This is a photo of a fig.


I picked this fig from a tree I planted when I was 5. The tree was planted by the back wall of my grandfathers backyard. We went to his old house today, and saw the fig tree flourishing behind our beloved apricot tree, where trace remains of our tree house can still be seen. His house is demolish now as a new house is being built in it's place. But the backyard is still fairly intact.

It's funny how the city as a whole I don't remember, but certain places and things I recall vividly. His house, and yard, are some of the things I recall vividly.

On that apricot tree, me and my cousin once made an elevator for our tree house. The elevator consisted of a wicker chair that had been thrown out, and some rope. As any good scientist will tell you, it is never a good idea to test an experiment on yourself, so we enlisted my little sister to test out the elevator. What we learnt from that experiment is that an old broken wicker chair is not strong enough to support anyone, not even a small child. The elevator broke while we hoisted here up, and we ended up dropping my sister from the tree house. Needless to say my mom killed us when that taddle-tail ran crying to her.