Fig Chronicles: Frank Miceli

My father Carmelo, an immigrant from Sicily, was by heritage, love and experience a farmer, although for hard reasons he was never able to finance his own farm and made his living as a low paid wage slave. But in his own yard and in plots he rented around town he would grow the most wonderful fruits and vegetables, cause a grape vine to flourish for the wine he made each year, and bring tomatoes to our table that have never been rivalled for taste.

One year he decided to grow a fig tree. Keep in mind that our town, Oswego, NY is a town of extremely harsh winters, bearing the brunt of the wind whistling off Lake Ontario, dropping tons of snow--one year we made LIFE magazine with 118 inches of snow in one week.

Where he got the cutting to begin his fig tree adventure I don't know. Perhaps a friend brought it from Italy. But over the years I lived in Oswego that tree thrived, grew tall and produced delicious fruit. The most remarkable thing was that each year, as Winter approached, he'd dig what amounted to a grave lengthwise in front of the tree, cut some of the roots, get a friend to help him and wrestle that tree into the ground, covering it completely with insulating dirt. Next year, once Spring was well along, he'd raise that tree as if from the grave and once again it would bless our table with delicious fruit.

Carmelo Miceli in 1913 prior to immigrating to the United States