I finally found the leaf, curled but not crumbled, at the bottom of a bag. It survived the trip from South Carolina through three states before returning to Massachusetts. It came from a tree in my uncle’s yard originally planted by his wife. One day at the kitchen table she mentioned making a cup of fig tea. I’d never heard of such a thing.
She pointed to the tree outside, wide canopied with dark flat leaves, and said it was too bad we hadn’t been visiting when the branches had been weighted down with fruit and the birds were all about. She sometimes made a jam, she said, but this year she just pulled off some leaves to dry and make tea. As I snapped off my leaf, I promised to photograph it as it dried and then its final journey into tea. She laughed.
I think this leaf has a bit more drying to do and until then makes a fun photographic subject.
