There is a time for everything.
This is something that figs have taught me very well. My first experiences with growing figs were in a perfect situation– I was taking care of two mature fig trees that bore fruit twice a year in the most ideal climate. I was blissfully unaware of the knowledge, conditions, and preparation that my grandparents had put into making these trees fruitful.
My grandparents, originally from Sicily, had propagated trees from their homeland in their new home in Arizona. When I moved in with my nonna (grandma) Santa, she was recently widowed and was also in a very fragile state. At this point, she and my nonno (grandpa) had not been in their normal routine of gardening and outdoor work for several years. Before this, the garden was where they had spent all of their time.
The remains of this garden were only trees after my father had removed every plant in the ground to deter my very fragile nonna from wandering outside (and she surely would have). The trees alone were a lot of work, and I had the privilege of obtaining knowledge from my elders to know how to maintain these trees.
I moved a lot in my life. In fact, I moved 11 times from 2020 to 2025. This was a sort of self-inflicted consequence of my discomfort with wherever I was. In other words, I was never satisfied with myself from within and thought changing my environment was the solution. The grass was never greener on the other side. Although I must say being broke in Rome was not exactly the worst place to struggle when the best cappuccino in the world is still only 1 euro.
My most recent move to Richmond was the only one that truly felt right. Nearly half a year before I made this move, I had received a dream job offer in Washington, D.C. It felt like all of the failures had finally paid off. Even so, I knew that the moment I stepped foot in that city and walked through my company’s luxurious office building, this didn’t feel right either.
No sooner had I made the big move to D.C., myself and over 90% of my company were laid off.
I was strangely relieved at this news since I had felt so out of place in D.C. Once again, the grass was not greener on the other side. I started to truly question the timing of everything in my life. Then, two great blessings came into my life: a new job and meeting the love of my life.
Last year felt like a year of both my greatest blessings and worst losses. My fiancé and I experienced an unexpected loss that turned our whole world upside down. And yet, it made our relationship even stronger.
During this tumultuous time, we had visited my nonna Santa last summer and had taken two branches from the fig trees to propagate in our yard. It felt symbolic to plant one of these trees as a memorial, and today, this plant is flourishing with beautiful fig leaves. Then this past January, we visited and propagated two more fig trees. We started growing these inside with a grow light. We were completely amazed by how well the branches were growing inside. One even had fruit growing on it! No one, especially nonna Santa, could believe it.
I anxiously waited for mid-March to plant this beautiful fruiting branch with two green baby figs on it. It had been a brutal winter for Virginia this past year, and I knew that it was risky to believe that spring had begun after only one week of good weather. But I couldn’t wait because the figs on this small branch looked so beautiful! I was so proud of how well it was doing and had full confidence that this was going to be our best growing fig sapling.
One week later, we got hit with a snowstorm. I ran outside and scrambled to cover the two newly planted saplings. I was hopeful that after the snow melted, the fig fruits that were growing would survive and keep growing into perfect figs. Instead, the fruits darkened and shriveled up. I thought, no biggie, I can still save the sapling and help it develop roots. This time, it died.
In fact, the other sapling that I originally thought was going to die is now thriving with an abundance of leaves. It is pretty normal for baby fig trees to take several years before developing fruit. What I thought at first was a miracle ended in a loss. This was not the first time I had experienced this, and I was devastated.
What I learned is that roots don’t live in places, they live in people. They live in traditions and faith that can be carried across oceans and time. My nonna’s immense faith and love are the things she transplanted from Italy that actually survived.
My journey and faith have taught me that time is not in my control. Just like plants experience their environment without expectation, so do we. There is a season for everything. And while there will be a season of sadness and loss, there will be an equally abundant and joyous time.
There is a time for everything.