Springtime weather in the South has always been volatile. Tornadoes, rainstorms, and “Easter snaps” seem to plague the season before things finally settle into the familiar heat of early summer.
One of those Easter snaps—a sudden freeze arriving right before Easter, despite days of warm weather—came and went recently, right on schedule. One casualty of that sharp turn was my very old, very resilient fig tree.
The fig tree doesn’t produce many figs anymore. It has, as my granny used to say, “bloomed out.” But the few it does offer appear in early summer, and more often than not, the birds get to them before I do.
This latest freeze seemed to claim it. The tender buds withered and died, and for a while, it looked as though the season had passed it by.
But this fig tree has seen weather before. It has endured drought, cold snaps, and more than one soaking tropical storm. Still, year after year, it leafs out, produces a handful of figs, and slips quietly into dormancy again in the fall. Sure, I could fertilize it—perhaps coax two handfuls of figs instead of one—but I’ve always let nature take its course.
This morning, I discovered something hopeful: the frozen, withered fig tree had pushed out new leaves.
That small sight encouraged me.
Even damaged, even weathered, it still grows.
I think we are often like that. Life can throw a great deal at us. Circumstances can wound and overwhelm. And yet, we continue on—with the capacity not only to survive, but to thrive.
Like John Lennon once said, “Where there is life, there is hope.”
I look at those spring-green leaves and remind myself to believe it.