Starting Over Hurts Like the Dickens

When we moved here to our little slice of paradise in Villa Rica seven years ago, we had a moderate-sized fig bush growing beside the house. It was leggy and had a lot of old wood on it. That first summer, I noshed on sugary figs so sweet, I about went into a coma. There is nothing on earth so wonderful as home-grown fruits or vegetables. The warm sunshine on them, the fullness of true ripeness that you just can't get in the supermarket. Just watch out for those bird droppings. I grew up at the edge of the country, where we never thought to wash anything off. Why would we? Nobody had sprayed anything weird on things and it was too much trouble to go into the house to wait to take a bite. Tomatoes bursting from their skins, tender green beans, even sweet corn on the cob was often nibbled on before it made it into the kitchen. Pure nectar.

I'm ashamed to say that I have not raised one vegetable since we moved here, but God blessed us with that fig tree and two monster-sized pecan trees in the backyard. The fig was looking poorly, so I asked my neighbor Jodi (the Queen of all Gardeners, as far as I am concerned) what I should do for it. She recommended pruning it back in the dead of winter. So I did. A lot. It looked rather pitiful. Spring came and I began to assume the tree was dead. It looked tiny and sad. Then I forgot about it, until one day there it was, little but looking all minty green and fresh. New leaves all over. It even produced a few figs that year. Three or four years have gone by, and this summer it has grown into the Paul Bunyon version of fig trees. It's threatening to take over the house. My neighbors are despondent because they can't see us when we're out on the porch now. It sounded like a party out there, what with the squirrels and birds going haywire over those figs. There was a big hawk who was taking every opportunity to pluck his dinner out of it (not figs, but birds and who knows what else). Who needs a TV when there's a riot going on right outside your window?

Today I noticed the tree is suffering from the heat, getting a little too big for its britches. I guess I'll have to wait for winter and chop it back down to size again. It's sort-of like us. We get all puffed up and proud, then God has to prune us back a little (or a lot). The Good Book says that He prunes the ones He loves. It's painful, but it makes us grow and gets rid of that old dead wood. Bring on the hedge clippers.