Figs

A few weeks ago, a friend gave me a New Yorker article: “Love the Fig” by Ben Crair from August 10, 2016. In the autumn issue of my favorite literary journal, Orion, the last essay was on the subject of figs. Why are all these figs coming into my life? Is it because I’m feeling naked as my memoir, The Artist and the Orchard, begins national distribution? Like Adam and Eve, I need to cover myself with fig leaves.

Adam and Eve, 2015 Sculpture by Madeleine Lord

We grow two fig trees at the farm. Right now they are outside my studio in clay pots, shedding their leaves and becoming naked themselves. Once we get consistent freezing temperatures, they will go into an unheated garage space. They’re not cold hardy; they can’t stay out all winter like all the other fruit trees.

Meanwhile, I have been reading about figs. As the fruit grower at the farm, I care for the figs. But I have learned that a fig is not a fruit, it is a flower. A flower that doesn’t strut its stuff like most flowers but hides its blossoms inside its fruit. The fig is an inside-out flower. And because of its uniqueness, it requires a unique insect for pollination.

The fig lives symbiotically with one insect, the only one that pollinates its unusual flower: a fig wasp. There are over 750 varieties of fig trees, and most of these have a unique fig wasp to pollinate their flowers.

The female wasp enters the fig through a tiny opening at the base of the unripe fruit. On her way in through this narrow opening her wings are clipped off. She will never fly again. Once inside the fig, she lays her eggs, and then dies all within a couple of days. When the eggs hatch, the males hasten over to the newly hatched females and fertilize them. Then the males tunnel out of the fruit and die shortly after. The young females follow these tunnels and fly out into the world to look for their own fig tree where they can lay their eggs. Of course, and importantly for the fig tree, they carry pollen from their birth flowers to the new flowers. And from these pollinated flowers grow the seeds of new fig trees.

Biologists say that the fig and fig wasp have been courting each other for more than 60 million years. And for almost as long, a broad range of animals have depended on figs as a food source. Figs in temperate climates fruit all year round, ensuring a steady food supply. They are loaded with minerals and vitamins, and have received the designation ‘superfood’ from humans. Of course, the animals knew this without our branding.

Foresters consider figs to be an important tree for deforested areas. With their quick growth, and attraction to many different species of animals: trees shrews, monkeys, bats, birds, hornbills, squirrels, to name a few, the pollinated seeds deposited from these foraging animals help to quickly create a diversified forest.

We had a small crop of figs this year. I wondered if there had been a fig wasp in the area. But then I checked, and the Chicago fig is one of a few varieties of figs that are self-pollinating. A few apples are also self-pollinating, but they produce a better crop with cross-pollination. We all do better with cross-pollination.

Two Figures on Cherry Wood, Sculpture LH Private Collection

Join me for the book launch for The Artist and the Orchard: A Memoir next Saturday, October 30 at 2 pm at Sanctuary in Maynard, Massachusetts. Proof of vaccination is required. For more information: https://www.sanctuarymaynard.com/.

If you can’t attend the launch, the book is available at your favorite bookstore, online, and at Loom Press. I am also happy to send you a signed copy.

Happy Fall!

Castor Beans—Who Knew?

Last fall I saved some seeds in a plastic container in our mud room and promptly forgot about them. A week ago, I remembered. I soaked the seeds for two days before planting them in a large clay pot to see if they would germinate. Then I placed the pot on the porch where I would see them and be sure to remember to give them water twice a day. I didn’t want the sprouting beans to dry out. When I returned later that afternoon to water, the pot was gone. That seemed odd. Where did it go?

For the last few years, we’ve grown a singular plant in the garden outside our kitchen door. It’s odd looking, and almost always unfamiliar to visitors to the farm.

           “What’s that growing?” we are asked.
           “It’s a castor bean plant, Ricinus Communis.”

While it can grow as a perennial tree in temperate climates, here in New England, we grow it outdoors in a sunny spot as an annual. This red-leafed variety grows quickly, in one season easily touching eight feet, and it isn’t finicky about its soil. The plant has very large leaves—you wouldn’t be wrong to think a child-sized umbrella—shaped like a giant Japanese maple leaf with deep lobes. We have been buying one plant each spring from Applefield Farm in Stow each year.

Young Castor Bean Plant with flowers and small seed pods.

The small clusters of pale flowers are barely noticeable, though they have a sweet scent. It’s the seed pods that attract attention. Red clusters of spiky balls, a little smaller than horse chestnuts, vie for room along thick stalks. Then, once the pod dries and the seeds within are mature, the pod splits open, and literarily shoots forth its smooth, oval-shaped, brown-red seeds. I can only guess that since it is self-sowing, the plant doesn’t want too much competition at its roots from its own offspring. And with the seeds protected in their spiky pods, birds aren’t helpful with dispersal. And then, there’s the poison, which I’ll get to soon. But first, let’s solve the mystery of the disappearing pot.

            When I saw Blase I asked, “Did you move my pot of castor beans?”
“Oh, I planted a cutting from the Fiddle-leaf Fig in that pot,” he said.

Blase had seen the pot sitting in the corner of the porch, and in need of a pot, he took it, plunging the fig cutting into the center, and setting it on the plant bench in the sun room. He had no way of knowing it was filled with castor beans.

A week later, the castor bean seeds began to germinate. Thick pink bean stalks poked out from the now white lima-bean-size seeds. I dug the seedlings out from around the fig and planted them in individual pots.

And what about the poison?  Well, yes. The plant is considered poisonous because the seeds contain ricin, a serious toxin, especially when injected into the body. Eating enough raw seeds will also make you ill with diarrhea and vomiting. The gritty facts about how it is used as a poison can be found here. Earlier this year a man who worked for a biotech company in Massachusetts was arrested for buying 800 castor beans with the intention of extracting the poison. I didn’t know anything about the dark side of castor beans before writing this blog.

And what about the oil? The oil is not poisonous. It is most often sold as a laxative, but it has lots of other uses: lamp oil, soap, candles, plastics, linoleum, paints, inks, ointments and coolants. The seeds contain close to fifty percent of their weight in oil. When I was waiting for the birth of my second child, my midwife told me she was going away so I needed to get this birth moving. She suggested castor oil. It was disgusting. And I don’t think my teaspoonful had any bearing on Nick’s precipitous arrival a day later.

I did learn that in ancient Egypt castor oil was often used for lamps as well as medicinally. Castor bean seeds have been found inside tombs. I can imagine the seeds were buried to keep the lamps lit while the dried apples strung inside the tomb provided food for the deceased’s journey home. I have lots of castor bean plants growing on our side porch. If they do well, I’ll put them out at the farm stand and you too can pick up one of these show-stopping annuals.