There’s so much bad news out there — pretty much nothing but — that I thought I’d share with you a bit of good.
Remember when I worried that I might have killed my fig trees when I pruned them a couple of months back?
Well, I didn’t. And I’m very glad, because one of those trees — the one you see at right — was given to me as a sapling by my uncle who died in 2016, and was therefore irreplaceable, at least on a personal level. Not only that, but as small as it still is — I’ve kept it from spreading like the other one — it bears more figs each year than the other one.
The other one, at top, is one I bought at the farmers’ market — the good old farmers’ market, located where people could find it — quite a few years ago. While my uncle’s tree is a reliable brown turkey, this one is… well, I forget the name that was on the label. Something Greek, I think. Anyway, it’s brilliant at producing leaves in great abundance (as you can see), but a slacker at yielding fruit. When it does force itself to do something useful, the fig is quite large, and never turns color. When it’s ripe, it’s still green, and you have to tell by touch whether it’s ready. But it’s very sweet, which is great. But we never get more than a handful in a season, if that.
Meanwhile, remember those four other trees I’m trying to propagate from cuttings I got from our friend Scout? Well, two of them are definitely among the living, but nowhere near ready for the ground. (See below.) The life seemed to have left the other two… but one of them is still showing a bit of green here and there. So I’m not giving up yet on either of the laggards.
Dum Spiro Spero.
Or perhaps in this case, that should be:
Dum Ramus Viridis Est Spero.
As least, that’s what Google Translate says…
I’ve put them in slightly roomier pots, but they still have a lot of growing to do.
Related Posts
My grandfather had a huge fig tree and would stand and eat several at a time. I can still see him in my memories standing next to it behind his house between his small house and his barn in upstate South Carolina. I never developed a big like for them- but can eat them.
Oh, I love ’em…
Green branch? You also could have said Ficus carica.
When my sister moved out of her last house, she asked me to go dig up some irises which she had dug up from my grandmother’s house on Campbell Street. To be honest, I don’t remember them there, but it’s a special thing to have plants that my grandmother (or her mother?) had planted. They bloom every year.