Persimmons
The persimmons are ripe. I found these lying under the one persimmon tree in my neighborhood while I was jogging, after a rainstorm. Persimmons are, like paw-paws, a special fruit, native American and too delicate to be packed and sold in stores. Thus, they are a seasonal delight, and you must pick them yourself. There is something good about that. It is odd for an economist to say it, but easy availability can reduce the value of a good. That I can buy croissants and sushi in Bloomington makes those things less special, and makes the existence of France and Japan less important to me. Seeming internationalization actually reduces the value of foreign countries and cultures.
So it is with seasonal fruit and vegetables, and perhaps this means it is good that supermarket tomatoes are not in the same league as homegrown. I wonder what the Japanese think of all this. There, they put great store on the changing of the seasons, and how it brings not just different weather and different foliage but different foods. In the same way, they put great store on local cuisine, and at every train station it will be sold in boxes for taking home as a souvenir. Japan has done remarkably well in preserving these parts of its culture. I wonder if France has done as well with its local cheeses.