Ode to a fig tree

When I was looking at houses I knew that I wanted to have a garden. When you talk to first time homebuyers they often speak of the appeal of being able to paint their walls any color they want.  That certainly held true for me (I've painted every wall in my house with the exception of my back hallway and living room) but the bigger draw was the possibility of a fig tree. 

I love figs. I love them raw, I love them cooked in browned butter and tossed with pasta, I love them in jam, I love them in tarts.  I can eats pounds of them in one sitting (don't do this--tummy ache).  The potential to own a piece of land where I could plant a fig tree, wherever I wanted, was so appealing to me.  It's hard to explain how powerful this was for me and it probably seems really silly.

So I bought myself a Negronne fig tree for my birthday.  It won't fruit this year and it's tiny.  But someday it will be big, it will shade the patio, and I will eat gobs of figs.  And when I figure out what the hell I'm doing in my backyard I might even put it in the ground.  That, to me, is the beauty of home ownership.

I might even take the price tag off the pot.