…with figs and trees
I have green fingers and two fig-trees: one in a pot and a medium size one brought back from the farm post Christmas.
In the spur of the moment earlier this week, I said to the landlady that her husband may get my potted fig-tree as a birthday present in June. We missed out on giving him something last year. My offer stands, as long as he doesn’t go chopping off our garden trees again. I politely refrained from voicing it as a severe warning.
Yesterday I found her weeding on our side of the front sliding doors.
That’s quite endearing actually. Maybe she really wants that fig-tree… So, I find that there is no turning back and I will have to part with my beloved fig-tree. My tree and I have walked quite a bit of road since its humble beginnings as a bare leafless cutting that survived the trip through the hot Karoo.
Well, I still have the harvest of popcorn-pips to look forward to. Sewn in January, it has produced miniscule mielie-heads, by lack of the appropriate name for those.
I’ll be sorry to pick them…
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