Matt Stone will never look at a ripe fig in quite the same way
Warning: This article contains references to things which may affect future culinary choices.
By Matt Stone
WHEN recently “donating blood” at Dracula’s office we were chatting with the technician on significant geopolitical resolutions, which somehow moved onto the fruit season in our respective gardens. We spoke of apples, nashi pears, plums and what a good season it was, but shared disappointment in this year’s tomato crops.
In the conversation I said we could not prune the many low-hanging branches on our lovely old fig tree as they were absolutely laden with fruit. This elicited “Ah, the fig wasp!” from the technician. Liane and I looked at each other and agreed we had never heard of it. Our technician wasn’t able to give much detail, so suggested we google it - enough said, and I duly did.
WHEN recently “donating blood” at Dracula’s office we were chatting with the technician on significant geopolitical resolutions, which somehow moved onto the fruit season in our respective gardens. We spoke of apples, nashi pears, plums and what a good season it was, but shared disappointment in this year’s tomato crops.
In the conversation I said we could not prune the many low-hanging branches on our lovely old fig tree as they were absolutely laden with fruit. This elicited “Ah, the fig wasp!” from the technician. Liane and I looked at each other and agreed we had never heard of it. Our technician wasn’t able to give much detail, so suggested we google it - enough said, and I duly did.
It appears the fig wasp is critical for the pollination of older style and native figs, but not so commercial varieties.
I don’t remember ever seeing flowers on our fig tree. Thinking how birds and bees pollinate other fruits and vegetables through their flowers (the old pistil and stamen routine). I just assumed the fruit was, you know, just … there. Immaculate conception or another one of Mother Nature’s marvellously magnificent machinations. However, further research revealed that figs do have flowers, but the wrongly named “fruit” are the flowers!
So, how are figs pollinated? It’s back to the fig wasp.
Being the size of a tiny mosquito, she is attracted by the scent of the fig, enters a very narrow natural hole in the base of the very immature fig, losing antennae and wings in transit. The wasp is already fertilised from its birth fig. She pollinates the flowers with pollen from the previous fig she visited and lays eggs into the now pollinated flowers (all those little things inside the fig known as galls).
I don’t remember ever seeing flowers on our fig tree. Thinking how birds and bees pollinate other fruits and vegetables through their flowers (the old pistil and stamen routine). I just assumed the fruit was, you know, just … there. Immaculate conception or another one of Mother Nature’s marvellously magnificent machinations. However, further research revealed that figs do have flowers, but the wrongly named “fruit” are the flowers!
So, how are figs pollinated? It’s back to the fig wasp.
Being the size of a tiny mosquito, she is attracted by the scent of the fig, enters a very narrow natural hole in the base of the very immature fig, losing antennae and wings in transit. The wasp is already fertilised from its birth fig. She pollinates the flowers with pollen from the previous fig she visited and lays eggs into the now pollinated flowers (all those little things inside the fig known as galls).
The eggs hatch into larvae that feed on the flowers. Male wasps hatch first, being blind and wingless. They mate with the female larvae and dig an exit tunnel for the female who departs to move onto the next fig, having grown new wings and antennae. The galls, which were pollinated, turn into seeds over time within the fruit.
The good news (not for Mr Fig Wasp) is that he dies inside the fig, and dissolves though a natural enzyme that then feed the figs. On some occasions, probably when she is absolutely knackered from all her egg laying, Mrs Fig Wasp dies and disappears in the same way.
At this point I have to ask, “will you ever look at, and/or eat, a raw fig again?”
Other than the complexity of this whole process, what amazes me is I would estimate our tree has hundreds and hundreds of figs, has two crops a year, and neither Liane nor I have ever seen a fig wasp!
What marvellously busy little fellows they are. I will certainly look at my next ripe figure in a different way.
The good news (not for Mr Fig Wasp) is that he dies inside the fig, and dissolves though a natural enzyme that then feed the figs. On some occasions, probably when she is absolutely knackered from all her egg laying, Mrs Fig Wasp dies and disappears in the same way.
At this point I have to ask, “will you ever look at, and/or eat, a raw fig again?”
Other than the complexity of this whole process, what amazes me is I would estimate our tree has hundreds and hundreds of figs, has two crops a year, and neither Liane nor I have ever seen a fig wasp!
What marvellously busy little fellows they are. I will certainly look at my next ripe figure in a different way.