Figs and Roses

Figs and Roses

I watched my mother as she carefully filled the empty spray water bottle that she kept under the sink. Then she filled the small watering can—the one with the long protruding neck and shower tip.

I knew exactly what she was going to do—she had done it so many times before. She was about to water the beautiful red rose bush that she had planted beneath her bedroom window. The one that faces the fig tree that came with the house where I grew up—on Hemlock Street just south of Ybor City in Tampa, Florida. I must admit that the red roses were beautiful to behold and a perfect joy to smell the fragrance of.

But oh, how I loved the sweet fruit that the almost naked, crooked limbed, fig tree produced. And I might add, which I begrudgingly shared with those darn mockingbirds. Finally, being an industrious lad, I learned to pick the figs while they were still green and just on the edge of turning. I successfully ripened many of the delicious morsels in the house or surely, I wouldn’t have gotten any.

First, Mom would gently spray the bloomed roses talking to each one as if they were alive. Then every leaf all the way to the bottom of the plant received a turn careful to leave them shiny clean and bristling in the sun. Next, she would empty the contents of the small watering can onto the root system.

I wondered about how much time and effort she invested on the rose bush, never giving much attention to the fig tree, which was a real live food-producing entity. Granted the roses were pleasing to the eye I thought, but the fig tree at least gave its fruit to eat, or at least tried to. Those darn birds always get to the ripened figs before I do, why don’t they ever bother the Rose bush?

Walla! I believe, I just got a brainstorm. It’s probably because of the thorns and leaves on the rose bush. Of course, the birds can’t get close enough to destroy those sweet roses. I knew that the fig tree produced the fruit first, and later the leaves. That forces the figs to stand out and be vulnerable to attack. Whereas the rose bush produces the leaves and thorns first and then the roses. All I must do is cross the rose bush with the fig tree. The new Figs would be concealed by the roses and protected by the thorns and leaves. It would certainly fool the mockingbirds and, I would finally get my tree-ripened fruit.

But what about mom? She’ll simply love it, I quickly convinced myself. She’ll have the best of both worlds’ figs and Roses, and I’ll be her favorite only son.

I franticly searched the library for basic plant structures. Yep, just as I thought:

For beautiful rose blossoms, all parts of the rose plant work together. The common rose is made up of the root structure, stem, leaves and flowers. Each part has an important role to play in sustaining the health and vibrancy of the rose plant.

And now, the fig tree, the common fig tree is made up of the root structure, stem, leaves, and fruit. Each part has an important role to play in sustaining the health and vibrancy of the fig tree.

That’s practically the same process word for word, I concluded. How much plainer can they make it? I needed to search no more for the compatibility, and the probabilities were astounding. I wondered why it had not been done before.

The next step was to learn the process of crossing plants I went back to the library books. I secretly assembled all the materials I would need for the crossbreeding operation but, I would have to wait until Mom planned to leave on one of her day long shopping trips.

Finally, it was Saturday, and all was ready. While I was still in bed, Mom spoke to me from my bedroom door. “Nan and I are going to the Mall today.”

I eagerly replied. “How long do you think you two are going to be out shopping?”

She answered. “We probably won’t be home till about five, you will have to fend for yourself today.”

“Have a good time Mom,” I answered. With perked ears, I could hardly wait until I would hear the door slam, and I could begin with my experiment. I had assembled all the materials that I would need and had hidden them out of sight, under my bed. I finally heard “bang” the long-awaited door slam. Straight-a-way I collected my experimental scientific equipment and headed out of the back door, and into the back yard.

With an extremely sharp razor blade knife—I sliced about a one-inch opening in the stem of the rose bush very close to the base. I then inserted the pointed end of the cutting that I had procured from the fig tree deep into the wound. Next, I tied the fig cutting tightly to the stem of the rose bush with a piece of mono-filament fishing line. The last step was to melt candle wax on the new joint to keep the incision clean and uninfected. There the operation was finished. I had learned my short lesson on horticulture from the library very well. Soon I would have nice ripe varmint protected figs growing from every branch of the thorny rose bush.

It wasn’t long before hundreds of ripened figs danced in my head, the visions soon turned into figs and roses of fame and fortune. “I will call them Fig-a-Rosa’s. I can sell the directions for growing them and indeed I can sell special cuttings. I will make a fortune, and Mom will be so proud of me.

I was extremely happy with my work—which ended just as Mom was driving up the driveway. I was thankful Mom never noticed any signs of the crossbreeding operation. The next morning, I arose early to inspect my work and found the rose bush had fallen over and lay dying on the ground.

My world crumbled as I quickly cleaned up the mess and nervously explained to Mom that it must have been the varmints, maybe coons and possums, that had killed the rose bush. Without much ado she planted another one and–all was well.

I feel terrible knowing that I never got a chance to tell Mom about the time when I was a plant and tree surgeon.

Got to remember to fess up when I see her again – in the sweet by and by.