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.