I was into pomegranates back in 1974, when we moved to our house by the railroad tracks in Southern California. The neighborhood had a pomegranate tree and us kids would happily just smash the fruit on the pavement to crack it open then sit there like happy chimpanzees tearing them apart and eating the oddly sour juicy crunchy seeds for hours.
When we were finished, we’d then use the fruits as grenades, hurtling them as hard as we could at each other in order to stain each other’s clothing (not realizing that the word “grenade” literally refers to the pomegranate fruit, as does the word grenadine which is a syrup made from pomegranate juice).
Coincidentally the pomegranates fruited a month before the neighborhood’s mulberry bush began producing berries. We were very much into eating fruit and staining as many people as possible.
