For the Love of Figs

I adore figs. They have always been one of my favorite fruits. They're evocative and sexy. Whenever I see them on a menu as part of a dessert, I beg for a small plateful, virginal and un-messed with. When I stayed one February at Dennehof in Prince Albert, a small, hot town at the foot of the Swartberg known as South Africa's fig capital, breakfast began with an oversized white plate, in the center of which was poised a peeled fig. It was just off the tree, comforted by slices of prickly pear and cubes of mango. It was simple and gorgeous.


I dislike intensely cooked figs and dried figs. I despise Fig Newtons. I hate fig jam. But a fresh fig? Oh, it's where life can begin and end, for me. So when I saw a little, beautifully pruned tree in a pot with small green fruit already on its branches at a farmers' market in the spring of 2007, I had to have it. I bought it and carried it home on the subway to my tiny terrace in Brooklyn.

The plant in my arms broke down the New York barriers that people normally throw up, where they are apparently indifferent to goings on and where the more bizarre the behavior, the more studiously it is ignored. But with plants and bunches of flowers and apple pie, I've noticed, people become engaged and make contact. Most didn't even know what it was and asked me. Some people just smiled inclusively, as if we shared a secret. It was nice.

On a June evening two years ago I noticed that four of the figs were nearly ripe. I felt like throwing a party. Every May I have a party for my roses. For a fig party would we each have one slice, with a piece of Serrano ham? That was the only year the fig made ripe fruit so early, perhaps because it had been reared in a greenhouse. I had a lot to learn.

I grew up with fig trees in the middle of South Africa where we had hard, dry, freezing winters and hot summers with afternoon thunderstorms. The trees of my childhood were large enough for my small self to climb and I did just that, eating the fat, lime-green-skinned fruit in the branches. But I had never grown one myself, especially in a Northeastern rooftop climate billed as hostile; nor did I know my fig's cultivar. I was going in cold.




The next year, I had at least 12 fruit which fell off when they were still little and I was bereft. There went my crop. I had watered too little. Or too much. I was a bad fig mother. I knew nothing.

As the new, green wood-growth increased, however, I started to notice little pinpricks in the leaf nodes, just above each leaf. Hm. Then I read how the first crop often falls off in New York and that the common fig bears a first crop in the spring called the breba crop. It develops on last season's growth (the old wood). The second crop is born in the fall on new, green growth and is known as the main crop. The second crop starts around June. I re-inspected the pinpricks in the late sunlight. They were bigger.

Two years later, I have learned not to panic when the first crop drops off. There will be a second and in this year's case, a third and even fourth.

After the first year, I repotted my tree into a larger container that measured 16" across. Some literature will tell you that figs like to have their roots constricted and my experience bears this out. But root pruning will be necessary every 2-3 years. Late fall is a good time to do this, once all the leaves have dropped and the plant is dormant. Simply take it out of the pot and snip the roots around the edges with shears and take about an inch's thickness off all around. Repot with aged compost added to the pot.

Winter protection: my tree lives on a rooftop terrace in USDA Zone 6b or 7a depending on the year, with minimum winter temperatures of -5'F – 0'F. But we all have our own microclimate, especially in cities, so conditions vary. I simply take the pot off the edge of the roof and put it on the more protected terrace, literally under the barbecue. This takes it out of the wind but it is still exposed to severe winter temperatures and has twice been snowed under. If you live in a colder climate, bringing the fig into an unheated garage or shed will do the trick. It will not require sunlight. Do NOT wrap the tree in black plastic and leave it in the sun as the plant will absorb heat and become a mini-greenhouse.

The most important requirement for a fig tree's fruit production is direct sunlight. All day is best and no fewer than 6 hours.
My fig has only ever been "fertilized" with compost in the soil or as a top dressing but conventional wisdom says that garden lime and bonemeal applied in early spring are beneficial for fruit production. Do not over-use nitrogen as it will send all the plant's energy into leaf production.

Figs need excellent drainage, so make sure that water drains well from the pot when you water. When fruit is on the branches, give the tree a soaking every day, making sure always that it dries sufficiently in between.

What is my crop yield in a typical year? On my 3' x 3' tree, perhaps 20 ripe figs, give or take. A couple are pecked by the the thieving blue jays; one might roll unnoticed into the gutter and be foraged by the local roof raccoon. But for the most part, the thrill of stepping onto my terrace after a day at work, to find a soft, velvety-ripe fruit on my little tree, is indescribable. I eat them with no fuss, standing there in the afternoon light, tasting the honey-white flesh and perhaps sipping from a glass of chilled Prosecco. Each fig is an event, and reminds me what life should be about.