I recently came across this huge fig tree on the University of Arizona campus. Yes, this is a single fig tree! It’s clearly well cared for and thriving. It’s also, right now, entirely devoid of figs.
This might be surprising, since figs fruit in summer in the Northern Hemisphere. They even have two cropping seasons, one typically in late spring and early summer and the second, larger crop in late summer and fall. However, as I’ve noted before, many plants can’t handle triple-digit heat. Fig trees especially will struggle if it’s too hot and they don’t have abundant water.
As with so many things, we need the right conditions for fruitfulness. Here in southern Arizona, even though it’s September, we’re still living with triple-digit temperatures. It’s also been a “nonsoon” year—the third-driest monsoon year in over a century of record-keeping (with the driest being last year). In these circumstances, it’s definitely not the season for figs.
This reminds me that natural rhythms don’t call for constant fruitfulness. Even here in the desert, when winter doesn’t mean frozen, snow-covered stillness, plants don’t flower and fruit constantly. Right now, the barrel cacti are blooming and setting fruit—and there’s a beautiful one doing so in the front yard where I’m living.
But we all have our seasons to lie fallow. It’s been an intense six months for me—a lot of movement, upheaval, and change. Yes, I initiated it. Yes, I needed it. Now, I’m recognizing I need a period of rest, of lying fallow. This doesn’t mean dropping all my leaves and hibernating as if it were freezing. Instead it’s about allowing myself to receive and rest more instead of give, give, give.
I’m not entirely sure what this will mean, but I know it’s the right metaphor for now. I’ve got a big trip coming up, along with some invitations to retreat at cabins owned by friends. The mantra I’m sensing for this season is allow, recharge, rest. I need relaxation now so there can be fruitfulness again later.
Where are you in the fruitfulness cycle? Is it the season for figs in your life, or are you needing to rest and receive?
Shirin, I retired on July 1 and for the last two months I have just sort of puttered around. In the midst of the puttering, I have realized just how tired I had become. I know that I will engage again and something seems push me to engage now that it’s September. But in my meditation time I am pondering if it’s time to begin again, or is it just my natural instinct to think that because it’s September and the world around me is back in action (schools & church etc) that I should too? It’s good to know someone else is considering life’s “seasons.” Thank you. -Tom
Hello, Tom, and blessings on your retirement season. I hear you about the tiredness…and yes, it can take some time to learn how to listen to ourselves instead of society’s assumptions about rhythms and busyness. Blessings on this unfolding time in your life…and I’m glad my post helped you think about these important questions.
Peace,
Shirin
For me, my now season is the rest of detachment. This week’s Word of the Week has an image of a fledgling duck in its first brave leap out of its nest. This now season of arthritic bones, inner ear affecting balance, no longer a fledgling as the world sees it and yet the elder fledging that I am find myself tossed out in free fall once again. The gift of this–my now time–rest from words, words, words, …allowing the gentle touch of the Spirit to …..
Dear Shirin, sending loving kindness blessings, in this your unprecedented fallow time.
Adeline
Thank you, Adeline, for sharing your own experience with a season of detachment and letting go of earlier images and ideas of self. This can be challenging and yet necessary work…may Spirit touch you abundantly! Thank you for the blessings, too.
Peace,
Shirin
Shirin, just a note of humor to add to the discussion.
What do I know about fig trees? The fig tree I grew up with in my backyard in Phoenix wasn’t anywhere near as big as the one in your picture, but it was big enough to hide under. I get a kick out of answering the question about whether I’m a smoker or have ever smoked thusly: There was that one time when I was in the seventh grade and my best friend and I hid under the fig tree in my backyard with a cigarette she had stolen from her big brother. We tried smoking it. I coughed and wondered why anyone would think that was anywhere near remotely enjoyable. My friend, on the other hand, became a smoker!
Oh, Aston, that’s quite a story! Thank you for sharing this memory…it is interesting how some things stay forever connected in our minds, isn’t it?
Peace,
Shirin