The fig harvest is a sensual thing. The sweet smell of the sap is a primordial memory for me. The vision of shifting light slanting through the fingerling leaves recalls childhood days of hiding under the fig tree’s skirts.
Some of you may recall we had a little crisis of figlessness last week. Dr. Randy Romig suggested a little water, and that or something else has finally caused the hard little green fig knobs to hold on and ripen, rather than peppering the sidewalk below. (more…)