During a hike through the east bay hills I chattered excitedly about our new fig tree. I told my friend about the sheer delight of eating figs right off of the tree. The light chewiness of the skin. The light green bulb opening to reveal a rich textured red world within. The gentle, not-too-sweet flavor. As we rounded the lake and started our descent towards the cool water, he told me something he had learned about a particular kind of fig. While I didn’t think I had ever seen what he described, a little square todo box was sticky-noted onto the back of my dusty brain for later.
It turns out that he was right. Just after I took my first tasty bite of a fig today I looked at the bottom. Lo and behold, there was a little hole! By design a little hole opened in the bottom where a flower would eventually emerge. I couldn’t wait to find out if what he had predicted next was also true. I tapped the soft fig on the counter. Indeed, after a pause, a tiny ant emerged. She continued across the bottom of the fruit and out onto the countertop. There she wandered on her way, unaware of her near demise by digestion. Then, just as our ancestors long before us, and just as this ant had, I enjoyed the rest of the delicious fig.
Photo by Raspopova Marina on Unsplash
