Written for RDP where drkottaway asks
us to get creative with the word “fig”.
In my childhood backyard in The Bronx, New York, my grandfather planted grape vines, fig trees and peach trees. Every summer we enjoyed the literal fruits of his labor, sometimes right off the vine. With the grapes he grew, my grandfather made his own wine in my father’s workshop in our basement and he’d store it in gallon bottles all the way in the back of the basement where it was cool. There was a short window of time when the figs and peaches would ripen simultaneously; that’s when my grandfather would pick them, slice them, and add them to a pitcher of homemade red. They’d steep for a couple of hours in the fridge and we’d have them for dessert, sometimes with biscotti or with slivered almonds as a topping for vanilla ice cream or just plain, right out of the glass. And sometimes, my grandfather would let me sip the fruit-flavored wine. What a treat! Deliziosa!
PS – Public schools are closed today for Yom Kippur, so I’m taking advantage of the holiday to drive upstate with my granddaughter to visit my sister. See y’all later!
NAR©2026
This is “Luna Mezzo Mare” by Dean Martin
Everything on The Elephant’s Trunk was created by me, except where otherwise indicated, and may not be used without permission. Thanks for your consideration. NAR©2017-present.
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