Roots in Brooklyn

Fran Honan has been contributing her writings to theglorifiedtomato.com for the past 13 years, and her stories have always resonated with me. I’m excited to share her peice with you. It expresses sentiments about giving, community, and food.”  – Paula

A few weeks ago, on a cool night in the fading days of summer, our neighbor Augustin rang our doorbell with some of the season’s bounty. It was a white basket filled with green and purple figs, grown with love and care from him all season.

I’ve been obsessed with figs since I was a little girl growing up in Bensonhurst. In our mainly Italian neighborhood, fig trees and grapevines were a staple in every garden.

In my Sicilian grandfather’s small backyard he lovingly grew tomatoes, basil alongside the vines of grapes and his prized fig tree. Each summer his children and grandchildren lined up to receive a fig or two; I cherished them.

A gift from Augustin Frans-neighbor.

His death in 1959 put an end to his garden and I always longed for my own tree.

Years after moving to Rockaway my friend and colleague Adam Funtleyder brought figs into our school one day and I was brought back to my grandfather’s backyard. I shared my love of the fruit with him and he gave me a cutting of his tree, which also had roots in Brooklyn.

Adam’s tree came from a cutting from his father Eliot’s backyard, and that tree came from a cutting from his childhood neighbor in Brooklyn, an Italian immigrant who also grew them and shared with his Jewish neighbor.

That spirit of sharing has continued since growing my own figs. Our neighbor Frankie, another Brooklyn Italian, shares his figs and oversized basil leaves every summer. And now we had the basket of figs from Augustin, who hails from Poland. We got to talking about the fruit in church, which spurred his generosity.

When I left Brooklyn for Rockaway after getting married, my Italian-American mother wondered how I could leave my Italian neighborhood for an Irish one. Where would I shop for Italian food?, she asked. She meant everything, including figs.

My mother died 33 years ago and never had the chance to see my fig tree thrive, or to see the multicultural sharing the figs have inspired.

If you are lucky enough to have a neighbor with delicious figs. give them a taste. I have included a simple recipe if you receive a bountiful harvest like I have. MANGIA.