Well, I do. I haven’t a clue where that saying originated and I’m not looking it up in the middle of the night. I have been away from my blogging for too long, but I don’t want to lose my faithful few followers some of which must “give a fig” because my stats tell me there were a whole bunch of readers looking in despite my lengthy hiatus from the keyboard. I finally located the photos of sidewalk-chalk art from Paris and my technical support/daughter edited them into my old post titled “A Taste of Paris.” Sorry to say, there was no way to let you see exactly where the artists were working without catching their feet and/or backsides in the lens.
This new title is my excuse for telling the whole world about the best-ever season for our fig crop. So many years ago that I have no idea how long it has been in the family, but the original planting was a gift from my late husband’s Uncle Tom who took for granted that any self-respecting relative would surely want a tree of his own. He was right. Frank loved that tree and as long as he was the local school district’s instrumental and band director, he was sure to take a big bag of fresh figs to one of the school secretaries who in turn repaid him with mini loaves of figgy bread. Never failed for years and years.
This season has been the best–dozens and dozens still maturing even after the first frost and the leaves had dropped! And no question, most of the fruits were the plumpest and juciest yet. I have accumulated many zippered plastic bagsful and relegated them to a spare freezer. I concocted a fig conserve (crushed pineapple and broken walnuts included) and hope the little glass jars are sealed against spoilage. When I have made (for a first time) the fig pie for which I found a recipe, I will proudly post a picture. Meantime, I will try to post a couple of fall photos of my pride-and-joy fig tree, because there are folks who are doubtful that fig trees actually love Pennsylvania. Trust me. When all the branches are pruned, a bunch of dried leaves that have blown in from the neighborhood will be dumped at the roots. A cozy blanket for getting through the winter. And another year for figgy expectations. See? I really do “give a fig.”