Eight cities or towns in the world have been named for paw paws, fruit that is both nutritious, tasty and plentiful.
Six of the eight are located in the United States: West Virginia, Kentucky, Michigan, Illinois, Missouri and Oklahoma. The other two are in Sierra Leone and in Papua New Guinea.
The scientific name for the plant is carica papaya, one of 22 accepted species in the genus Carica of the family, Caricaceae.
The origin of the plant is the tropics of Central America and Southern Mexico, and the small paw paw trees grow in the Eastern United States and in Canada.
There are other alternate spellings for Asimina triloba, another name for the fruit, paw paw, papaw, pawpaw and paw-paw.
The word, papaw, has another meaning in U.S. southern dialect. It is used as a name for grandpa in the following states: Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama and West Virginia.
The word, pawpaw, is used in Kentucky, Indiana, Tennessee and Arkansas in place of grandpa.
High in vitamin C, the paw paw has other health benefits in its yellowish-orange flesh inside its green, squash-shaped outer layer. Paw paws grow on small trees, some limbs bearing a single paw paw while other limbs bear pods of two or more.
The fruit forms during the summer months and ripens by late Aug. and throughout Sept. in Virginia. Its outer coating remains green with white pulp inside that gradually turns to a yellowish-orange before falling to the ground. Paw paws have brown seeds inside, larger than those found in watermelons. The fruit can be picked off low-lying limbs and shaken loose from higher branches, then laid in the sun to ripen.
Often paw paws that fall to the ground provide food for ants and other insects, and each paw paw has several seeds that help increase the number of trees found in paw paw patches. A children’s song has long been sung about picking paw paws.
The children’s song, “Paw-Paw Patch,” has repetitive lyrics: “Where oh where is sweet, little
Nellie/Where oh where is sweet, little Nellie/Where oh where is sweet, little Nellie/Way down yonder in the paw paw patch.”
The second stanza continues, “Come on boys, let’s go find her/Come on boys, let’s go find her/Come on boys, let’s go find her/Way down yonder in the paw paw patch.”
The concluding stanza is, “Pickin’ up paw paws, put ’em in your pocket/Pickin’ up paw paws, put ‘em in your pocket/Pickin’ up paw paws, put ’em in your pocket/Way down yonder in the paw paw patch.”
I grew up in McDowell, Ky., a small, unincorporated settlement dependent on coal mining, and each Sept. brought the promise of paw paw picking, something that our music teacher taught us to sing about when I was in 8th grade.
Now at 80, I continue to look forward to paw paw picking season. On 9/11, I took two of my grandchildren, Uriah Ray Dean, 11; and Eden Cherie Dean, six; paw paw hunting on the banks of the Jackson River. I introduced them to paw paw picking when they were nine and four, respectively.
Both were eager to go paw paw hunting, and both were delighted that they filled their buckets. I helped them fill them, and I guided them away from poison ivy while cautioning them to watch for snakes.
Paw paws were plentiful, and we left plenty hanging in the trees to ripen, a visual lure for a return paw paw picking trip before the season ends in October.
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