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!

Red-Fleshed Apples

Update from a 2017 blog post.

When I moved to Old Frog Pond Farm, rows of Red Delicious apples grew in the back of orchard. An apple mentor told me our pick-your-own customers would not be interested in these apples. I could either pull the trees and replant—a lot of work, or topwork these trees—keep the trunk and roots and grow another variety on top. I preferred the latter.

To topwork an apple tree, you need scion wood—small twigs of first-year growth cut in winter from a dormant apple tree. I attended a scion wood exchange where I grabbed a twig of the Almata apple along with several other varieties that were spread across an old pool table. I chose Almata because it was named after one of the largest cities in Kazakhstan. Almaty means “full of apples” and sits against the foothills of the Tian Shan Mountains, the forests that are the birthplace of the apple we eat today. Returning home with my scion wood I grafted a number of Red Delicious tree. On one of them I grafted the Almata wood.

Scion wood in Red Delicious Trunk

Scion wood in Red Delicious Trunk

The scion wood inserted all around the trunk grew, and three years later, this tree developed its first flower buds. Apple blossom buds are usually enrobed in a pink sheath, which then open to pale white flower petals. The Almata buds weren’t pink, but dark red, like the scarlet letter stitched on Hester Prynne’s chest in Nathaniel Hawthorne’s novel. Four days later, when the orchard was a cloud of white petals, this tree’s blossoms opened to a lovely pink. When the leaves came in, they were not green but a bronzy color similar to some crab apples. After pollination, its dime-sized apples were dark red, not green, like every other apple in the orchard. 

Reddish Leaves on the Almata

Reddish Leaves on the Almata

All summer long I kept my eye on this tree. Friends walking with me through the orchard would remark, “What’s that?” pointing to the Almata. It was easy to see that this tree was marked. The apples were quite small, but perfectly formed and deep red. In mid-August, I stopped by the Almata to taste one of its fruits. My large bite of apple exposed red-colored flesh. It was crazy and wonderful, and all wrong. It didn’t look like an apple at all, but more like a plum. It was hard and sour, not yet ripe.

Charmed, I hurried back to the house to share my discovery with my family. I looked up Almata and learned that this red-fleshed apple was developed by Dr. Nels Hansen at the South Dakota Agricultural Experiment Station. Dr. Hansen was inspired to breed a red-fleshed eating apple after seeing a red-fleshed wild apple on an 1897 trip to Russia. The Almata is the cross he made between a Russian apple, the Beautiful Arcade and Fluke 38, a crabapple.

Almata apple cut open on August 6, 2021

Almata apple cut open on August 6, 2021

When I showed this apple to my partner, Blase, he said, “It looks like a mandala.”

Yesterday I noticed that a root stock I had let grow without grafting a variety on it had fruited. To my surprise, when I took a bite, it, too, was red-fleshed, and bitter!

Apple from Bud 9 rootstock

Apple from Bud 9 rootstock

I’ve cooked Almatas in an apple galette. The Almata wove lovely red ribbons through the mound of white apples—it held its color even when cooked. When I made a Russian apple cake, I was again delighted by the flowing red slices of the Almata. Although some people say that the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil was actually a pomegranate, I disagree. I can imagine the serpent winding around a branch, tempting Eve with a ripe, red-fleshed apple. With only one tree, we don’t have a lot Almata apples, but if you can’t resist cutting one open for yourself, our limited crop is available at the farm stand.

Refuge

Last night a friend said, “When I visit the farm it feels like a prayer.” Early this morning I walked through the raspberry patch and picked a pint of nature’s jewels. Each one a gift in the midst of so much uncertainty and suffering.

The farm season is changing. We are preparing to open for visitors. After laboring in the long hot days of summer, the fruits and vegetables, as well as the farmers, are breathing with more ease. The ripening is here, the bounty of nature. Vines are growing upwards heavy with heirloom tomatoes, others are sprawling across the open field landing here and there with juicy melons, while still others, the underground tubers of banana fingerling potatoes, wiggle in the soil.

The earth is alive and producing.

We will open for pick-you-own raspberries in week or so. All details will be posted on our website along with instructions for visiting to insure the safety of visitors and our farmers. Please check before you come. We will use our website opening page to let you know of daily changes.

The Ripening Begins!

The Ripening Begins!

Artists also offer sustenance. Old Frog Pond Farm artists have created new sculptures on the theme of Refuge and our annual outdoor exhibit, Around the Pond and Through the Woods, will be open Thursdays through Sundays, 11-4 pm, beginning on September 3.

Monk, Madeleine Lord, welded steel

Monk, Madeleine Lord, welded steel

We’ve also created a few shady groves along the trails where you can take refuge.

Rest.jpg

Twenty-six poets have written eloquent poems inspired by the farm on the theme of Refuge. We will not host a ‘live’ plein air poetry event this year: the event draws too many people. Instead, we are publishing an online journal and will host a zoom reading with the poets on Sunday, September 20 at 3 pm. Photographer, Brent Mathison is taking photos of the sites that inspired the poets and these will be pinned at the zoom event. More details will follow, but save the date!

Photo for Cattail Blues, Brent Mathison

Photo for Cattail Blues, Brent Mathison

Cattail Blues
Didi Chadran

A cool, astringent wind interrupts
A late Spring heatwave, wafting the cattails,
Which sway, shimmer, sway again, resilient.

Graceful, they bend like blue notes picked, plaintive
On a hollow-bodied guitar. They tremolo and
Sustain in an ostinato whisper.

The call-and-response of Schlieren heat and
Tonic gusts croons of heartbreak and new love,
Release and reinvention, poetry

And commerce. The plants’ lot is to shelter,
Protect, and nourish the reeds’ seedlings and
Model resolve against wind, drought, and flood.

Wafting like fingers apoise on the strings
To bend to the future. It brings what it brings.

Our self-serve farm stand will continue to be open seven days a week through October. Kohlrabi, kale, broccoli, and other fall plants are going in the ground. Long-awaited, albeit brief rains, are finally falling and the earth is a little less parched. The weather beings hear our prayers!

Be well and come visit us!

Can you find the one small worm among all these organically grown tomatoes?

Can you find the one small worm among all these organically grown tomatoes?

Farm Moments

We hear the earth’s joys and sorrows . . .

Sweet Peaches

Sweet Peaches

Red Bartlett Pears

Red Bartlett Pears

Passion from River Stones Installation, LH

Passion from River Stones Installation, LH

Japanese Bell

Japanese Bell

Cocoon from Anne Eder’s Boneyard

Cocoon from Anne Eder’s Boneyard

Peering Around the Corner, Joseph Wheelwright

Peering Around the Corner, Joseph Wheelwright

Wildflowers, detail, Zach Gabbard

Wildflowers, detail, Zach Gabbard

Lovely Apple

Lovely Apple

Giant Broccoli

Giant Broccoli

Tempo, Arial Matisse

Tempo, Arial Matisse

Queen of the Prairie, Red Monarda, and Cattails near the Pond

Queen of the Prairie, Red Monarda, and Cattails near the Pond

. . . within our own heart.