I'll admit it. I'm a fig fanatic.
My sister just emailed me that her figs are almost ready. Since I've searched my own Florida neighborhood and see nothing but bushy trees and tiny fruit, I'll look forward to traveling to Mississippi in time for fig season. If I hurry, and she's vigilant, I may beat the birds to the feast.
With that on my mind, I just reread my funny fig fiasco story, the first essay I wrote for A Good Blog is Hard to Find. If you need a good laugh, or love a good fig, check it out.
Southerners have a thing for the fuzzy fruit. Whether it's the memory of playing under a grandmother's fig tree, a nice glass of something accompanied by a tasty fig and goat cheese appetizer, or a scary memory featuring glass jars of preserves lined up in the pantry, love 'em or hate 'em, we can't seem to escape figs.
Fig thoughts, anyone?