The fig tree captivates me. One day, I discovered a new fig tree sprouting between the thorny spikes of a cactus that had inhabited the same pot for over two decades.

Recently, the cactus had bloomed, showcasing its large, swollen flowers that opened dramatically under the night sky for just a fleeting moment. The petals are a creamy white, enveloping a rich yellow center where the stamen rests.

An alluring fragrance attracts various night beetles and moths into its depths. By dawn, the pink flower buds droop, having exhausted their beauty.

In contrast to my flamboyant cactus, the fig tree exhibits a humble demeanor, demonstrating restraint in its reproductive process.

The unique vase-shaped ‘fruit’ resembles blackberries.

Indeed, it is fascinating. The fig's ‘fruit’ is a syconium, which is essentially the enlarged, hollow tip of the flower stem, densely packed with tiny flowers inside. These flowers never bloom outward, but once fertilized, they develop into tiny drupelets that collectively form the compound fruit we recognize today, much like blackberries and raspberries.

So, who will pollinate these introverted flowers that remain hidden from the world? Enter the tiny fig wasp.

There are two categories of fig trees, each with four varieties of flowers.

• 'Caprifigs' feature male flowers that generate pollen and female flowers ideal for the wasp to deposit her eggs.
  • 'Edible figs' (like the ‘Smyrna’ variety) rely on the wasp for pollination as they lack male flowers but possess two kinds of female flowers:
    • Short-stemmed flowers suited for egg-laying.
    • Long-stemmed flowers designed to reject her eggs.

As the wasp navigates the fruit, the long-stemmed flowers receive pollen, enabling them to produce seeds for the fig.

Alternatively, the fig tree in your garden may be an 'edible fig,' which features only 'mule' flowers that do not require pollination to yield delicious fruit, and which the wasp cannot access.

All 'edible figs' share visual and olfactory traits with 'caprifigs,' a crucial detail for the tiny female fig wasp.

Female flowers are referred to as ‘pistils,’ while the male flowers are the ‘stamens.’ In most flora, both stamen and pistil are found within the same flower, but in figs, they are distinct.

In the hibiscus flower, the stamen sits centrally, topped with pollen, while the pistil resides at the flower's base.

Male and female wasps emerge from the fig where their eggs were laid.

Inside a ‘caprifig,’ the female wasp lays her eggs in the female flowers (pistils), where they develop into larvae within a small structure called a ‘gall.’

The larvae consume some of the gall’s flesh post-hatching and soon mature into adult wasps. Typically, males hatch first and fertilize the females before they can emerge.

Blind and wingless, the male wasp usually doesn't escape the ‘caprifig’ except by creating tunnels for the female to exit later. If he does venture out, he soon perishes.

After mating, the new female wasp leaves her gall and prepares to lay eggs elsewhere, collecting pollen as she traverses the fig through the male's tunnels.

The stamens are laden with pollen, and during spring, a fig orchard is filled with the emergence of countless tiny wasps beginning a new life cycle. A fig wasp measures only 2mm, small enough to fit through a needle's eye.

While nearly 1,000 varieties of fig wasps exist, each specializes in pollinating only one or two types of fig trees.

Seeking another ‘caprifig,’ she is attracted by the chemical signals from a fig ready for pollination, whether it be a ‘caprifig’ or an ‘edible fig.’

With about 900 fig wasp species and countless varieties of ficus, each fig wasp only pollinates a limited number of fig species.

Upon selecting a new fig, she squeezes through the ostiole, a minuscule opening at the fig's top, in a perilous journey. The narrow passage results in the loss of her wings and antennae, sealing her fate. As she enters, she deposits pollen from her birth ‘caprifig,’ cross-pollinating the fig. She attempts to lay eggs in multiple flowers but cannot do so in an ‘edible fig.’

Every fertilized flower that doesn’t receive an egg transforms into a seed as the fig matures. After laying her eggs, exhausted and trapped, she ultimately dies, and the fig generates an enzyme to digest her remains.

The ‘caprifig’ is essential.

If she locates a ‘caprifig’ (which contains only male flowers), she may lay numerous eggs in each fruit, resulting in few seeds, making the nearly seedless ‘caprifig’ fruit unappealing, except perhaps to goats.

The term ‘caprifig’ translates to ‘goat fig.’ In the 1880s, the crucial role of these tiny wasps in the reproduction cycle of premium figs wasn’t acknowledged. It took nearly two decades in California for fig growers to adopt the European method of hanging old ‘caprifigs’ near their ‘Smyrna’ fig trees to ensure fruit production.

The third harvest of the ‘caprifig’ is known as the ‘mamme’ crop, where tiny wasps survive the winter. As spring nears, the wintering larvae restart the life cycle, with female wasps emerging to ensure figs for the summer.

So, where did my new fig tree originate?

Fig trees can sprout from a leaf, a cutting, or even a fig itself. Perhaps a bird perched above dropped a seed from its fig feast into the pot where my tree is growing!

They often emerge along roadsides where careless gardeners discard prunings, serving as reminders of homes and lives long past, flourishing where they once marked a back door or garden arbour. They entice us with their luscious, deep purple fruits that peel away to reveal juicy red flesh.

Fig trees can thrive for centuries and are remarkably resilient. The oldest known living fig tree in the “New World” was planted around 1538 at the Governor’s Palace in Lima, Peru.

In the Ludlow Forest of Western Australia, a fig tree has expanded to cover approximately fifty square meters.

This tree functions as a small ecosystem, home to exquisite golden orb spiders and other fascinating species that blend into its foliage. Various birds, insects, and small animals thrive in its shade, enjoying its bounty. Tourists often visit to relish its harvest.

Along the Old Coast Road to Bunbury, ancient fig trees, over a century old, bend under the weight of their fruits, year after year, while remnants of the Coach House long abandoned lie in ruins. We often stopped to climb their gnarled branches in search of their sweet rewards.

Simply plant a large branch from an old fig tree, water it, and it will yield fruit in just a couple of years. Figs truly represent the essence of summer. Unlike peaches and apricots, whose intense aromas mask their brief season, figs possess substance and longevity. On a hot summer day, just give me a couple of glasses of champagne and a bowl of ripe, chilled figs, and I will be thoroughly content.

Are fig trees vegan? That’s a question for you to ponder.