The Green Figs

A lesson in handling disappointment

Working alongside nature is an on-going lesson in how to deal with disappointment.

There is, of course, joy and satisfaction but inevitably we encounter loss and the unpredictable outcomes that thwart our plans.

Planting a seed is more than the physical act of placing a tiny, improbable kernel in the ground. The seed holds an imagined future of witnessing growth, tending seedlings, harvesting. We plant expectantly.

When germination doesn’t happen, we are disappointed. We wonder what we did wrong. We look for reasons and something to blame. We strain our eyes examining the soil for evidence that the seed has, in fact, germinated, that the leaves are uncurling, that the fruit is setting until we accept that, on this occasion, we will not have the outcome we wanted.

So it was with one of the fig trees in the polytunnel. Ripe figs are the most luscious and delightful of crops. They look amazing, eating them feels like decadence itself and the act of plucking them from the tree is pure pleasure. The promise of a harvest of figs is held close to my heart.

Somehow, earlier this year, the tree looked unhappy. Leaves less shiny and a little more droopy than usual, branches beginning to sag. It was laden with small deep green bullet-like fruit, the future of which looked increasingly uncertain.

It became clear that we were going to have to harvest the unrealised potential of these little green figs. Hard and unyielding, they sat on a shelf in the stable reminding us daily of our disappointment.

But somewhere at the back of my mind, there was an inkling of a plan. I had read, I was sure, a recipe using green figs. I researched and hoped and eventually found a few (bookmarked them for another crop!). The time, effort and additional ingredients required to transform the inedible to delectable (fingers crossed) was an investment. What happens to feelings of disappointment when we work on another plan?

To become an accompaniment for cheese, the figs needed the help of other producers on the farm: honey from the bees and seeds from the fennel plants. Borrowing sweetness and spice, they underwent cleansing and softening, cooking and decanting.

I had somehow invested again in the figs. This time hoping that my time and the additional ingredients would offer something of the pleasure that a ripe fig so effortlessly gives.

I knew, of course, that these preserved green figs were not going to be the same. I wanted something different now, my expectations had shifted and I was taking action. I was doing something with the figs. I was experimenting.

Now I have green figs with fennel in honey. They are soft and sweet and have a figgy essence that adds complexity to cheese. I may even try them with rice pudding! They remind me that sometimes it is possible to invest time and attention in a process without knowing the outcome. Does that add to the flavour? Definitely.

We all have imagined futures, ideas of what might be. And we are all, I am sure, regularly face to face with a present that barely resembles what we hoped for. I think we have a choice, though. Once we have accepted and acknowledged our disappointment, we can begin the work of taking how things are, working with what is here right now, and shaping our future in a different way.