THE KADOTA FIG 45

The Fig Tree

BY
J. C. FORKNER

I am the Fig Tree I must have no rams fall upon me

I was born in the Garden of Eden From June 'till October
I furnished both food and clothing The air durmg the same season
For Adam and Eve Must be almost bone dry
For Six rhousand years The soil must be to my liking

I have been a comfort and a solace Plenty of lime and potash

To man The drainage must be perfect
During all these thousands of years For one hundred days the sun must
While man was evolving shine

I clung close to the shores of the Med- From a clear sky

iterranean And reach near one hundred degrees

My birthplace Of heat each day
Man found many lands Before I give perfect fruit

Many climes where he could prosper Now you can see why for six thousand
I found none years
'Till about 1 50 years ago I clung to the shores of the Mediter-
Junipero Serra, the Franciscan Father ranean
Planted me in California Few places on the Globe suit my fancy
When my roots went down into that One day near seventy-five years ago
blessed earth A roving Argonaut planted me
I then realized a new home In the red soil

And new destiny

a On the western slope of the Sierras

Was for me Near where Fresno

I sojourned many years The Garden of the Sun
In the Golden State Was destined to be

In the Southland, along the coast That day I knew

And around the bay I had found the spot

Giving the best I could Where I could do my best

Where Sun and Soil and Moisture It has taken all these years

But partly met my needs For Califormans to see

I knew How perfectly I work

Somewhere m the State When my requirements are met

Of a Thousand Valleys I am now producing fifteen million

I would find a place pounds each year

Where I could do my best In my new home
For you must know There are one hundred million people

I am particular In the dear old U. S. A.

The winters must not be cold They can eat my present yearly supply