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My mother used to tell us, with the air of presenting a great treat, "Run outside and pick some figs for your breakfast!  They're still warm from the sun!"  And then she could sit back and drink her coffee while the four or five of us scrambled all over the fig trees in the side yard, slurping those figs and dropping the skins on the ground; and no dishes or egg pans to wash  up,  no damp Cheerios to strain into the sink and dump limply into the garbage.

I can never pass by a fig even now without getting excited and bringing home a basketful.

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