Not that our trees are any better tended than that first one of Bryan's. They were all planted on the only bit of sunny orchard left, hot, dry, barren and neglected. It's still hot, dry barren and neglected, but the figs fruit anyway. White figs, dark brown genoa figs. A fig is not just a fig

Figs fail when you don't give them what Bryan and I accidentally, fortuitously gave ours well-drained soil and as much sun as possible. Got a nice bare corner in the Colorbond fence? A concrete or brick wall? It will be perfect for figs, and figs will be reasonably perfect for them, as their roots are mostly well behaved and will not lift your footings nor invade your sewer pipes (unless they are already leaking, in which case you can't blame any tree for taking advantage).

Figs also dislike cold winds. Come to think of it, I have no idea how a fig feels or if they feel at all, but cold winds might frost-off young growth and hot winds shrivel them and wind of any kind breaks the brittle branches. Fruit in windy spots or windy years also tends to be tougher and less luscious. The one duty of a fig is to be luscious.

Figs fruit happily (or possibly emotionlessly) with no pruning but, if you do decide to pick up the secateurs, late winter is best, and wear gloves as the sap is irritating.

The best time to pick a fig though is a hotly argued topic. Some growers like them just before they are fully ripe, that is, highly coloured and soft, claiming that a fully ripe fig is too sweet. Others insist that a fig must be picked only when it is at its softest. They won't ripen any further once they've been picked, and will keep for at least two weeks in the fridge though, like most fruit, they soon lose their aroma once chilled. However, the sweetness is undiminished. But the best fig is a sun-warmed, just-picked one.

There are even those who like an overripe and seriously squishy fig, though they can taste a bit fermented, possibly because they are. But don't worry the birds will have eaten them before that, unless you net them (with fruit fly netting, not bird netting, which can trap birds, bats and even tiger snakes).

Even if you do net them, the birds may see the netting as another challenge to conquer. Do not underestimate the intelligence, ingenuity and persistence of a bird who knows there are nearly ripe figs around, or perfectly ripe figs, if you are a bird. They may hop under the netting and work their way upwards, or land on the netting and peck till they have made a hole, or find a chink in a fold and get in that way.

If you do net your fig tree, or any fruit tree, do check several times a day to make sure over-optimistic birds haven't got in and cant get out, or hurt themselves trying. Call Wildcare or similar if they have, and definitely call trained help if you catch unwary tiger snake. This is the only safe course for both you and the snake.

Snakes tend to be casualty of netting, whether it's advertised for birds or fruit bats. Fruit fly netting is softer, and far safer for wildlife. It has other advantages too: a bit (not much) of hail protection, a degree or even two of frost protection, and as the name suggests, protection from fruit fly too.

Which fig?

Black Genoa is deeply sweet, soft and lush when ripe, dark purple skin and purple-red flesh. Its softness makes it a superb jam-making fig. It's also high yielding, especially if you remember to feed and water the tree.

Brown Turkey is, well, browner, with paler, deep-pink flesh. It's also superbly hardy for both cold and heat, once established.

White, or White Adriatic has yellowish skin (have no idea why it's called white). It's flesh is deep red. The fruit is less visible to birds among the green foliage so you have a small advantage in the race to snare your share of the crop. Small, however, means just that. Birds adore small, not terribly sweet fruit, and for most of their existence, fig fruits fit the bill or beak perfectly.

Yellow, or Yellow Ischia is yellower than White Adriatic, superbly sweet and soft in hot summers but not as richly flavoured in cooler or wet years.

Smyrna fig is said to be the best flavoured of all figs. I've never grown it nor, to my knowledge have I ever eaten one. You need to grow a Capri fig as well though which has inedible fruit but produces male flowers to pollinate Smyrna's all-female blooms.

We also have Ficus coronata, the sandpaper fig, and F. rubiginosa, the Port Jackson fig growing here naturally by the rock pools in the creek. These native figs produce fruit that ranges from small and hard to smaller than a European fig but walnut-sized and sweet and good. If you've only had the insipid ones it's worth hunting out the better ones. They are more luscious in wet sunny years, stringy in drought.

But then again, that is the fate of any fig, unless it dwells with an organised and generous gardener, who gives them tucker, water, shelter and general nurture, and is repaid by basket after basketful of the most luscious figs. And even, possibly, all through winter, fig jam.

The vertical zucchini

These are grown by reader Peter Sharp: a wonderful way of getting more zucchinis in much less space. Peter also grows his pumpkins on a lattice. If they get too heavy he supports them with a panty-hose sling. Sadly no pics of that were supplied

This week I'm:

* not gardening nor even looking at gardens, thinking gardens nor planning gardens (am laureating instead);

* the Japanese anemones, with their perfect nickname wind flowers will be blooming and I will not be admiring them;

* the raspberries will be dropping from the bushes as Bryan can rarely be bothered to pick them;

* the caterpillars may possibly be munching the caulies as he doesn't do caterpillar-squish patrol either;

* I won't be planting the peas and broadbeans that really do need to be planted now to get a good root formation by winter;

* and if the possum eats the shoot of the Souvenir de la Malmaison that has finally reached above wallaby height while I am away, I will be cross. Ineffectually that old male possum has lived above the dining room for about 20 years and nothing I do will deter him now. But still cross.

A farewell to zucchinis

Dear Zucchinis

I will not miss you this winter. This year you have failed in the one great virtue of zucchinis: profusion. No steady amount of tiny fruit with yellow blossoms, just the odd monster lurking below the leaves. Blame it on the rainy days, the stubborn refusal of pollinating bees to take an interest in the gaudy chrome-yellow trumpets No, sorry, mates, the buck stops with you. You did not perform. And even when you did your fruit was rubbery instead of crisp. Nor was it the fault of the variety: we planted three, and none of you did much at all.

But no hard feelings, eh? We'll have another go at our relationship next year. (Hint: You grow, we eat.) We will even farewell you with a celebratory dinner, as the last of your leaves fade into compost.

SIMPLE ZUCCHINI SOUFFLE

6 medium zucchini, sliced

4 large eggs

200g freshly grated pecorino or parmesan cheese

1 tbsp chives, finely chopped

pinch nutmeg

Boil the zucchini till soft. Drain incredibly well, then mash. Mix with the cheese and egg yolks and nutmeg.

Now and only now beat the egg whites till soft peaks form. Do not be tempted to keep on beating, once they become sort of really firm they also become quite dry and almost impossible to combine with other ingredients without losing all the carefully trapped air within them. Fold gently into the zucchini mixture. Pour into a shallow flan dish or four small oven dishes or even coffee mugs, all well greased. Bake at 200C for about 20 minutes till firm and browned on top. The smaller ones should take less time than one large one, but thick coffee mugs will slow the cooking down too.

Eat at once, hot.

FRIED ZUCCHINI

10 zucchini, thinly sliced long ways

2 tbsp plain flour

6 tbsp olive oil

1 red capsicum, thinly sliced and deseeded

juice of 1 lemon

Heat the oil in a fry pan. Dry the zucchini slices and dip in flour. Fry when the oil is hot, turning as they brown. Add the capsicum when on the second turn. Serve hot and brown, with the lemon squeezed on just before you eat so they don't go soggy.