Rubescent Seeds of Fertility, Entrapment & Death

How many times do I walk past you every day? A worn track, a desire line that marks my travels, opens the tale to answer the question.

Your ingrained in my life like the soil on my hands that never washes away. No matter what the effort to present pristine hands, there’s always a little of you left behind. Hiding somewhere, most often under a fingernail. A smidgen that only I see. It’s a reminder that we walk the same path, constant companions, like two peas in a pod. But you’re not the soil. You stand apart while being part of my life. You prefer to be neglected, a quite achiever for months before your garnet baubles hang so graciously.

At a glance, you look ordinary, not worthy of attention and your shrubby unkept form beguiles those that are yet to be seduced.

There is no small talk between us. Yet, we hear, we see, we know each other. A rhythmic mantra flows between us. A silence full of wonder, tantric verse, and empyrean understanding. As the season sets the mood, our tango plays out a different guise.

You stand bare, ready to front the winter, while I coddle myself with layers of warmth for protection against the chill. In spring, you send out a profusion of bright red shoots which open into dainty lime green leaves, while I gingerly disrobe. As summer progresses a triumphant explosion of crimson trumpet-like flowers decorate your life, while I bath in the sunshine and rejoice in the feeling of hot bare skin refreshed by a cool afternoon breeze. Come autumn, our moves harmonise.

It’s harvest time. Limbs laden, bow graciously, regally, knowingly: the divine purpose fulfilled. Now brilliant red, somewhere between crimson and maroon, an undescribed pantone colour, your fruit bears a five-pointed crown. Full of seeds, each enshrined in a precious rubescent sac of juice that’s closeted in a membrane web, the fruit beckons to be taken before its leathery skin cracks open.

Never a staple, your importance transcends the ordinary as you have been immortalised as a symbol of wealth and luxury, fertility, entrapment, suffering and death. You have decorated Egyptian texts and tombs, ancient coins in Judea, liturgical clothing and the handles of the Torah scroll. In Jewish tradition you’re a symbol of righteousness. Containing 613 seeds: one for each of the 613 commandants (mitzvot )of the Torah. Botticelli’s painting The Madonna of the Pomegranate (1487) conveys the fullness of suffering and resurrection. In the Quran, you’re seen as one of the many delicious rewards waiting in Paradise.

In Greek mythology, Hades the Lord of the underworld, abducted Persephone to be his wife. Using pomegranates as entrapment, by eating in the Underworld, she was forever tied to Hades. The pomegranate now represents the symbol of the indissolubility of marriage. In some cultures, your seeds are seen as a symbol of fertility. In Turkey fruit is smashed in nuptial chambers to encourage the birth of many children. In Greece, your fruit is presented as a new-home gift to bring abundance, fertility, and good luck in the home.

Reported to be one of the first five domesticated fruits you keep noble company with the fig, date palm, grape, and olive. You were well known by the Assyrians, Egyptians, Hittites, Greeks, Chinese, Etruscans and more. Travelling far from a homeland baked by the piercing sun of the Mediterranean and western Asia, you conquered vast lands. It’s no surprise you are attuned to the rain shadow plains of the Fleurieu Peninsula. Each fruit bears the hopes, dreams, and aspirations of so many that have come before me.

Your culinary and medical qualities abound. Full of potassium, Vitamin C and polyphenols, flavonoids, and antioxidants, you offer health and well being.

Many a time and oft I walk past you. Our secretes shared through the passing of time. I treasure your gift of knowledge, beauty, and culinary diversity. More than just a food, how we use you, defines who we are.