July 18, 2005
A 'Mean' Year
Greetings Friends of the Farm,
It's been a mean year for figs. "Mean" in the slang way of being a very good year, and "mean" in the old-fashioned way, as when one kid pinches another just to hear him squeal. You remember that sort of "mean."
It's best to pick figs in the early hours of the day, while the fruit is still cool. They hold a bit better that way. Hot figs don't last. In fact they should be slit open, stuffed with chevre, and further heated to melt the cheese. Then popped into your mouth, whole -- if they happen to be small "sugar figs" -- or, if large, delicately taken in, in sensuous bites. They are a primordial fruit, full of symbolism, full of fecund significance that's not to be taken lightly. It's possible that they were the forbidden fruit, touted by the snake, in the Garden, rather than the apple. After all, in the Great Exit from Eden, the protagonist and the first "perpetratress" apparently wore fig leaves for their traveling attire, out of their newly determined need for modesty, or, punishment.
There are over eight big fig trees on the farm, and almost every day they must be visited and relieved of their goods. Most years they have been nice about this transfer of wealth, but this year, they've turned rather surly. I guess they feel put-upon by the heat and the scarcity of moisture, and subsequently have the need to mete out punishment in the very act of the crime. (A model of efficiency in dealing with criminals don't you think?)
Each of us has had our run-ins with them. And we all bear the rashes and tiny cuts of their retaliation. We understand okra, and the need to cover ourselves completely, so as not to have continued contact with fruit or leaves, lest we have to beat a fast retreat to the nearest soap and water. Figs, on the other hand, seem more innocent; few think that simply snapping the swollen fruit from the twig would be fraught with torment. And it isn't, if you are not greedy. But, we, by our profession, are. We have to have them ALL. (Oh of course we share with the birds, but we are a bit mean about it to tell the truth. Okay, we're sorry, a little.)
Today was my day to save the figs, as The Marias were occupied with other duties. Since we've finally had rain -- frequent, gentle rain -- over the last few days (ending the 2 month drought), the fig trees have taken on quite a bit of water. With the coming heat of the day, the figs would likely open up at the small hole at their base, unfurling their flesh like a bloom, and in doing so, become useless to us.
One year, after an extremely dry few months, we got a hurricane-inspired rain, eight inches or so. I looked out the back window and saw the figs by the white shed literally blowing up and splatting onto the ground. Driven to save what I could, I picked the sound ones in the pouring rain, as fast as I could, like a maniac, frankly. But, this is how figs affect one. Good and bad. We learned from that drama to keep the figs, like tomatoes, watered during dry periods, but a sudden eight inches of rain will likely ruin them nevertheless.
This morning, mist, rising from the heat of the soil into the marginally cool air, moved with the currents, ghost-like in the dawn light. Every aspect of the farm was made more beautiful with the veil. Like old movies where the heroine is filmed in gauzy focus, the wrinkles and spots didn't show. The ephemeral beauty made the fig picking seem, before it began, idyllic.
It is, like okra, stand-up work, and that has considerable charm to us. I made the rounds, dressed for okra, in long pants, long sleeves and hat, carrying a basket on one arm, with a towel in the bottom of it to soften the the landing for the figs. With that hand I moved the branches around, revealing the golden brown fruits, which I plucked with the other hand. After the first tree, which thankfully yielded enough figs to take to the house, the itching began. It's hard to walk at a steady pace when your fingers and wrists are on fire, but it's not a good idea to run with a basket of figs either. They are so fragile that jostling would make them suitable only for freezing.
Each tree produced an escalating condition of minor agony. I tried to use "mind control" -- concentrating on the beauty of the mist, the light coming through the canopy of the fig trees, the wonderful taste of a fig that must be tried to see if it's gone winey yet, or spit out if it has. But the itch soon took over, obliterating everything, and rubbing pear leaves on it didn't seem to be the antidote. I hoped those leaves might be like ragweed. Since they are growing next to the figs, surely they would remedy the problem, as ragweed is supposed to be the antidote for poison ivy. But, no. They were just silky smooth, as opposed to the roughness of the fig leaves, an alleviation of sorts.
The figs are approaching the end of their fecundity for the summer season. Oh, it's theoretically possible for a small crop in the fall, but generally I have found this to be an empty promise (or threat) most years. And that is just as well, for we farmers, while thankful for the terrifically "mean" yield this year, will be glad when it's over. As the figs this year, perhaps pinched by the drought, have been a bit "mean" to us pickers.
Ah, but eating figs is another thing. The itch is forgotten as the fig is cut up into salads and sautes, stuffed in poblano peppers, roasted on a grill, stewed with butter to top toast, or ice cream or cereal, or your tongue. Yes, apples are good, but a ripe, succulent fig in summer is the ultimate treat, and perhaps even worth associating with snakes.
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For market this week, Wednesday and Saturday, 9-2:
Figs (diminishing supply, thank goodness!); Tomatoes (Early Girls, Celebrity, Sun Gold Cherries; the Tomatoes are also at both Whole Foods stores); Smoke-dried Tomatoes (zip lock and marinated in olive oil); Eggplant (four varieties, including the sweet Daesene Green); Long Beans; Butternut Squash; Delicata Squash; Onions; Potatoes; Bell Peppers; Poblano Peppers; Native Greens (Lambs' Qtrs., Purslane, Amaranth); French Sorrel; Arugula; Okra; Elephant Garlic; Zinnias; Tomato Tonic and Gause Yaupon Honey; Hen House Eggs....
Pure Luck Dairy's award-winning Feta and Chevre; Wateroak Farms' Ice Cream, Yogurt, and Ricotta; Rain Water; Miles of Chocolate; and Fresh Breads from Sweetish Hill (Sat).
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However, no matter how modest or repentant I am, you will not ever find me attired in fig leaves!
Carol Ann
Copyright 2005 Carol Ann Sayle
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