Where the Satsumas Grow
My grandpa asks me, “You want to pick some satsumas?” while slowly sipping his strong, smoky coffee. I smile and nod excitedly as I finish getting my coffee ready. The sun is just beginning to glide through the tops of the tall pine trees on this crisp November morning. A tropical tinge of orange glows among the glossy emerald leaves of the satsuma tree nestled at the corner of my grandparents’ backyard in Lake Charles, Louisiana. Steam spirals from my chicory coffee as we walk across the flat lawn. His breath glistens in the cold air while he explains that we need to pick as many satsumas as we can to keep them from the possums and armadillos, who also adore the sweet citrus. I don’t blame them.
The tree’s massive canopy spreads 25 feet. A dozen two-by-fours brace the heavier branches to prevent them from touching the ground. It’s the grandest satsuma tree I have ever seen. An old wooden ladder rests next to the tree. I perch my coffee on the flat middle rung and lean against it with a precious satsuma. I gently pierce the thin, leathery skin with my thumbnail, unleashing the fruit’s lovely floral, sweet perfume. My mouth instantly waters.
Once it’s peeled, I tear the satsuma in half, delicately removing the velvet ropes that hold the fruit to the skin. Slowly, I separate the plump crescents, stopping only when I find the secret segment called the “kiss,” a tiny sliver of satsuma sandwiched between two segments, saved for someone you love. I set the “kiss” aside for my little one and silently savor each cold segment; its thin flesh gives way under my teeth, and a cool rush of bright and sweet pulp—still brimming with life from the tree—fills my mouth. I finish my coffee and twist satsumas off the tree, gently placing them in plastic grocery bags to carry our haul inside to share with the rest of the family. This time of year invites many beautiful moments, but not many are as gratifying as enjoying a satsuma. And it’s all thanks to a woman named Anna.
While on a cultural mission in Japan, Anna Schoyer, the wife of Robert Bruce Van Valkenburgh, the U.S. Ambassador to Japan, discovered a delightful fruit known as unshu mikan on Kyushu Island. Satsumas were named after the former Satsuma Province in Japan where Anna first savored its sweetness. In 1878, she arranged for 75 Owari Satsuma trees to be shipped from Kyushu Island to her home and planted behind her house on an 18-acre estate outside Jacksonville, Florida. The fruit’s popularity grew rapidly due to its sweet taste and easy-to-peel skin, leading to increased demand.
By the early 1900s, 1 million Owari Satsuma trees had been imported from Japan and planted across the Gulf Coast states, from northern Florida to Texas, establishing it as a major commercial citrus variety in the South.
In the late 1890s, severe winter weather presented challenges, and many groves were devastated as growers realized the limitations of satsuma’s cold hardiness. The industry gradually recovered despite setbacks in the early 1900s from more harsh winters. Growers responded by planting more cold-hardy varieties of satsumas and adopting diverse agricultural practices to reduce risks from unpredictable weather patterns. Today, satsuma trees continue to endure hurricanes, floods, and freezes, showing resilience like the people who cultivate them.
There are so few ingredients that remain truly seasonal that when satsumas are finally available, I can’t help but feel evangelical about them, borderline obsessive. When shopping for satsumas, look at the citrus’s skin to indicate freshness. You’ll want to avoid fruits with blemishes or soft spots. They should give off a delicately sweet, fragrant citrus aroma.
While it may be tempting to keep your beautiful satsumas at room temperature, especially if they still have their leaves intact, they’ll stay fresh longer in the fridge. Store them with good airflow to keep them dry—moisture can shorten their shelf life and is therefore their nemesis. Satsumas can last about a week (or even longer) in the fridge, giving you plenty of time to savor their lovely flavor.
These bright beauties have the power to transform holiday favorites like gingerbread, panettone, buttery brioche dough, and ginger molasses cookies into something truly magical. Another wonderful way to capture the delicate, complex essence of satsumas is by making marmalade and candying the vibrant peels.
Since satsuma season is so short-lived, lasting only from late fall to early winter, I have no shame in stretching the pleasure this sweet citrus provides. This is when I turn to the freezer, which ensures I can enjoy the lovely flavor of satsumas for months on end. Satsuma zest, segments, and juice freeze beautifully! Scrub the peels well and use a rasp-style grater to zest the fruit. Freeze the zest in a single layer in a heavy-duty plastic zipper bag, removing all the air. You don’t have to thaw it whenever you want to use it in a recipe.
After zesting the satsumas, you have two options. You can juice them and freeze the juice in ice cube trays for later use in recipes or add to your favorite cocktail glass and cover with prosecco for a wonderfully festive and fizzy satsuma bellini! Another option is to peel the fruit and separate the segments. Place the segments on a parchment paper-lined rimmed baking sheet, and freeze them for about 2 hours until they’re firm. Then transfer the segments to a zipper bag and store them in the freezer. This method prevents the segments from clumping together. The frosty segments are waiting for me to snack on anytime I please. Frozen zest, segments, and juice will keep in the freezer for up to six months.
Follow my lead and satsuma season will last in your kitchen well after its fleeting time has passed, leaving you with the eternal sunshine of satsumas at your fingertips. I find comfort in knowing I can re-create those early mornings—the giving tree with its plump little orbs and the hot chicory coffee we enjoyed together—as they live in my memory forever.
Mandarins, tangerines, clementines, and satsumas—what’s the difference between them?
A Family Affair
Satsumas Bloom in the Sweetest Moments
Chad and Jenny Thornburg
Southern Orchards, nestled in Mobile, Alabama, is owned and operated by spouses Chad and Jenny Thornburg. Chad’s journey into satsuma farming began with a passion for produce and a desire to connect with Jenny. With support from his family’s row–crop–farming background and valuable advice from Jenny’s experienced produce-farming family, the orchard was born—a perfect blend of business, romance, and dedication.
Extreme weather, especially hard freezes, presents challenges for satsuma farming. To protect their trees, Chad and Jenny use micro-sprinkler irrigation to create a protective layer of ice around them. The ice acts as insulation, safeguarding the trees from freezing temperatures. They start the sprinklers before temperatures drop below freezing and ensure everything is running smoothly to protect their crop.
For Chad, the greatest reward of owning Southern Orchards is the joy and tranquility of working in the orchard. “Watching the trees grow, bloom, and bear fruit is incredibly fulfilling. Despite the challenges of farming, the transition from blossoms to ripe fruit is a true highlight of the season,” he says.
Chad shares a helpful tip when shopping for satsumas: “The fruit can be ripe even if it’s not fully orange. Don’t be surprised if you find yellow or light orange satsumas—they’re sweet and ready to enjoy. As the season progresses, the fruit becomes softer and easier to peel, which is a sure sign of ripeness.”
“Starting Southern Orchards was a leap of faith, but we’re thrilled to share our satsumas with a growing audience,” Chad adds. “We’ve loved seeing interest from locals and even military families with connections to the area. It’s been a rewarding journey, and we’re excited to keep sharing the sweet, sunny taste of our Southern-grown satsumas with everyone!”
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