Figs

I had a plan this morning. I had a list of things to do, like I do every morning. And like every morning, like my life, I veered from the list. On the list were exercising, making dinner for tonight, and reviewing coping skills for work . . . but when I took the dogs out, my eye caught the fig tree at the side of our house. The figs are bursting with ripeness, some overripe, and need to be picked for danger of going to waste.

So I picked a few while the dogs were outside, and then realized that I would need a container to hold the fruit. After I filled the colander with all the figs I could reach, I ventured to find a ladder and a pot to hold more fruit. (I did this after attempting to climb the tree – fig trees are horrible climbing trees, fyi.) Underneath the tree, looking up through the wide fig leaves, I saw what seemed like hundreds of plum purple and magenta fruit hanging from the high branches. The sunlight shimmered through the leaves, almost blinding. I was determined to get them all.

Climbing up and down the ladder, pulling the branches near to me, and shaking the fruit from the tree, I felt more satisfaction than I had in quite some time. The earthy, sweet scent of the milky, sticky sap and dirt that covered my hands filled my body. It is the smell of late summer. The subtle itching and sweat on the back of my neck was invigorating. Flashbacks of picking muscadines and scuppernongs from the vines on my grandfather’s farm wash over me. The tender flesh of the fruit and the way it pulls from the tree with a gentle tug amazes me. The taste of the faint sweetness and pinkness is delicious. I’ve never liked figs until this day.

For a moment, I thought maybe I should be a farmer – it actually kind of makes sense, I love food, cooking food, why shouldn’t I like growing it? But I’m pretty sure that farming isn’t like this anymore, this small scale, manual labor of picking fruit by hand to feed local people . . . at least not here.

I digress. I digress from what? Oh, right, my list of things to do. My new thought is to talk to my cousin, who is on the city council, about starting a community garden. And as for this morning’s list – perhaps I did get a little exercise, and for dinner maybe a fig cake? And coping, well, I don’t know, it made me feel better. Maybe my list doesn’t matter so much. As a friend recently pointed out, life is too short to waste on things that make you miserable. So what if I’m not where I think I ought to be in life? I have enough figs to make two cakes, a fig and almond brie, and about ten jars of preserves.

By the way, did you know that the fig tree is a relative of the rubber tree? And that it actually contains latex? Explains why it’s so hard to climb, and the itching. More figs will be ripe in a couple of days.