The creeping vines grew from one bush to the other along the fence creating a thick hedge. Though hidden under the leaves, the berries were thick. I picked one of the soft fruits and popped it into my mouth.

“Mmmmm!” Slightly tart, but so good. I proceeded to eat without ceasing.

I believe that it was two hours later. I was sitting in my recliner watching TV with Cheryl when, gurgle, gurgle, slosh.

“I’ve got to pause the TV for a minute because I must, (GURGLE!) YIKES, clear the road!”

The next fifteen minutes of screaming can only be summed up with the lyrics of Ring of Fire.

“How could such a wonderful little fruit cause so much discomfort?”

And that is how I learned the hard way.

My next-door neighbor, Leo, asked me if the vines had started producing yet. I brought him over a few to try.

“My goodness, these are tasty,” he remarked. “If you have enough, can I have some more?”

I picked him a quart bag full of fruit.

“Only eat a few,” I told him.

That night he took the bag into the kitchen, dumped them all into the blender, and made a smoothy which he ate all in one sitting in front of the TV.

In the early morning hours, sometime around 1am, Cheryl and I were awakened by the sound of agonizing howling coming from across the street.

“Coyotes?” she asked.

“Leo,” I said. “I warned him.”

A few years later, we had to have our roof redone with composition shingles. The crew that came out were all Mexican men who spoke little English. During the three-day job the men would go into our fruit orchard on their breaks and glean the fruit. I don’t know why they thought that I was offering my fruit free to them. Being that it was fall, the fruit was all ripe and so were the Kiwis, which was a wonderful delight for the crew. The men were buried headfirst in the hedge gorging themselves on the fruit.

And then, about 3pm . . . screams could be heard coming from the outhouse brought in by the roofing company. It rocked violently back and forth.

“Que es este fuego?” (What is this fire?)

Meanwhile, two other men were hopping around outside of the outhouse, waiting their turn.

“Date prisa Mondo! Esto es una emergencia!” (Hurry up Mondo! This is an emergency!)

Though I thought it was funny, I made a mental note to talk to the owner about his employees gleaning my fruit.

The frustrating thing about the Kiwi fruit is that it is hard as a rock and bitter through the summer as it grows. We would go out once a week and squeeze the fruit to see if it was getting soft for picking. When it ripened, it all ripened at once so we would plan on having friends come over to pick the fruit. Unbeknownst to me, the racoons were also keeping track of the ripeness of the fruit. As I sat in the kitchen one morning, I looked out at Edna because she seemed to be shaking.

“Why is that Kiwi bush shaking?” I asked Cheryl.

Suddenly, through the leaves, a raccoon poked his head up and looked around.

“Blasted coons are eating our Kiwis,” I yelled, running out the back door.

Unfortunately, the crows, deer, and coyotes also gleaned from our Kiwis bush. If we weren’t ready to pick them, the bush would be picked clean by the animals two days after the fruit was ripe.

It was a Friday in the fall of 2008. Cheryl and I were going to pick the ripe Kiwis the next day. We were awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of agonizing howls which filled the night air.

“Leo?” Cheryl asked.

“Coyotes,” I answered.

The next morning, we got our bowls and walked out to the Kiwi hedge. The coyotes had gleaned every bit of fruit from the vines. There were coyote scat piles all over the field.

This cleared up a great mystery for me: What makes a coyote howl?

Too many Kiwis.

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