From The Mother Tree

This afternoon I cut two saplings from a neighbor's fig tree, then I planted them in my front garden. The mother tree was itself a sapling from Italy around fifty years ago. A few years ago it fell over and its branches stabbed the ground, dropping new roots.

Jim (the neighbor) told me the variety (which I forgot) but I have the impression that the naming of figs is a fluid affair, and these are either green figs or white figs, free to wear any other name you like, such as Naples or Kalamata.

Jim also mentioned that this variety is perfect for drying on a rope. That was the only way I knew this fruit until I went to Rome at age 28. I have never forgotten my happy surprise upon eating my first fresh fig just inside the Flaminian Gate.

While over there I gathered these figs from the mother, which are more firm and sticky than these black figs thst I've gathered and blipped along the way.

It's been a figgy day.