Pruning the fig

You may remember that I pruned the branches of the fig for the first time ever (at least since it had been an infuriatingly unnamed cutting in some nursery on Long Island) about ten days ago. Of course, where the new shoots will pop out is anyone's guess and I am alarmed at the thought that its carefully cultivated shape will go to hell.

Yesterday, after Vince lifted the pot down for me, I attacked the roots. It took longer than in previous years, with me sawing down onto the root mass, along all the edges and then pulling on the fig to coax it out of the pot, and then sawing some more, and then pulling. At one point I was balanced on one leg, the other foot pressed against the pot on the table, one arm pulling, the other hand sawing. Quite a picture. Especially since I was wearing a new Quebecois hat with furry ear flaps.

At last I was able to free the newly shorn root mass, and then, once it was on the stone table, free of its pot, I sawed some more, cutting some rather large roots from the edges, and loosening as many as possible. I removed about one third of the total root ball.

Then back it went, with some Espoma Organic Potting Mix (in February, it is harder than usual to find potting soil in the hood). I watered it in thoroughly, although the freezing deluge we enjoyed last night would have done it for me.

When the weather warms, I will start to feed it. Hopefully it will look like this, again, soon.