When Pigs Fly

Once upon a time, around The Flying Fig barn, there were a few cows and and a few horses and pigs. Lots and lots of pigs. Landrace pigs, to be exact. Sows and boars and adorable piglets.  They rooted and snorted and wallowed, but never flew.

Today, the only remnants of the pig houses are old cement troughs.  We drilled some holes in the cement bottoms, poured in some rich soil, and voila, The Flying Fig has flower vessels. 

If a year ago, you had asked anyone (including me) if anything like The Flying Fig was probable, the answer would have been when pigs fly.  And with flowers and rosemary growing in the old pig troughs, the improbable seems more possible.  Maybe, just maybe, pigs can fly.  And maybe, just maybe, figs can fly too.