I want to tell you about my figs. Actually, first I want to tell you about my house. We'll get to the figs.
The house where I live is about a hundred years old. Old by some people's standards, not so much by others. Whether it's true or not, we've been told from someone or another, that the first people to live in our house after its completion was an Italian family. One very important thing that they did upon moving in was to plant a couple of fig trees. A couple of very old fig trees share the backyard with a loquat tree, walnut tree, and a redwood. Currently, the fig trees are heavy with fruit. Even with the currently hot weather, the figs ripen only sporadically, so when I spy a ripening fig, I get excited.
Sometimes I check back over the course of a week as a fig gets to its point of bursting. It's hard to wait as it might get pecked by a bird, one of my roommates might see it, or I might simply forget about it and it will pass. But when the stars align, I just might get the perfect fig.
As a kid who grew up eating Fig Newtons, I really had no idea how phenomenal figs really were until much later in life. I'm currently in the process of making up for that.