Picking Figs

I got a phone call about 45 minutes ago from Deborrah, one of the facilitators at the youth garden where I volunteer.  “Will you bring some figs?  Grace may not have enough.”

“Sure.  I was planning on it. I don’t know what is out there this morning.”

I go out to the spreading backyard fig tree and begin to pick.  Will I have enough?  Some don’t look ripe.  What does a ripe fig look like?  Oh great, the mosquitos have discovered me.  OK.  I have half a bowl.  Will that be enough?  Sometimes those teenagers really like what we offer.

I get the four foot ladder from the garage because I can see riper figs just out of my reach.  This ground is not even.  How do I balance it?  What if I fall over?  Will anyone find me?  Will Deborrah wonder why I didn’t come and over the next few days decide to come look for me?  Will the mosquitos have sucked me dry?

OK.  The bowl is full and my arms itch.  I’m declaring this enough.  But wait there are some I didn’t see before.  Did they just ripen in the last two minutes?  Are figs like that?  Oh, there are some more under these leaves.  I’ve got to quit.  I need to be at the community garden class in twenty minutes.

Pictures later..


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