A fig tree of my imagination
The tree in my mind's eye
I can see it. It’s tall and broad-trunked, with a spreading canopy heavy with fruit. The figs are dense and sweet, with tiny brittle seeds that don’t get stuck in your teeth. The leaves are sturdy and green, big enough to justify Adam and Eve’s faith in them.
Kevin and I want a tree like that and, this weekend, we took the necessary first step: we planted one. Unfortunately, trees when you plant them don’t look much like trees when you imagine them. Today, our brown turkey fig tree doesn’t even look identifiable, much less Biblical. Give it a few years, though …
The tree in my front yard
Raising your own food is an exercise in delayed gratification. We’ll have chives in a few weeks, tomatoes in a few months, shiitakes in a year or two, and figs god knows when. I know that’s very back-to-the-land and in-touch-with-nature and all that, but I’m hungry now.
Yes! “He who plants a tree plants a hope,” according to Lucy Larcom, minor 19th century poet. Right now your tree may look like one more reason rural areas are known as “The Sticks,” but here’s to its bright, leafy, figgy future.
Reminds me of a wonderful birthday card: the cover says “A Tree Has Been Planted in Israel in Your Honor”. On the inside, it says “Tuesday is your day to water it”.