My first half sounds like a chunk of the ‘ol block. My second half, is a spiritual man of silence

Some grow on trees Some are the size of peas Some dangle under a forked trunk Some act like a crazy drunk But, if you’re hungry and don’t want to eat junk, let me offer you a handful of deez

In the morning, my shadow is long, by noon, it’s short and strong. What am I?

I’m round and red and grow on a vine, Slice me for salad and you’ll do just fine.

Curled into a circle, I hang with cheer, a touch of the forest, bringing the season near. Sometimes I celebrate, sometimes Im placed to grieve, on doors or tables, I take my leave.