A Fig’s Year…and a Half

I decided that the alien marshmallow was a lot of effort for iffy results. Theoretically I could bury the fig, but there are probably roots from the smoke bushes—so, no room. So I wrap it; on January 2, 2021, I bundled that little tree up like a kindergartener walking to school on an arctic day, as I had done the previous winter. It was a winter of temperature swings, but it seemed OK until late March 2021, about when you would expect temperatures to moderate somewhat. They did not; they oscillated from the low teens some nights to 71°F highs three times in 13 days.

The fig started horizontally after the rough winter’s end. Photographed on June 2, 2021.

That was quite a setback, but it turned into a nice little fig bush as the year progressed. The chipmunks got the underripe figs.

The nicely recovered fig got a very late start producing fruit. Photographed on October 1, 2021.

So here we are, on New Year’s Eve, doing the same wrap again! It’s the triumph of hope over experience. This time, after the bunny-blanket wrap, I put a plastic bag over the tips, and a styrofoam rose cone over that. Then it got wrapped in floating row cover.

The zombie fig, ready for winter. Photographed on December 31, 2021.

At some point in January it started leaning from the snow, so I propped it up with a cinderblock.

The fig, weighed down with snow, leaning on a cinderblock. Photographed on February 5, 2022.

Less than two weeks later, the snow had melted, and the squirrels tried their best to get as much of that row cover as possible to use as nesting material. We struggled with ice for the rest of the month, and then March’s temperatures vacillated.

Now the fig really does look like a zombie, but it mostly straightened out when the snow melted. Photographed on February 16, 2022.

This time, only some of the top died back, and the rest came back much more vigorously.

Surprisingly, the buds on the main stems broke dormancy in the last few days of May. Photographed on May 31, 2022.

Within two weeks, the fig was taller and wider than it was last October. Most of the main stems survived the winter. The tallest piece of last year’s growth, the main woody stem that is clearly cut at the top, is about 22 inches high. The little nicks on the branch on the ground are probably from rabbits—they are too big to be chipmunk or mouse nibbles.

The fig grew several inches in less than two weeks. Photographed on June 10, 2022.

It’s been very busy growing. The erratic rain does not seem to be slowing it down.

Figs grow very fast—it has grown over a foot since the photograph. That is not stunted Queen Anne’s lace—it’s chervil in bloom on the left edge of the photograph. Photographed on June 25, 2022.

Fast growth can be very tender, but curious critters have not slowed the tree down. A couple of candy-striped leafhoppers, Graphocephala coccinea, which seem to be ubiquitous on the North American continent, stopped by.

Candy-striped leafhoppers on new fig growth. Photographed on June 25, 2022.

There is no obvious damage from any insects or from the rabbits that took a few cautious nibbles at some point. Too tough? Too bitter? I don’t know, but the fig seems to defend itself well.

The fig now has little figs. Photographed on August 2, 2022.

It is highly unlikely that they will ripen in time to eat—the alien marshmallow approach seems to have the advantage of giving the plant a slightly earlier start in the spring. We just have to get through the problematic month of March.