Fig Season

Fig Season

Figs are a hallmark of the Virginia seasons for me.

Their picking has stood out as the last height-of-summer activity, and the beginning of ushering in fall.

(I have written about figs a time or two before, as seen here… And here… They have also made it on the instagram a time or two or three…)

They’ve also been the happy excuse for the visitation ties between beloved family members.
I used to bike from The Fan in Richmond to Northside to pick and revel in my Aunt and Uncle’s juicy fig offerings. In other seasons I’d drive further East to my Grandparents to partake in their riverside tree’s bounty.

Recently a friend, my first in this county I started calling home a number of years ago, offered to share her fig supply and I jumped at the chance. It had been a few years since I’d been able to steep myself in the nostalgia this fruit picking always brings up for me.

It was a happy sun-soaked, mosquito heavy afternoon.
More of nature gifts were shared, and stories swapped.
Friendship of this type is an enduring gift in all times, but especially in the midst of uncertain ones. A beautiful constancy and promise of goodness amidst a world in a heightened state of upheaval.

It is my dream to have a home, a piece of nature similar to this, with budding plants and growing gardens to offer to and share with others in the way of love and familiarity.

One day…

In the meantime, I am grateful for the yards and gardens of others so near and dear in my life who don’t mind impromptu sunkissed-barefooted-visits on hot August afternoons.

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This Is Virginia In The Summer

You have to close your mouth when biking at night.

This is Virginia in the summer.

The air is thick and hung with winged creatures.

The moon winks at me from the water filled ditch, newly filled after the afternoon’s down pour.

The low-hanging magnolias unfold their skirts towards the grass beds, entangled in a flirtation with the sweet scented leaves.

I cut some Queen Anne’s Lace with my pocket knife and revel in its silhouette against the dusk.

Petal pushing, pedal pushing.

This routine is one of the few I perform without fail.

A small days end respite from the unrelenting speed of time.

My bike basket fills with little pink slips of paper.
They hold a promise of something more if I choose to exchange them at the post office down the road.

(I never do take them with me, somewhat absentmindedly but more so as an act of defiance of the one mean post master in town…)

I hoist my bike up onto my shoulder and ascend the porch stairs 
1-2-3-4-5-6
and into the house.

I run upstairs to my computer, where I can record my thoughts faster than any other medium.

My feet are so hot I start to pull off my boots (because I wear boots year round…) but I’m afraid I’ll lose the words so I stop half way.

Typing feverishly with one boot on and one boot off.

“Are you awake?”
He asks.

“Yes but I can’t talk right now.
I don’t want to lose the words I just found.”

Folkling Shop Update: A Military Education

I don’t know a lot about military vintage to be perfectly honest.

(Except, you know, USN wool sweaters and N1 deck jackets… I know about good stuff like that…)

But O has been teaching me and it’s been such a fun thing to learn more about.

We found this Vietnam Era Rip-Stop Jungle JacketGore-Tex USAF Type CWU 36/P Flight Shell & Liner Jacket and US Army Vietnam Era BDU Shirt a few weeks ago and finally got around to shooting and listing them in the web shop!

But my favorite part?

The 1970s matchbook and 1973 penny we found in the pocket of the jungle jacket. (Which will of course be left in there for you, or whoever the next owner of this piece will be)

Good clothing tells stories.

Find value in the pieces that have layers of them.


I envision these perhaps being the jackets that you buy for your boyfriend but then end up stealing and wearing more than he does… You know, as seen in the last photo. ;)


Suggested listen: French Press by Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever


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