Figs are fickle. And picking them is an Easter egg hunt. Lemme tell ya why I say that.
The other day as I mowed my yard, I noticed that my fig tree was covered in little acorn-sized green knobs. I made a mental note as I ducked under its lowest branches that it appeared the fig fetuses (feti?) were weeks away from harvest.
Five years ago I started my orchard during my last year of teaching. That summer I planted the following fruit trees: two pear trees, three peach trees, an apricot tree, and a tree that was sold to me as a nectarine tree.
Fast-forward two years and the “nectarine” tree is producing fruit. When those fruits got about the size of a golf ball I examined one, only to discover that it was covered in fuzz, not smooth as a nectarine is supposed to be. That’s when I realized I had been the victim of Lowe’s “GOTCHA!” Syndrome: mislabeled merchandise.
In Lowe's clearance aisle was a straggly little stem with dropped leaves and one nascent leaf at its top; it was a fig tree. Its price had been knocked down 75%! So I grabbed it and brought it home as well, not really expecting much out of it. And I was not really liking figs that much at that time, either. But today that fig tree is the largest and healthiest fruiter in my orchard.
Here’s why I say that figs are fickle: they can turn on you faster than a mirage can fade. Earlier today as I drenched its base, I noticed a ripe fig in front of me. So I looked the tree over; there was another ripe fig. . . and another, and another…well--- you get it. In a mere two days some of those little green knobs were now swollen over twice the size they were Monday. They had morphed into lovely shades of gold, blending into almond-brown. Fickle little figs.
For some strange reason, these ripe figs had not been discovered by the ants yet. Last year while harvesting, there were sugar-drunk ants everywhere, literally stuck to the figs--but not today. And, I had only lost three figs to foraging birds.
But here’s where picking figs is like an Easter egg hunt. The figs not only grow between the large leaves----but directly under them. I learned that I would have to approach the same section from different angles in order to find them all. More than once I was surprised by a fig that was completely invisible until I glanced back at the branch where it was hidden.
And it got me thinking: isn’t life a lot like that? Isn’t it funny how you can work a section of your life over---and miss an opportunity that was ripe for the picking? And isn’t it interesting that sometimes you need a new perspective in order to discover and harvest the fruit of your labor?
This first bowl of figs is a gift to someone. But later more ripe figs will become fig preserves, and maybe even a pan of homemade Fig Newtons. . . which reminds me of what a friend and I used to do with Fig Newtons. It’s a story of typical 14-year-old teenage girl craziness. But it will have to wait for another time.
