The term has a lot of associations. From Guerlain’s L’heure Bleue perfume created in 1912, to human disposition, as in “beating the wintertime blues”, to a time of innocence, such as that used to describe Paris just prior to World War I, a definition of the blue hour is difficult to nail down.

That is, until you see it.  Even then it will defy words. Or more accurately, especially then, it will defy words.

On a road trip to North Dakota this year I captured the photo below at dusk.  Looking through the windowpane at the frost and bits of snow clinging to the glass, I was taken aback with this dream scene.

A North Dakota L’heure Bleue

I’d heard the term used for the golden hour of photography, was familiar with Roy Orbison’s “When the Blue Hour Comes”, knew that in Scotland it’s referred to as “gloaming”, had heard the German term ‘alpenglow’ used to describe a similar effect (specifically that which occurs on mountains), and had even read (and amazingly recalled) a Victorian era term ‘Belt of Venus’ that was used to describe the blue or golden hour.

But I’d never captured it so eloquently.

When my camera stopped clicking and my host broke the silence, she said “it’s the blue hour. Isn’t it something?”  I thought I’d cry.

So impressed I was, some research was in order. The effect appears to be exacerbated in colder climates. But it’s not the temperature, rather the snow on the ground absorbing the red light frequencies, that give a more vividly blue appearance than in climes without snow.  Light scattering (Rayleigh Scattering) is also at work but this is not a scientific post so that’s all I have to say about that.

Films and digital cameras have differing dynamic ranges (it’s very difficult for anything electronic to achieve the same dynamic range as the human eye). This frequently translates to a more saturated blue capture than what appears to our bare eye. Here’s a photo with my point and shoot Sony just before landing in Jackson Hole, Wyoming.  It’s ummm, very berry blue.

Jackson Hole Blue Hour

The stab of the direct summer sun means 3+ months of discomfort for me. Having been born and raised in this area, you’d think my body would be used to it. It’s not. As a child I read Heidi every summer to mentally escape the heat of North Texas/Southern Oklahoma. Every winter I prayed for snow.  Seldom were my prayers answered. Until that is, I took a career promotion and moved to Jackson Hole, Wyoming to launch and run the Bank of Jackson Hole’s Trust Department.  With all the glorious snow and the diamond dust sparkle of temperature inversions, all my childhood prayers were answered the first winter!

This summer was a mild one and yet I can’t wait to watch the fire crackle in the fireplace.  To look out the window and see a vivid winter sunset catapult through the pristine air heralding an Oklahoma blue hour makes me giddy.  And it’s just around the corner.

Here are a few more of my favorite L’heure Bleue photographs.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park, North Dakota

The Badlands, South Dakota

North Dakota

Grand Teton Base Camp – mountain alpenglow

Blue Whale. Catoosa, Oklahoma.

Kansas.

The Family Sedan Goes Hunting. Yes, I was driving when I took this. And yes, the entire animal was in the back seat. “Hey, kids, help me unload this thing!”

North Dakota. The Enchanted Highway.

Somewhere in the Midwest.

Carhenge. Nebraska.

Nebraska. Scott’s Bluff.

Kansas. Monument Rock.

South Dakota. Mt. Rushmore.

South Dakota. Badlands.

Devil’s Tower National Monument, Wyoming.

Yellowstone. My secret spot.

Montana.

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Before we talk about the persimmon seed as a harbinger of winter, I just want to know one thing: Who was the first person to open a persimmon seed? Okay, two things: WHY?!

It’s a good bet no one has those answers, so let’s proceed.

This “spoon” looks more like a Serv-All…Wonder what it means if I’d found a Spork??

On my various road trips this fall I’ve noticed an abundance of persimmons. A trip to my parents’ ranch this weekend brought up the discussion about the old-timers method of predicting winter weather patterns by what the seed holds within.

I plucked some of the small ripe fruit, brought them home and proceeded to open a seed for myself. I’d never done this. Surprisingly, neither had my Dad.  So he didn’t know to warn me I’d need my McGyver husband to help.

Persimmons were known to the ancient Greeks as the fruit of the gods.  There are several varieties, but most have this distinctive (and very memorable) quality – the unripened fruit is so high in tannins, your mouth will be welded shut upon the slightest nibble of the fruit (technically a berry).  It’s a common joke pulled on unsuspecting southern children, who will in almost all instances, eat anything.  Of course, this never happened to me.

Captain John Smith said it best: “If it not be ripe it will draw a man’s mouth awire with much torment. But when it is ripe, it is as delicious as an apricot.”

The seeds from my wild persimmons are a bit larger than a watermelon seed, hard as a native pecan shell, slicker than snot (I’ve actually written a story about snot), and as I wondered above, perplexing as to why anyone would have wanted to cut one open. But someone did and over the years predictions about winter were spun around the tiny, but perfectly formed, creamy white utensil in the center.

From the Farmer’s Almanac Blog: “A knife shape will indicate a cold icy winter (wind cuts through you like a knife). A fork shape indicates a mild winter. A spoon shape stands for a shovel to dig out all the snow.”

You want to see for yourself? Here’s how. Find or buy several persimmons and remove the seeds. You’ll need more than one piece of fruit because I lost several seeds down the drain and elsewhere in the kitchen when they shot from my hand during the cleaning process. Talk about putting your eye out! Under running, warm water, clear the schmaaz and seed covering. Eventually a dark, shiny seed will emerge. Now for the really tricky part. After some trial and error, we found the best tool is a utility knife. Hold the seed on a flat surface with a pair of pliers and CAREFULLY take the tip and insert into the seed, then rock the knife back and forth around the seed. Don’t get in a hurry! It may take a few times to do this without destroying the “utensil” within.

I’ve now cut open 8 seeds (with no trip to the emergency room!) and it’s a given, we’ll be shoveling snow this winter – the seeds all contain spoons.

So what’s in your persimmon seed?!

Persimmon Bread

Two 9-inch Loaves

Using the higher amount of sugar will produce a moister and, of course, sweeter bread.

Adapted from Beard on Bread by James Beard.

The batter is a gorgeous kaleidescope of goodness.

3½ cups sifted flour
1½ teaspoons salt
2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg
2 to 2½ cups sugar
1 cup melted unsalted butter and cooled to room temperature
4 large eggs, at room temperature, lightly beaten
2/3 cup cognac, bourbon or whiskey
2 cups persimmon puree (from about 4 squishy-soft Hachiya persimmons)
2 cups walnuts or pecans, toasted and chopped
2 cups raisins, or diced dried fruits (such as apricots, cranberries, or dates)
1. Butter 2 loaf pans. Line the bottoms with a piece of parchment paper or dust with flour and tap out any excess.
2. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
3. Sift the first 5 dry ingredients in a large mixing bowl.
4. Make a well in the center then stir in the butter, eggs, liquor, persimmon puree then the nuts and raisins.
5. Bake 1 hour or until toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.
Storage: Will keep for about a week, if well-wrapped, at room temperature. The Persimmon Breads take well to being frozen, too.