Carol Goodman Kaufman

Biblical fruit

A Little Piece of Eden, Part #3: Not a fig-ment of my imagination

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One of the very first things I did on arriving at Kibbutz Malkia in 1971 was to pick fresh, succulent figs from ancient trees dotting the rocky landscape. They were the most divine things I had ever tasted and I was overwhelmed by the prospect that I was eating a Biblical fruit in the land of the Bible. How exotic!

Years later, daughter Elana wrote to tell me that she had just plucked figs from atop a horse she was riding at Kibbutz Geva. What a romantic image!  I remember thinking I must use that scene in a story someday.

Then, by sheer coincidence, I happened to read two different novels that referred to fig trees growing in Manhattan. Fig trees in New York? Wouldn’t it be too cold there? Once I stopped to think about it, I realized that Malkia, while hot as blazes when I arrived in August, was located in the Upper Galilee on the border with Lebanon. It could get quite cold in winter, although compared with my home in New England, it was mild. (We in the Northeast can get pretty competitive about our weather.)

Could it possibly be true that I could cultivate figs outdoors in chilly Central Massachusetts?

Could I hope to retrieve a piece of that sensuous, exotic Levantine feeling in my own backyard?

So, a little over three years ago I purchased a Mission fig tree from an online retailer. The website said that I could indeed, with care, successfully grow figs. Just in case, I planned to keep mine in the sunroom during the dead of winter and outside on the patio in the summer. Just to be sure.

For a long time the “tree” sat in its little 4-inch pot, not doing much of anything. Twice it lost all its leaves, making me believe that it had died, but each spring the leaves returned. Three years in, the darn thing hasn’t grown more than a couple inches in height, and has only graduated to a 6-inch pot.

Then, around the end of this past April, Joel noticed something growing on the stick that calls itself a tree trunk. A new leaf. Within about a week, we noticed that these leaves were  different; they were spherical. We had two tiny green figs! The little fruits grew slowly but surely into teardrop shaped globes about the size of prune plums.

In June, it was time to take the plants outside for their summer vacation. Within 48 hours of taking up residence on the patio, the figs turned brown. Panic ensued. Had they spoiled? Had they become infected? What to do?

What I always do when confronted with a horticultural challenge. I called my wonderfully calm and agriculturally inclined son-in-law, Adam. He assured me that the figs were probably ripening, not spoiling. I then went online to find out what to do. The first piece of info that popped up was that birds were likely to attack the figs, so I ran (okay, walked) to the kitchen to cut off a length of cheesecloth, which I wrapped around the two fruits as gently as if they were my infant children. I checked on them daily, giving a little squeeze to see if they were soft enough to pick. I even took a picture of the tree that you can see here.

Then, we went away for the weekend. On return home I squeezed again and, lo and behold, we had liftoff. I cut the two figs from the tree and called to Joel. The figs would be our dessert that night. The photo of the fig’s interior is a stock photo since I was so excited to eat the fruit that I forgot to take a picture. It is identical to ours, however.

We Skyped with the kids and said a she’hechiyanu, a special blessing of gratitude, as we enjoyed the very first figs of our Biblical garden.

 

  

A Little Piece of Eden: Part #2

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This past fall, long after the High Holidays had passed, I discovered, hiding under a bag of parsnips in my refrigerator’s vegetable bin, one half of a pomegranate. (Please, no comments about how often I should clean the fridge.) It was still in fairly good condition, but I had no particular desire to eat it and knew that, if left it in the fridge, it would rot.

So, I popped the seeds out of their glossy, cream-colored nest and into some fresh potting soil in a clay pot.  And waited. About three weeks later, as I went to the windowsill to water the plants, lo and behold, several tiny green seedlings were popping out of their deep brown home – see photo. I can’t wait to bring the little ones outside this the summer to see how they do. Stay tuned.

The pomegranate is just one of the Seven Species – two grains and five fruits – that are named in the biblical book of Deuteronomy (8:8) as being special products of the Land of Israel. The others are wheat, barley, grapes, figs, olives, and dates.

So, when one day I was eating an absolutely scrumptious Medjool date, it struck me: Why not plant a biblical garden? After all, I already had the etrog (see previous blog post). So I googled “planting dates at home” and learned that I should place the pits into a glass of water for a week or two before planting, changing the water frequently. The date pits have been sitting in soil for about two months now, but nothing has come of that experiment. Maybe I will try planting without soaking next time.

It turns out that I am not alone in wanting to have a little piece of Eden. This past January I got into a discussion with my friend, Josie, who told me of her synagogue’s attempt to plant a biblical garden in the Albany area. Then, just a couple weeks later, the Wall Street Journal published an article that chronicled similar, though not always successful, efforts by various groups around the country. See this link to read it. http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970203646004577213033000884426.html

In the meantime, I’ll start reading up on grapes, olives, wheat, and barley.

 

 

 

A Little Piece of Eden

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The Book of Leviticus mandates, “And you shall take on the first day the fruit of beautiful trees, branches of palm trees, and boughs of leafy trees, and willows of the brook, and you shall rejoice before the Lord your God seven days.” (23:40)

The etrog (citron) is that “fruit of beautiful trees,” one of the four species used at the Jewish festival of Sukkot.

About seven years ago, well after the fall festivals were over, the box holding my etrog was still sitting on the living room coffee table. I pondered what to do with it. The previous two years, the ladies of the Sisterhood had made marmalade from fruit they had collected from congregants post-holiday. Having tasted the sickly sweet concoction once, I knew I did not want to go that route. (The marmalade jar sat in my refrigerator, uneaten, for three years.)

So, what to do?

The idea popped into my head to scoop out the seeds and plant them. Could they possibly grow? Wouldn’t it be cool to have etrog trees as the, er, genesis of my own little biblical garden?  So, I planted the seeds in a single pot.

Within a couple months, we had three seedlings. After another few months, it was clear that the time had come to separate the plants into individual pots. I threw out the runt of the litter and repotted the two hardiest seedlings, each at this point about ten inches tall. I then placed them in symmetrically opposed spots in the sunroom, about twelve feet apart.

This is where my story takes an unusual, but absolutely true, turn.

Within a week, one of the plants had begun to shrivel and turn brown, while the other was still green and healthy. I couldn’t understand. After all, they each got the same amount of sun, water, and attention. So, I brought them both onto the kitchen windowsill where I could keep an eye on my charges. After about a week, the brown and shriveled plant had begun to revive.

But it wasn’t just that the sick tree was re-greening. Neither of them was growing toward the sun, as is the habit of every other plant I have ever owned. They were growing toward each other, arching their tender, narrow stems in a manner suggesting that they were whispering in a secret language, reminiscent of twins who had once shared a crib. And, they remained that way for the next year.

The etrog trees are now over six feet tall and doing quite well, their leaves emitting a heavenly citrus fragrance. They have grown branches (and sharp thorns!) and have been repotted again. Like siblings, one is beginning to grow taller, while the other is a bit stouter, and both have to be pruned yearly so that their tops don’t scrape the ceiling. They no longer need to stand right next to each other night and day, but I hesitate to move them too far apart.

Snooping around the internet, I have learned that it should take about seven or eight years for the trees to produce fruit, if planted from seed. As if teasing me, twice a year for the past two years, creamy white flowers with yellow pistils and stamens have blossomed. While I don’t really expect anything to happen while they sit indoors during the New England winter,  I take them outside every summer urging the bees to do their pollination thing.

This may just be the year. Stay tuned.