Tuesday, there were these tiny bits at the (okay, what’s that word for the armpits of the branches against the trunk–coming back two minutes later to add, I just have node idea) on the fig tree that I thought might become the breba crop of next spring.

And then we had an unseasonably hot week with more of the same predicted.

Today, with zero expectation of seeing anything different, on a whim I went to go take a good look.

Blink. Eight figs. Eight actual figs. In October. On what was a whip in March with badly-strangling roots that I had to cut apart so I could plant the thing, with the tree kind of sitting there for a month or two while they recovered and took the measure of their new environment.

That little tree clearly just wanted to do what it was created to do.