Growing up in California, there were always figs at my grandmother’s house–often candied or turned into cookies–and I can’t get enough of fresh figs. I have two potted fig trees that we (meaning Jonathan) haul down to the basement every year. They are pretty much ignored until small leaves appear in the spring then they get some water and a trip into the sun.
Two trees simply isn’t enough so with an abundance of hope, I planted a row of fig trees in our backyard despite the fact they are much more at home in California than Missouri. They’re Chicago Hardy Figs and I put them along a south-facing fence but we’ll likely still wrap them over the winter in the hopes they’ll survive. Anything it takes for fresh figs.
After seeing my new trees, my girlfriends did an impromptu version of the Fig Newton dance. It was charming.