But this post will only be about one while I ruminate on a longer figgy essay. And it turned into a poem. Go fig-ure.
Once upon a time, I watched a documentary about a fig tree in Africa. This one tree gave so much—to the bees, to the birds, to the bugs, to the humans. From its roots to its flowers, the lone fig tree multiplied itself outward. It was beautiful such that I have never forgotten it. But only yesterday did I put it together! My mother is also a fig tree! She gives so much! Her garden multiplies its fruits and blossoms to the bees, the birds, the bugs and the two cats that patrol the neighborhood. To our neighbors such that so many houses have planted a strawberry tree and even once a worker from the government stopped by to knock on the door and compliment it. Her garden has grown out into the hearts and minds of her family and friends. Such that even in my little urban jungle, I have planted poppies and the mini rose someone gave me from Costco. Such that our dear friends schlepped to a lecture about how to garden on Saturday—because of her. And this is just the plant stuff! I could fill an LLM AI with all the things my mother has planted in me and others. I could fill another with all the things that have blossomed from that to my own friends who send her satchels of their own rosemary to people who live abroad that open their doors to me—because of her. She is but one fig tree and she multiplies to all around her. When god said go forth and multiply maybe he just didn’t mean in bodies. Maybe he meant in the ways that feelings and thoughts and words can flow into our hearts and how we then send them out into the world just like that.