When I moved to this cottage, it had two fig trees, an older one in the front and its younger sister in the side yard. The woman who lived here before me planted them, but never got a harvest from them. She married, had a family, and needed to move to a larger place. So I get the benefit of her planting. Trees are like that.
Every year, I make a bargain with the birds. I tell them, "The figs that I can't reach are for you. No fair taking a few bites out of all the ones that I can reach." I keep my part of the bargain, but I can't say that the birds are completely honorable concerning this arrangement.
This morning was almost Autumn-like, and I was out for several hours weeding the woodland garden and picking up magnolia leaves. (Has anyone ever successfully composted those leaves? They're like leather. Magnolias are originally swamp-growers and I guess those leaves might, in a few years, decompose in a swamp.) My reward was, here just a week out from Lughnasadah, to harvest this bowl full of figs. Good thing I have rosemary in the garden and bought goat cheese at the farmers' market!
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I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."