Andy pointed it out a few weeks ago – the smallest ray of hope in a dark winter – when the buds of our fig tree began swelling. On the bare branches of the dormant plant I overwintered in the garage, the first signs of life were becoming apparent. While the brown turkey fig was reportedly hardy as far north as Zone 5, our specimen had done so well last summer that I didn’t want to risk it. Some winters are more brutal than others. Without a proper snowcover, and considering the roller-coaster of temperature extremes we’ve had, it was a wise decision. Within the unheated garage, our little fig tree got its necessary period of dormancy – a rest period to recharge and rejuvenate for another season of fig-producing glory. As we neared the end of winter, it suddenly leafed out with the warm spells we’ve had of late.
That dormant period, in which a plant rests, is like a resetting of its mission. Many errors and mistakes can be forgiven with enough time and contemplation. Yes, this was an early start, maybe too early. With the celebration comes a warning – a tease filled with tension. Global warming, brutal summer, decaying winter. Still, there is no prettier shade of green than the delicate chartreuse that first greets the burgeoning light, and at a time when we are so desperate for spring, my heart jumped at the new signs of life.
If our little fig tree could survive our winter of neglect (I barely bothered to water it, afraid it might rot) then perhaps another spring might reinvigorate all sorts of malaise. I studied the beautiful tiny leaves that reached for the lone window in our garage, admiring the plant’s resilience, the way it drew upon the reserve of its roots and branches, bare though they be. There was still life here, it was only slumbering until the necessary nourishment and coddling brought it back to its former glory. Hope remained. Spring waited. Beauty rested.
