Old Town's Fig Tree

Without fig trees, I would have never survived childhood. I spent many-a-day inside our fig tree. The August fruit is my favorite. As a kid in the forties, I climbed it to keep the black birds away. I enjoyed the older wrinkled one the most, and plucked them just before the birds got to them. 
    Old town has a few fig trees but none more beautiful than the one in back of the cigar store. Most people visit Old Town for the music, old stores or museums. For me the town is all about trees.       To find my spacious fig tree, begin at the white house when you enter the park. It is called the Wrightington House. Ripe purple Concord grapes hover over the patio archway. Grab a few bunches and also the mint growing in the corner. Take a seat and you'll see yellow pomegranate flowers and several olive trees to your west.  
   To the South is my fig tree. With figs going for five or six dollars a pound, I gorge myself silly on them at the beginning of August. But don't you tell anybody, since it is illegal. Of course I pay the price at night-but who gives a dam. Pick them before the Sparrows and Ravens get to them. Refrigerate the remainders when you get home, or better yet, make fig jam...
   When I was a kid, I picked and placed figs into my little red wagon. In the forties on Holt Avenue, I sold figs for a penny each... Sometimes I got lucky and a client would wish to go inside to our only bathroom. In those days, one bathroom sufficed. I charged a nickle for the use of our bathroom.  Sometimes I sold the figs off of my Monarch bike.  I made a handlebar rack and slid figs inside. There is nothing like a newly ripened fig. My Mom made jam with the extras. 
   On Holt Avenue off of Airdrome, we also had an apricot and peach tree but they never produced babies. No matter what we did to the fig tree, it always smiled at us. Our street had lots of backyard trees. They served us swell after the 30's depression and World War 2. 
   Supermarkets did not exist in the forties. Instead, Berman's truck brought other types of fruit into our kitchen. We had the fish man, Helm's Bakery truck, and of course Adore Farms for our milk, butter and cheese. 
   But the Good Humor Ice Cream Truck was a fitting way to end my day. I can still hear jingle bells while it turned the corner to our street. The truck driver knew I wished a chocolate chip ice cream cup. And did I take my time sucking the cream. Of course I had virgin taste buds and all of my teeth then. 
    But I dare say the August Fig kept me happy and still alive even today.