The Fig Party

July 8th

I'm sitting in our back garden, soaking up the sunshine. It's very warm today, much more like mid-summer than mid-winter. The only indication of the season is the bare fig tree, its dormancy stark in contrast to the lush green foliage of the nearby trees, ivy, and bamboo.

Our seasonally bountiful fig tree and the rainbow lorikeets that frequent its branches were a major drawing feature when I first came to look at 43 Barkly. In the weeks after moving in, Pitisi and I would brainstorm uses for the seemingly endless crop: stewed figs, fig jams, figs in everything. Figs on the window sill, on the table, everywhere. Tisi even took a huge sack-worth to the produce swap at CERES enviro park, returning with peppers, eggplant, and zucchini.

It was one of Tisi's friends who planted the seed: We should host a fig party.

***

Saturday, April 25th

The day of The Fig Party arrives and the kitchen is a hive of activity: fig pastries, fig brownies, potato salad, mulled wine from scratch, baked figs wrapped in prosciutto and stuffed with goat cheese -- a most decadent delicacy.

I head out back to see if I can help Tisi tidy and set up. But she's not there. I go back inside and ask. No, she should be out there as no one has seen her come in. I look again; the garden is not large and offers little in the way of hiding places.
"Tisi?"
"Yeah?"
There she is, in the upper most branches of the tree, selecting the finest examples of our crop. She swings herself down onto the 7ft high wall, and arms ladden with fruit, carefully balances her way across. I can't help but have images of Anne of Green Gables walking across the roof and think that, should this venture end similarly with a tumble, there won't be much of a party after.

But Tisi is confident and all smiles, looking ever so slightly like a dark-haired Shirley Temple: curly-mopped, freckled and dimpled, with a distinct mischievous glint in her eye. (Is it any wonder I derive great pleasure teaching her to tap dance in the kitchen? If only I could get her to sing On The Good Ship Lollipop...)

She clambers down onto the milk crate precariously balanced on a step ladder without hesitation.

***

The party is a great success: an afternoon replete with delectable conversation and delicious food. My friend Maya is completely glowing, floating on a cloud of bliss: the object of her affection is arriving in Melbourne in a few days. Her joy is infectious.

It starts to drizzle just as there's talk of moving indoors. The majority of our guests live south of the Yarra, which presents itself as a mental barrier to some. But as one of Tisi's friends so aptly puts:

"I don't often cross the river, but I love it when I do."

43 Barkly proved itself worthy of river-crossing.
May it be the first of many.