Growing up, I was always offered figs. My maternal grandmother was a fig connoisseur, and I took it for granted. She always gifted them to me as if they were prized possessions, but I never though they were special because they were so frequently offered. Fast forward, ten years, and I have become my grandmother. I am not a fig connoisseur by any means, but I do now consider figs to be my prized possessions. I purchased a fig tree about six months ago, and it has become one of my greatest treasures. When I purchased it, it elegantly boasted 14 baby figs. After storms, bugs, and sun burns, my precious Phoebe plant lost most of it's leaves. When being transported to a friends house for plant-babysitting while we were away, it also lost a baby fig when put in our vehicle. I was devastated. But after months of waiting, I slowly was able to enjoy ripe fig after ripe fig. I exuberantly ate around 12 figs in the past few months; and most recently, I enjoyed the sweetest one. Yes, these figs are a bit smaller than most, but that is what I get for living a mobile lifestyle. For the foreseeable future, Phoebe will not be able to be planted; she will have to flourish in the little pot I purchased her in. The two of us will travel together, and each day, she will bring me joy as I water her. Who knew that one could acquire such happiness from a fig tree? I have my grandmother to thank, because I have a feeling she knew all along.
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