Pity the poor prune. No other fruit has been  so abused and maligned. Epicurean Artemas Ward once said, "It seems a pity that cheap humor and poor jokes should be laid so heavily on such a serviceable fruit as the prune." Consider this: Prunes not only keep us regular, they're also a wonderful source of vitamins and iron. In Japan, prune paste has long been sold door-to-door as a skin and hair enhancer. Many health-conscious Californians today, interested in reducing the fat content in their diet, are switching to prune puree as a substitute for oil or margarine. It's a great way, so I'm told, to prune the fat.

Prunes also have a glorious history. They were first grown around the Caspian Sea in western Asia and introduced to Europe by Alexander the Great. Eventually they became a revered part of the diet of aristocrats and commoners alike. English ladies of a century ago not only dined on prunes, they also said the word "prunes" just to add a pretty form to their lips. No less than Charles Dickens once advised, "Papa, potatoes, poultry, prunes, and prisms are all very good for the lips; especially prunes and prisms."

The father of the United States prune industry was Louis Pellier, a French nurseryman who came to California in the Gold Rush. Like so many others, he failed to find much gold, but he made his fortune meeting other, more personal, needs of the argonauts. In 1856 Louis and his brother Pierre brought the first prune cuttings from France, carefully packed in potatoes to keep them moist. The Pellier brothers then transplanted the cuttings into the rich soils of the Santa Clara Valley. Today California produces 98 percent of the nation's supply of commercially grown prunes, and 75 percent of the world's supply.

The state's biggest prune-growing region is the upper Sacramento Valley, from Yuba City to Red Bluff. But prunes are still grown in the Santa Clara Valley, too. It was there, in 1905, that a grower named Martin Seeley experimented with a cost-free labor supply. He imported five hundred monkeys from Panama to pick his prunes. Organized into gangs of fifty or more, the monkeys were set loose to scamper up the trees and do their work. The experiment was not a success. The Panamanian prune pickers ate the fruit as fast as they could pick it, leaving behind nothing but well-fertilized orchard soil. Mr. Seeley--like so many others before and since—had grossly underestimated the power of the prune.