Sunday morning, fig morning

Since I moved last month, I’ve literally been spying on the fig tree two houses over- binoculars and all. Finally, last week, there were clear signs of their ripening and on Thursday evening, I left a note in the mailbox requesting permission to harvest figs. Within minutes, quite literally, I got a phone call and a resounding ‘yes.’ Sunday morning I met one of the tenants of the building and she pointed me in the direction of not only the brown turkey tree I could see from my living room window, but also of a tree that produces beautiful green figs. They look like adriatic, but I can’t be sure. Here is a photo below of the inside pink flesh:

Next is a photo of the bowl of green figs, meticulously selected. The figs in the bowl represent the twenty or so that were within my reach that seemed perfectly ripe.

Sadly, most of the brown turkeys were out of my reach or the neighborhood squirrels had already feasted upon the ripest ones (good for you, squirrel). I may go back with a pruning ladder later in the week.

Jerome and I took a detour and visited the famed and fabled Oakland Hills quince bush. Aside from the quince bush, the property is totally vacant. We collected a handful of quince and stashed them in the hood of Jerome’s hoodie:


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