The new property we bought last summer is delightful. I've blogged about it in the past. It has dense forest and hundred-year-old oak trees. It has huckleberry bushes, persimmon trees, and hickory. Oddly enough, there aren't many pines on the property. There is a dogwood that is one of the most beautiful ones I've ever seen.
Something else it has is a fig bush. The man that planted the fig bush divorced his wife several years ago. He loved that fig bush, but after he had moved out, his ex-wife had her yardman cut it to the ground. I'm not sure if she didn't like figs, or if it was a jab and her ex.
But last summer as we walked the property before she sold it to us, I noticed the fig bush was making a comeback. This spring the bush sprang out of the ground and hadn't slowed down since.
Yesterday when I walked over to survey the progress, I noticed it was full of ripe figs. I looked for one that was fully mature. You can tell when they're ready because they are the color of a bruise.
I twisted a fat one off a branch and popped it into my mouth. The flavors exploded in my mouth. Standing there, I picked about a pint to eat with breakfast this morning.
I'll pick the rest over the coming days, and we'll preserve some, eat some, and leave a few for the critters. Did I mention that I LOVE figs?