Tag Archives: fruit

Preserving diversity with some peach-mint jam

We are knee deep in peach season, and now is the time to gather the most diverse array of peaches you can find and unite them in jam. Katherine reports on some new discoveries about the genetics behind peach diversity and argues for minting up your peach jam.

Jam inspiration

Fresh peaches at their peak are fuzzy little miracles, glorious just as they are. But peaches cooked into jam and spread across rough toast lose their buttery mouthfeel and dripping juice. To compensate for textural changes, processed peaches need a bit more adornment to heighten their flavor, even if it’s only a sprinkling of sugar. Normally I am not tempted to meddle with perfection by adding ginger or lavender or other flavors to peach jam. This year, however, as I plotted my jam strategy, the unusual juxtaposition of peach and mint found its way into my imagination over and over again, like the insistent echo of radio news playing in the background. Peach and mint, peach and mint, peach and mint – almost becoming a single word. To quiet the voice in my head I had to make some peach-mint jam. The odd combination turned out to be wonderful, and I’m now ready to submit the recipe to a candid world. As we will see below, it’s not without precedent. Mmmmmmpeachmint jam.

Panoply of peaches

Peach season has a rhythm, marked by the staggered rise and fall of short-lived varieties tossing their particular set of colors, flavors and aromas into the mix. Clingstones give way to freestones, miniatures yield to monsters, and a parade of white and yellow varieties debut throughout the summer.

Single varieties can be excellent, but the best peach jam draws on the diversity of colors and flavors that collide at the height of peach season. Candy-sweet fruits complement tarter ones, and an array of creamy vanilla butter rose almond notes round out the flavor. Most peach jam recipes call for a lot of sugar and a splash of lemon juice to counter the sweet; but we are not making lemon marmalade right now, we are making peach jam. Ideally, your fruit will be able to carry much of the sugar-acid balance on its own. In peach producing states, you are likely to find the widest array of peach varieties at farmers markets and roadside stands, but even supermarkets usually carry at least one white and one yellow peach, and if you let them ripen for a couple of days, they can be excellent. (Sadly, 2017 was hard on Georgia and South Carolina peach farmers, and they are not exporting much fruit).

Assortment of peach shapes: three round and a flat (doughnut) peach

Assortment of peach shapes: three round and a flat (doughnut) peach

For all their organoleptic complexity, peaches turn out to be fairly simple genetically. They have very little DNA – one of the smallest genomes of all flowering plants – organized into only 8 pairs of chromosomes that carry a smallish number of genes (Verde et al. 2013). Many of the characteristics we value are under very simple genetic control and are what we call Mendelian traits: they are clearly discrete (white or yellow flesh, flat or round fruit, etc.) and controlled by a single gene whose variants (alleles) are completely dominant or recessive (see examples in Lambert et al., 2016). Such straightforward patterns of inheritance are easy to observe without understanding a thing about DNA – Mendel documented them in peas in the late 19th century – and they have been well known to peach breeders for a very long time. Now that the peach genome has been sequenced, however, a big effort is underway to reveal the genetic mechanisms behind key traits and to identify genetic markers that can be used in meticulously precise breeding programs. 

Does color predict flavor?

The binary categories most obvious to peach eaters are yellow or white flesh, sweet-tart or sweet-sweet flavor, free or clinging pit, and round or flat (doughnut) shape. These four traits are determined by genes on four different chromosomes (Lambert et al. 2013) so they occur independently, and in theory breeders can select for any combination of them. In genetic terms, we say that they are unlinked and follow Mendel’s Law of Independent Assortment. In practice, however, breeders have favored certain combinations, thus white varieties tend to be super sweet (“sub-acid”) while yellow varieties usually balance sweet with tart. Yellow varieties are vastly more common than white ones in the U.S., perhaps because of tradition and perhaps because white peaches turn brown and show bruises, making them less suitable than yellow peaches for shipping or canning. Flat peaches are most often bred to be sweet and white, but tart and yellow varieties exist. Flat peaches develop cracks and are prone to molding at their distal ends (“bottoms”) where the style of the flower was.

Variation in peach shape at the stylar end (“bottom” but really top of the ovary). Clockwise from top left: round bottom; deeply indented bottom of a flat peach, indented bottom of a round peach; pointy bottom. The deep indentations of flat peaches leave them susceptible to mold. CLICK to enlarge

Because all peaches are fuzzy, it’s easy to overlook another binary trait: pubescence, or whether the fruit skin is fuzzy or smooth (glabrous). If a fruit doesn’t have any fuzz, then we call it a nectarine. Astonishingly, nectarines and peaches are just varieties of the same species, and only a single gene with two alternative alleles separates them. But it’s not that peaches have a gene for fuzz and nectarines don’t. Both varieties could make fuzz (specialized epidermal cells called trichomes). Rather, recent work suggests that another gene directs the skin to express the fuzz gene or not, and that the nectarine version of this so-called transcription factor is broken (Vendramin et al., 2014).

Peach fuzz. The style is still attached to this peach at the “bottom,” which is really the top of the fruit from the perspective of the flower. Pale spots on the skin are lenticels, which allow the fruit to breathe. CLICK to see the fuzz up close.

So why do nectarines seem to have their own slightly different texture and flavor profile? All nectarines appear to be descended from a single mutant peach that arose in Europe at least 500 years ago (Vendramin et al., 2014). I’d guess that peaches and nectarines taste and feel different because modern nectarines started with limited genetic variation – a single genotype – and ever since then breeders have been selecting nectarines for their own charming qualities.

Flesh and stone

Flesh texture is yet another binary trait. The peach varieties that we eat fresh usually have what geneticists call “melting flesh” and are very soft when fully ripe. You’ve probably had the joy of biting into a peach and slurping, head tilted slightly back, to keep the juice from running down your chin or forearm. Other peaches, including the popular Elberta variety, are tender but still firm and nonmelting when ripe because they have lost an ancestral gene that causes flesh to soften. Nonmelting peaches ship well (hence the success of Elberta) and keep their shape when canned. (Note that an unpleasant dry or mealy texture is its own phenomenon that comes from refrigeration at the wrong time.)

Yellow freestone peaches, one with a bit of anthocyanin in its flesh

Yellow freestone peaches, one with a bit of anthocyanin in its flesh

Unlike all the other traits described above, the melting flesh and stone adhesion traits do not behave independently of each other. Nonmelting peaches never have free stones, and breeders have been unable to produce this particular combination. Recent work explains the tight association between these traits and has proposed a model to explain their evolution (Gu et al., 2016). Whereas nonmelting flesh resulted from the complete loss of a gene during DNA replication, the freestone trait can be explained by a different mistake. Instead of being cut out, the melting flesh gene was duplicated, resulting in two copies close together on the chromosome. Over time, the second copy accumulated a few mutations that changed its function slightly, and the freestone trait was born. But this new gene also kept its old flesh melting powers, making it impossible for a freestone fruit to stay firm. See Table 1.

Table 1. Black lines represent chromosomes; genes are labeled with trait name. CLICK box to enlarge

If you eat a lot of peaches and nectarines, then over the course of the summer you just might see all combinations of fuzz, color, tartness, shape, texture, and pit adhesion. Since each of these traits is controlled separately, except that no freestone fruits can have firm flesh, there are 48 different possible configurations of just these basic characteristics! Obviously even more diversity comes from other genes. For example, melting flesh peaches can melt quickly or slowly, influenced by a complicated set of interacting loci (Serra et al., 2017), and weak expression of the freestone allele probably causes the semi-clingstone condition (Han et al. 2016). Skin and flesh can have more or less purple-red anthocyanin pigmentation. Most important for us as we contemplate jam, are the subtle flavors and aromas that cannot be explained by simple Mendelian genetics.

Peach flavor and the surprisingly satisfying peach-mint combination

The exquisite charms of a good peach emerge only after the broad initial perceptions of mouthfeel and sugar-acid balance have faded. A recent study detected over 80 different volatile organic compounds emanating from the skin and flesh of assorted ripe peaches and nectarines. Because machines can smell things that humans cannot, a panel of peach tasters recorded their sensory perceptions of the same 43 varieties and the data were compared. Among the measured compounds that were most strongly correlated with intense ripe fruit aroma were two kinds of gamma-lactone (Bianchi et al., 2017). Gamma-lactones impart creamy, coconut, vanilla, and toasted nut flavors – a combination familiar to wine and whiskey drinkers. Wines and distilled alcohol aged in oak barrels become infused with these compounds, which are often called oak or whiskey lactones for that reason.

Given this flavor profile, it is not an obvious move to pair peaches with spearmint. As Jeanne has explained, spearmint’s flavor is dominated by an isomer of carvone, which tastes cool and green, not rich and warm. But as I claimed above, peach-mint is not unprecedented. Classically, the gamma-lactones in bourbon are contrasted with spearmint in mint juleps. Chocolate carries notes of peach fruit and toasted nuts, and it is often flavored with mint.

Peaches are much more subtle tasting than bourbon, and your aim is to brighten them up, not overwhelm them with mint. My peach-mint jam recipe lets you adjust the mint flavor to your taste by steeping a bundle of fresh spearmint in the hot cooked peaches only as long as you wish. Because this recipe contains very little sugar, I recommend refrigerating the unopened jars of jam, even if you process and seal them in sterile canning jars. If you can’t make room in your own fridge, share your jam with friends or, better yet, with those neighbors you have been meaning to meet. After all, the integrity of precious and fragile things, like peaches and democracy, are best preserved by an eternally vigilant community of diverse and peaceful citizens. Jam on


Peach-mint jam

  • 10 to 15 peaches, ideally from several varieties with different colors and flavors (having extra lets you choose the best balance)
  • 1 bunch of spearmint (not peppermint), about a dozen stems, washed. If you have kitchen string, tie the stems into a bundle, which makes them easier to remove.
  • 1C sugar (or less if your peaches are very sweet)
  • 5 or 6 half-pint sized canning jars and lids, sterilized 

1. Wash the peaches and appreciate their shapes, colors, smells, etc. You may use nectarines as well, since they are peaches too.

2. Chop the peaches into bite-sized chunks, keeping the skin on because it adds color and flavor. A small serrated knife works best on resistant skin over soft flesh. As you remove the pits, notice whether they cling. Taste a bit of each peach and sort out any flavorless or mealy fruits. Especially at the end of the season when peach flavor and texture is unreliable, I often dehydrate subpar peaches to use in winter oatmeal. Drying concentrates the flavor and repairs the texture.

An assortment of chopped peaches

3. Put the peaches into a saucepan about twice the volume of the peaches. Add the sugar and let it sit for 10 minutes or so to dissolve and draw out some of the peach juice.

4. Start the peaches on medium heat and stir and mash them with a spoon as they soften. If there is not enough liquid to keep peaches from sticking, reduce the heat until more liquid is released. Eventually the mixture will come to a high simmer, and you want to keep it there.

5. Cook the peach mixture, breaking up the bits with a spoon, until it thickens to your ideal consistency. This can take an hour or more and will depend on how wide your pot is and how juicy your peaches are. Low sugar jams with no added pectin will always be on the runny side.

6. Turn off the heat and submerge the bunch of mint, pressing it with the spoon. If you have a cocktail muddler you can use that, but keep the leaves intact. If you do not turn off the heat, you will boil off the very mint volatiles you want to keep.

7. Stir and taste the jam every 5 minutes or so until it has enough mint flavor for your taste. The mint flavor enters very quickly, so check often.

8. Remove the bundle of mint and scrape as much jam from the leaves as possible without getting bits of mint leaf in the jam.

9. Ladle the jam into the sterile jars and process 10 minutes in a water bath to seal, according to standard canning practices. If you plan to eat the jam right away, you can skip the sealing part. Just be sure to tell your friends and neighbors to refrigerate and eat theirs quickly too.


References

Bianchi, T., Weesepoel, Y., Koot, A., Iglesias, I., Eduardo, I., Gratacós-Cubarsí, M., … & van Ruth, S. (2017). Investigation of the aroma of commercial peach (Prunus persica L. Batsch) types by Proton Transfer Reaction–Mass Spectrometry (PTR-MS) and sensory analysis. Food Research International. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.foodres.2017.05.007

Gu, C., Wang, L., Wang, W., Zhou, H., Ma, B., Zheng, H., … & Han, Y. (2016). Copy number variation of a gene cluster encoding endopolygalacturonase mediates flesh texture and stone adhesion in peach. Journal of experimental botany, 67(6), 1993-2005.  https://doi.org/10.1093/jxb/erw021

Lambert, P., Campoy, J. A., Pacheco, I., Mauroux, J. B., Linge, C. D. S., Micheletti, D., … & Troggio, M. (2016). Identifying SNP markers tightly associated with six major genes in peach [Prunus persica (L.) Batsch] using a high-density SNP array with an objective of marker-assisted selection (MAS). Tree Genetics & Genomes, 12(6), 121. https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s11295-016-1080-1

Serra, O., Giné-Bordonaba, J., Eduardo, I., Bonany, J., Echeverria, G., Larrigaudière, C., & Arús, P. (2017). Genetic analysis of the slow-melting flesh character in peach. Tree Genetics & Genomes, 13(4), 77.

Vendramin, E., Pea, G., Dondini, L., Pacheco, I., Dettori, M. T., Gazza, L., … & Verde, I. (2014). A unique mutation in a MYB gene cosegregates with the nectarine phenotype in peach. PLoS One, 9(3), e90574. http://journals.plos.org/plosone/article?id=10.1371/journal.pone.0090574

Verde, I., Abbott, A. G., Scalabrin, S., Jung, S., Shu, S., Marroni, F., … & Zuccolo, A. (2013). The high-quality draft genome of peach (Prunus persica) identifies unique patterns of genetic diversity, domestication and genome evolution. Nature genetics, 45(5), 487-494.  https://www.nature.com/ng/journal/v45/n5/full/ng.2586.html

Buddha’s hand citrons and a wish for peace on earth in 2017

Winter is the season for citrus fruit, and January is the month for breaking out of old routines, so stop staring at your navel and learn about one of the weirder citrus varieties.

I’ll never forget the day one of my general botany students brought to class a Buddha’s hand citron, pulled from a tree right outside our classroom. I had only recently moved to northern California from Indiana, and I’d never seen anything like it: it was a monstrous mass of a dozen pointed twisted fingers splayed irregularly from a stout base. It had the firm heft and girth of a grapefruit and the unmistakable pebbled skin of a citrus fruit, so I wondered whether my student had found a grossly deformed grapefruit; but the oil in the peel smelled heavenly and not at all like a grapefruit. In class we cut through a big finger and found no juicy segments, just white citrus pith all the way through.

Immature Buddha's hand on the tree

Immature Buddha’s hand on the tree

We eventually discovered that this fascinating fruit was a Buddha’s hand citron, Citrus medica variety sarcodactylis, meaning fleshy (sarco-) fingered (-dactyl) citron. Since that day many years ago I’ve become an unapologetic (if surreptitious) collector of the fruits from that same campus tree. The citrons do not drop from the tree on their own, yet I often find one or two lying nearby, probably torn off by a curious tourist or student and then abandoned. Obviously these fruits need a good home, and where better than the window sill in my office?

The first time I left one closed up in my office over a weekend, I opened the door on Monday morning to a waft of fruity floral aroma. It turns out that many people in China and India use the fruit to scent the air, although in west Asia and Europe the fleshy fingers are more often candied or used to flavor alcohol. I do both: the fruits make my office smell nice until they are fully yellow, and then I cook them.

It can be difficult or expensive to get your own hands on a fingered citron, but it’s easy to find a navel orange almost any time of the year. Fortunately, the patterns underlying the morphology of the fingered fruit can also be seen in an everyday navel orange. Between our photos of Buddha’s hands and your own navel orange, you should be able to follow along at home. Continue reading

Closing out the International Year of Pulses with Wishes for Whirled Peas (and a tour of edible legume diversity)

The United Nations declared 2016 the International Year of Pulses. What’s a pulse? It’s the dry mature seed of a large number of species in the legume family (Fabaceae): various beans, peas, soybean, chickpeas, lentils, peanuts and other groundnuts. 2016 is days from ending, so it’s high time I get up the Fabaceae diversity post I’ve been meaning to write all year long. This rounds out our year of legume coverage, which included Katherine’s posts on bean anatomy, peanuts, and green beans

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Christmas Lima beans (Phaseolus lunatus), soaking before cooking

One out of every 15 flowering plant (angiosperm) species is a legume, a member of the large plant family Fabaceae (Christenhusz and Byng 2016, LPWG 2013). Boasting around 19,500 species in 750-ish genera (LPWG 2013), the Fabaceae is the third-largest plant family in the world, trailing behind only the orchid (Orchidaceae: 27,800 species) and aster (Asteraceae: 25,040 species) families (Stevens 2016). By my count, people only use about 1% of legume species for food (my list of edible legume species is found here), but that small fraction of species is mighty. People eat and grow legumes because they are nutritional superstars, can be found in almost all terrestrial ecosystems around the world, and uniquely contribute to soil fertility in both wild and agricultural ecosystems. Continue reading

The new apples: an explosion of crisp pink honey sweet snow white candy crunch

What’s in a name?  An apple with an old fashioned name could taste as sweet, but it might not sell.  The most sought after branded varieties reveal what people look for in an apple: sweet and crunchy and bright white inside.  Do the fruits live up to their names?  Are Honeycrisp apples crunchier than others?  Do Arctics actually stay white?  We zoom in on the cells to find out.

Some of you will remember the era when the Superbowl halftime show repeatedly featured Up With People.  That was around the time when Granny Smiths arrived in our supermarkets and finally gave Americans a third apple, a tart and crunchy alternative to red and golden delicious.  Those were simple days.  Continue reading

Apples: the ultimate everyday accessory

Infinity scarves? No. They won’t keep doctors away. Apples are the ultimate everyday accessory (fruit). Katherine explains where the star in the apple comes from. Could it be due to a random doubling of chromosomes? We also give readers the chance to test their apple knowledge with a video quiz.

Although apples are not particularly American – nor is apple pie – they color our landscape from New York City to Washington State, all thanks to Johnny Appleseed. Or so goes the legend. Everyone already knows a lot about apples, and for those wanting more, there are many engaging and beautifully written stories of their cultural history, diversity, and uses. See the reference list below for some good ones. There is no way I could cover the same ground, so instead I’ll keep this post short and sweet (or crisp and tart) by focusing on apple fruit structure and some interesting new studies that shed light on it.
Of course if you do want to learn more about apple history but have only 5 minutes, or if you want to test your current knowledge, take our video quiz! It’s at the bottom of this page. Continue reading

Cranberries, blueberries, and huckleberries, oh my! And lingonberries, billberries…

Flavorful and juicy thought it may be, Thanksgiving turkey, for me, is merely the vehicle for the real star of the meal: cranberry sauce. And cranberry is in the same genus as blueberries, lingonberries, huckleberries, and billberries. And they all make their own pectin. Let us give thanks this holiday season for Vaccinium.

Cranberry sauce is my favorite staple item at our big holiday dinners. Long-prized by indigenous North Americans, cranberries would have been in the diet of those Native Americans participating in the first Thanksgiving if not part of the meal itself. When the fresh cranberries hit the stores in late fall, we stock up. Cranberries, however, are not the only member of their genus that is perennially in our freezers or in our annual diet: blueberries, many huckleberries, lingonberries, and billberries are all in the large genus Vaccinium (family Ericaceae, order Ericales). Continue reading

Pear grit and the art of aging

Nostalgia emanates from a basket of pears, inspiring Katherine to explain what makes up these glorious, gritty, and gorgeous late-summer fruits.

Last week a dear friend conjured an entire autumn for me when she handed me one of her pears.  She had picked it a few days prior from one of the small espaliered trees that guard the outside of her bedroom wall and overlook her garden.  It was pale buttery gold with a pink blush, soft and honey-flavored.  A month past the solstice, we were still able to enjoy the low sun well into early evening as we sat on her deck and gazed over the garden, savoring the fruit.Rosaceae talking pear

Bartlett pears, like my friend’s, ripen in the summer and yet they herald the fall.  They appear, and we start the inevitable tumble towards apples, wool socks, and the bittersweet baseball postseason.  Other popular varieties, such as Bosc and d’Anjou, tend to arrive later, when we have already come to terms with shorter cooler days.

I love apples, but they are not as emotion-laden for me.  Whereas apples seem timeless, even summer pears carry an old fashioned patina.  They evoke a time when canning was a skill necessitated by the Depression, but which still made a lot of good sense.  My grandmother must have spent a thousand hours canning the soft sweet pears from her trees.

Pears also know how to age right.  Apples are harvested ripe from the tree, but pears should be taken when they have reached their full size and before they are ripe.  My friend always picks her pears before the squirrels can mark them with bite-sized divots, a practice that also happens to keep them from becoming mealy on the tree.  She sent me home that day with a bag of firm green Bartletts and instructions to hold them in a bag in my kitchen for a couple of days.  Summer varieties don’t require chilling, but d’Anjou and Comice pears benefit from a month of nearly freezing temperatures, followed by ripening at room temperature (Stebbins et al).  The proper aging of pears is all about managing the activity of enzymes that alter various compounds and break down cell walls.  Such treatment would ruin high-maintenance peaches, which are horrified by the thought of getting old and don’t take well to chilling. Continue reading

Cucurbita squash diversity

Jeanne introduces the diversity of some American natives, the squashes in the genus Cucurbita.

Spring is officially here, and I have squash on my mind.  We’ve ordered zucchini seeds for the upcoming summer garden but still have acorn squash from the fall sitting in the pantry (both are varieties of Cucurbita pepo). Our winter vegetable CSA box recently bequeathed to us the tastiest winter squash I’ve ever eaten, a Seminole pumpkin, which is a different variety of the same species (Cucurbita moschata) as the butternut squash sitting on the counter, destined for dinner.  Now between last year’s hard winter squashes and the tender summer squashes to come seems a good time to remind ourselves of the origins and diversity of squashes in the genus Cucurbita. Continue reading

Pomegranates and the art of herbivore attraction

Jeanne walks you through the botany you need to know to understand pomegranate fruit structure.  Jeanne’s definition of “need to know” is arguably a bit broad and includes a brief tour of the many different structures plants modify in order to entice herbivores, and at least one goddess, to disperse seeds. 

pomegranate fruit (persistent calyx and stamens visible)

pomegranate fruit (persistent calyx and stamens visible)

Pomegranates (Punica granatum, family Lythraceae, rosid order Myrtales) were one of the earliest domesticated plant species.  According to ancient Greek mythology, they even predate the seasons.  The story goes that Hades, god of the underworld, kidnapped his beloved Persephone, daughter of Demeter, goddess of the harvest.  Demeter’s grief over Persephone’s disappearance caused the crops to wither and wreaked havoc with humanity.  The plight of the starving masses coerced Zeus to convince Hades to return Persephone to her mother.  Before she left the underworld, however, Hades tricked her into eating a pomegranate seed, which bound her to evermore spend part of the year with her happy mother, during which time plants flourished, and part of the year in the underworld, during which time plants go fallow. Thus, seasons arose.

Pomegranate seeds

Pomegranate seeds

We can hardly blame poor Persephone for finding pomegranate seeds irresistible.  They look like faceted jewels and have a refreshing, tangy sweetness and a satisfying crunch. We have an additional reason to be drawn to pomegranates: even if they can’t help us understand the seasons, deciphering the structures of the beautiful pomegranate fruit helps us understand the diversity of mechanisms plants use to entice animals, including humans, to disperse seeds.  The delicious, nutritious or fibrous attractive structure is payment for the animal’s labor. As you will see in this post, there is no single anatomical recipe for creating the colorful, fleshy and/or juicy reward for a seed-dispersing herbivore, mortal or otherwise.  Many of the myriad flower, fruit and seed structures are variously promoted to the role of what is colloquially thought of as “fruit.” Continue reading

The holidays mean persimmons

Hachiya persimmons, ripening

Hachiya persimmons, ripening

Jeanne discusses the biology behind the strange winter beauty of persimmon trees and demystifies why eating one before its time is an unpleasant experience.

The holiday seasons of my adult life increasingly include persimmons.  The ‘hachiya’ persimmons on my mother-in-law’s tree in California ripen around Christmas, beginning a conversation about what to do with them, and when they start showing up in the grocery store in late fall, I’m invariably drawn to the plump orange fruits with their handsome green calyxes.  I’ve now learned that persimmons, especially dried, are an important part of many new year celebrations throughout Asia, where there are thousands of persimmon varieties, but I only became acquainted with them when I moved from Denver to go to college in the Bay Area, where some of the Asian varieties are grown.  The bright orange plum-to-apple-sized persimmon fruits stay on the tree until well after the leaves drop in the autumn.  I paid little attention to the persimmon trees on campus—tall specimens of the ‘hachiya’ variety of Asian Diospyros kaki—until the leaves fell to reveal the scraggly branches laden with the orange orbs. Continue reading