One night when I was a boy I sat at the kitchen window of our apartment in East New York, Brooklyn, and watched a gigantic red-brick warehouse filled with toys and bicycles and other fun stuff go up in flames. In between the fire and our home were several buildings — mostly other houses but also a Catholic elementary school and a convent where the nuns lived — and so it was unlikely that the fire could spread all the way to where I was sitting.
I'm not sure I understood this that night, though. The whole thing was so awful and terrifying. Even today I can remember the flames and the smoke. Sometimes, when the smell of the burning toys seeps into my memory, as it will do, I get a little queasy. More than 40 years later.
It was only recently that I became conscious of an important role the fire has played in my life: It turned me into a fig tree nut. At least I think it did.
See, the neighborhood where I grew up was just lousy with fig trees. They grew in people's backyards, front yards, side alleys, even surrounded by concrete and tucked into spaces where they probably didn't belong. As a boy I was completely taken by these trees. They were strong and potent living things that held their ground under all conditions. They were survivors, warriors even. Oh, and the fruit they pushed out was pretty awesome.
While the toy warehouse fire burned I became obsessed with the fig trees that might be in its path. The one closest to me, just outside our kitchen window and in the Casillos' backyard, was probably safe, I calculated. But what about all the others? I can remember counting all the trees that I knew about, or had enjoyed figs from, within a couple of square blocks of the fire. There were a lot of them. And I fretted for them all.
I don't know why it's taken me so long to make the connection, but I'm now convinced that that fire is the reason I keep so many fig trees, many of which are projects that need nursing back to health. I don't live in Brooklyn anymore, where fig trees can grow in the ground. I live in Maine, where they must be kept in pots and moved indoors in winter, lest they die. The four trees pictured above aren't all of my fig trees. A couple more are at cousins John and Susie's place, waiting for me to pick them up now that the weather has turned warm. Others I've recently been told about are likely to wind up with me as well.
And then there's this guy. My friend Peter Risbara is the capo di tutti capi of nurturing fig trees to life. The guy kicks out fig trees like nobody I've ever known. His greenhouses have always got a ton of cuttings in the works, and, well, they're always looking for somebody to take them home and watch over them. When my trees get sick I bring them to Pete and they get well. Like me, he needs to take care of them.
One day I'll have to ask him if he ever watched a warehouse go up in flames when he was a boy.
10 comments:
Do you cook with your figs, or just 'eat em natural? My grandfather had a fig tree in his East Flatbush back yard--along with an amazing peach tree--but for the life of me, I don't know of one dish my grandmother cooked that used figs. Not even fig cookies, if you can believe it.
I just eat em plain mostly, Oh Fish For Brains. Don't even bother stuffing them with cheese or nuts, or wrapping them in anything either. I did put a pasta recipe on the blog once that used figs (see the pasta index) but that is a rare event around here at Casa Polpette.
In Michigan we've been growing them in pots then put them in the garage for the winter. They come back strong every year. We used to put them in the ground then bend them over and bury them for the winter, but I wonder if we wrapped them up good enough if we could forego the burying part. What do you (and your expert friend) think?
Like all this stuff, it's a crapshoot. No way of knowing until you try, and even then, what happens with one tree may not happen with another. Personally we wouldn't risk it with a tree we are very fond of, but if you have several and want to experiment with just one, then that sounds like a plan. Sorry to not be of more help.
Fig trees are easy. It's the prosciutto trees that are hard to train...
You are wise!
I also have fond memories of neighhood fig trees near my childhood home just outside of Boston. Their owners would grow them to incredible sizes and sell the fruit to people stopping by their homes. Each Autum the owners would build giant cardboard boxes around the trees to withstand the mean winter weather.
A true sign of Spring was when the boxes came down, and the first little green leaves poked out witha promise of the next seasons crop.
Thanks from the memories.
Some sixty years ago, I lived at 95 Christoper Street and shopped daily after work at the now long-gone Florence Meat Market and the small Italian shops om West 4th Street. Gently dried figs imported from Italy were sold in small woven baskets, the fruits wrapped in delicate paper and sprinkled with anise seeds. Now, even the small Italian shops in Chicago don't know what I'm talking about. I so miss them.
We have 9 fig trees, all different,that were horribly winter killed this year. Most are now coming up from the ground level, a couple have sprouted leaves high up and are showing signs of tiny figs. We have never protected them from winter but this year they were slammed. These are 10 year old trees.
Tradition for this area, the Eastern Shore of Virginia, is to gift a fig tree for new home owners.
When we moved to our new location our old neighbor potted us a fig tree from his tree and this past Fall our neighbor gave us a potted tree from his tree-he has since moved to NJ.
Last year we dehydrated loads of figs for sale, it takes 135 pounds of fresh figs to get 14 pounds of dehydrated fruit.
All my family in New York had their trees hurt this winter. All are either nursing them back to health or replacing. Good luck.
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