There is a fig tree in my house.
Text/Photos by Hsieh Kuei-tung

In a corner of my front yard stands a fig tree, nearly a foot in diameter. In late August, after the abundant harvest of ripe purple figs, with only unripe green ones remaining on the branches, it quietly begins its process of yellowing leaves and falling to the ground. Just as tender green buds sprout quietly from its branches shortly after the Lunar New Year, and then slowly burst forth with small fruit buds from the trunk, nature, like a creator, precisely controls the cycle of growth and decay of plants and the rise and fall of life. This tree begins to produce ripe, purple figs in late July and early August, reaching its peak production at the end of August, yielding hundreds of figs each year. For a month, we kept in mind that every few days we would pick a basket of large, green-skinned, purple figs from the branches weighed down by the fruit, and we considered how to eat, process, and preserve them. If the ripe fruit (usually with cracked skin) was left on the tree and not picked in time, it would attract flocks of birds, flies, and small animals.
Fresh figs cannot be stored for long periods, nor should they be frozen (frozen figs immediately change flavor and shape upon thawing), so during this period we eat them "from morning till night." On harvest days, we drink fig (sliced) tea, have figs with plain cheese for breakfast, make fig and orange (or apple) juice drinks in the afternoon, and add a few fig slices to a salad for dinner. Fig-based pastries are a staple dessert. However, even after eating figs from morning till night, there were still many leftovers. We cut the slightly unripe figs into three pieces, placed them inside a small bamboo tray covered with a mesh, and let them dry in the California sun for three to five days to make "dried figs." The slightly overripe figs were chopped into small pieces, placed in a stainless steel pot (without water), brought to a boil over high heat, then simmered over low heat, stirring and chopping with a long-handled metal ladle. After simmering for twenty to thirty minutes until thickened and fragrant, we made a reddish-brown, sweet "fig jam." The homemade dried figs and jam were stored in the refrigerator for later use in making delicious and unique "rib and dried fig soup" and "fig jam pastries," etc. This way, even after the harvest season, we could enjoy fig products for several months.
The figs on this tree, especially the large, ripe ones with cracked skins, are incredibly delicious when eaten fresh. A bite reveals a mouthful of "honey-sweetness with a hint of creaminess, leaving the mouth feeling rosy and fragrant." This is the feedback and experience of those who received our gifts, and it's something they look forward to every year. A professor friend who lives nearby enjoys picking the figs himself during the season. He climbs the tree, selects a ripe one, rubs it with his hand, and immediately eats it (he knows these are all-natural, organic fruits), looking completely satisfied. My wife usually brings baskets of fresh fruit to share with her colleagues at UCLA. After enjoying them, they always remember to make some exotic desserts as a reward, saying, "Take care of your husband." I remember my wife had a colleague whose ancestral home was in the Middle East who was extremely skilled at making jam. Last year, he used figs my wife had given him to make a jam, supposedly based on a secret recipe passed down from his grandmother, and sent it back to us to try. Even now, just thinking about that jar of jam, so full of Middle Eastern flavor, makes my taste buds feel that unique, spicy aroma. In this way, my wife reconnected with her colleague and learned a new jam-making technique. This year, due to the COVID-19 pandemic, with everyone working from home, we haven't been delivering fruit to our door, only occasionally leaving a few boxes outside the neighbors' doors with their permission. In July and August, my wife's colleagues started thinking about our fig trees. Although they're all researchers, they're also sentimental people. During breaks in video conferences, they chatted about the fruit on each other's trees, praising the creamy, honey-sweet taste of our figs, their love of life evident... However, from the perspective of a fig tree caretaker, those who most eagerly anticipate eating the fruit are probably birds and small animals that obtain food from nature. And I see their amusing, even astonishing, behavior every year.
During the fruiting season, every morning, a flock of birds, some as few as three or five and others as many as a dozen, would arrive at the front yard, seemingly by prior arrangement, flitting incessantly into the large, umbrella-shaped tree. They would chatter and flit about, selecting only the ripe, purplish-red fruits. They would peck at the fruit to create a small notch, then fixate on that part, pecking away bit by bit, widening their mouths and stretching their heads inside to eat until the entire fruit sac containing the seeds was gone, leaving only a half-circle of clean peel hanging on the branch. Figs have little fragrance; perhaps the birds can recognize the fruit's color. I rarely see so many birds here, yet they arrive uninvited, gathering for a grand feast of the tree's fruit. What surprised me even more was the way the birds ate, their heads bobbing up and down like they were striking a wooden fish. Once they had their eyes on a ripe fig, they would "follow the rules" and stop haphazardly pecking and chewing. Even if there were two figs side by side, they would concentrate on eating one clean before starting on the other. It sounds unbelievable, but that's exactly what I saw with my own eyes. From my observation, one fig is enough for a small bird to eat for several days. Thanks to the birds' "rule of conduct" and their speed in eating, most of the figs we received were whole, and most of the fruit from the tree ended up with me. I, in turn, spared them, usually leaving the figs growing on the higher branches for the birds.
During the fruiting season, small and medium-sized animals are always watching closely, and a moment's inattention can result in a large amount of prey being eaten, ruining all your efforts. One night two years ago, I startled a group of five raccoons, some as small as cats and others as large as dogs, who were climbing on a tree trunk. They were clearly a family out hunting for food. When they saw me approaching, they all scurried down the tree and quickly escaped through the fence. One day last year, I saw two hyenas through the glass window, peering out from under the unripe fruit trees, searching for ripe fruit. They lingered for more than ten minutes before leaving disappointed. The hyenas came too early and were clearly not interested in the unripe green fruit; I didn't see them return afterward. Seeing raccoons and coyotes for two consecutive years made me realize that in nature, birds and squirrels aren't the only ones eyeing this fig tree; ultimately, "there are many more beasts out there." However, among the small and medium-sized animals, squirrels are perhaps the most formidable competitors, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. There are different kinds of squirrels. One type, called the "ground squirrel" (which typically burrows into hillsides and under houses), is relatively less aggressive in its feeding on fruit. Although ground squirrels are abundant around our yard, to prevent these annoying creatures from building nests under the house and damaging pipes, and to protect our large tree of delicious fruit without harming the squirrels, we use medium-sized (8" x 16") wire cages with bait placed near the fruit tree. Last year, we caught six in nearly two months, and this August, we caught three in a single week, then drove five miles to a small park to release them. We treat the birds and squirrels differently based on their behavior, essentially using a combination of "letting them eat slowly" and "blocking" (allowing the birds to slowly enjoy the fruit on the high branches, and luring and trapping the squirrels to prevent them from overeating). This successfully ensures a bountiful harvest every year. Having a fig tree at home is truly wonderful! Enjoying the nutritious and delicious gifts of nature, experiencing the joy of tending to the plant and reaping the harvest, brings me a spiritual elevation—as expressed in the poem: Emerging from summer to autumn, nourished by the heavenly dew, green skin and purple face, glistening with dewdrops. The tree is full of large fruits, without fragrant flowers, yet flocks of birds tirelessly peck at their sweetness. At dawn, black crows are driven to perch on the branches; at dusk, they retreat, their ashes embracing the trunk. I am fortunate to harvest my share of the tree's produce, the remainder used to make soy sauce to nourish the fig buds.
The fig tree (scientific name: *Ficus carica* Linn.) belongs to the Moraceae family and originated in the Middle East and West Asia. It has long thrived in tropical and temperate regions, with a cultivation history of over 5,000 years. It gets its name from its appearance, where only fruit is visible and no flowers are seen. Fig trees are not demanding in terms of soil requirements, are drought-tolerant, saline-alkaline-tolerant, and shade-tolerant, but prefer long hours of sunshine. With proper water and fertilizer, they grow vigorously, reaching over two meters in height annually. Figs are berry-fruited trees with thin-skinned, seedless fruits that are soft, sweet, and have high nutritional and medicinal value. The fruit is rich in sugar, protein, amino acids, vitamins, and minerals. Of the 18 amino acids it contains, 8 are essential amino acids for the human body. The most important medicinal use of figs lies in their ability to inhibit cancer, and this efficacy is widely recognized. It is said that Japanese scientists have extracted substances such as bergamot lactone and psoralen from fig juice, which have significant inhibitory effects on cancer cells, especially on stomach cancer. Fig trees are easy to care for, their fruits are rich in nutrients, and the leaves can be boiled into water for foot baths to remove moss. Having a fig tree at home is, in a sense, an extra blessing.
The fig tree in my yard isn't very tall, with long, umbrella-shaped horizontal branches. Maintaining its shape requires continuous pruning, but it's easy—all you need is a ladder, a saw, and shears. A few years ago, in winter, I topped the main trunk at a height of two meters, and since then, I've pruned it annually based on the growth of new branches. I usually remove branches that are too low and will weigh down the ground after bearing fruit, and branches that are too high and make harvesting difficult. I also prune small branches that obstruct access to the canopy, shaping the tree so that during fruiting season, people can easily reach the fruit from inside or outside the canopy. Every winter and spring, especially when the fruit buds sprout, fertilize promptly (leftover milk, expired cheese, and other fermented materials are all suitable). Water daily during the fruiting period, and the fruit can be harvested in August. That concludes the tale of my fig tree. However, I must finally reveal its origin. This tree wasn't actually planted by my family or the previous owner. Many years ago, an unknown bird or animal carried seeds, sowing the seeds of life in this yard, which then flourished. Now, five or six saplings have sprouted around the main tree. Fig trees typically live up to thirty years, yet this tree, not yet old, already has a new generation! The small things reveal profound truths and often inspire us: while enjoying the good life, we must not forget to be grateful for the gifts of nature and to treat and protect the nature and animals with which we share life.