How Long Does A Fig Fruit Take To Grow

There is nothing—and I mean nothing—that compares to the feeling of standing in my orchard here in San Diego, the late afternoon sun baking the dust on my boots, and pulling a ripe, jammy fig right off the branch. The skin splits slightly under the pressure of my thumb, revealing that pink, gelatinous interior that tastes like honey and berry wine. But before you get to that moment of pure bliss, you have to pay your dues to the god of patience.

Alexander Mitchell

In the world of farming exotic fruits, the number one question I get from visitors or folks picking up a box of produce is always the same: "How long did this take?"

It’s a loaded question. Are we talking about how long it takes from planting a stick in the ground? Or how long from the moment the tiny fruit bud appears until it’s dripping with sweetness? As a farmer who spends more time with Ficus carica (that’s the scientific name for the common fig) than I do with most people, I’m here to break it down for you. Grab a glass of iced tea; we’re going to get into the weeds—or rather, the trees.

From Stick to Statuesque: The Life Cycle

First off, let’s clear up a misconception. In the commercial and serious hobbyist world, we almost never grow figs from seed. If you plant a seed from a dried fig you bought at the store, you are rolling the genetic dice. You might get a male tree (a Caprifig) that produces inedible fruit, or a hybrid that tastes like wet cardboard.

Instead, we use propagation. We take a cutting—a stick, basically—from a mother tree that we know is a winner. So, how long does a fig fruit take to grow if you start today with a cutting? Surprisingly fast, yet agonizingly slow.

If I stick a cutting of a ‘Black Mission’ or a ‘Panaché’ (we call them Tiger Figs locally because of their stripes) into some well-draining soil in late winter, it will root within a month. In our mild San Diego climate, where the frost rarely bites, that little stick can grow three to six feet in a single season.

Here is the kicker: you might actually see tiny fruit develop in that very first year. But—and this is a big farming “but”—I usually pinch them off. Why? Because I want the tree to put its energy into roots, not fruit. You want a marathon runner, not a sprinter who collapses after one lap.

Realistically? You are looking at 3 to 4 years before you get a harvest substantial enough to make a jar of jam. By year five, you’re in business. It’s an investment. You plant a fig tree today not for tomorrow’s snack, but for the decades of summers to come.

The Seasonal Sprint: From Bud to Belly

Now, let’s zoom in. You have a mature tree. It’s spring. You see the leaves—those iconic, lobed, hand-shaped palms—starting to unfurl. How long does the actual fruit take to ripen?

This is where it gets fascinating. The fig is technically not a fruit in the botanical sense; it’s a syconium. It’s an inverted flower. All the flowers are blooming inside that skin. Crazy, right?

In San Diego, we are blessed with a climate that allows for two distinct crops, and the timing for each is different.

1. The Breba Crop:
This is the first crop of the year. It grows on the previous year’s wood (the old growth). These buds have been sleeping on the branch all winter.

• Wake up: Late February/Early March.

• Harvest: June/July.

• Duration: About 90–100 days.

2. The Main Crop:
This grows on the new green growth that shoots up in spring. This is usually the sweeter, more abundant harvest.

• Wake up: Late Spring.

• Harvest: August through October (sometimes November here in Zone 10).

• Duration: roughly 75–90 days, depending on the heat.

The growth of a single fig fruit usually follows a sigmoid growth curve. I like to think of it as a three-act play.

1. Act One (Rapid Growth): The fruitlet appears in the leaf axil. For about 4-6 weeks, it swells up and looks like a hard green marble. It’s full of latex and potential.

2. Act Two (The Stasis): This is the part that drives new growers insane. The fruit just sits there. It doesn’t get bigger. It doesn’t change color. It stays hard green for weeks. Nothing is happening on the outside, but inside, the flowers are developing.

3. Act Three ( The Swell): Suddenly, in the last 2-3 weeks, the magic happens. The fruit doubles in size, the neck softens, and the color shifts to purple, brown, or yellow depending on the variety.

It’s All About The Heat (And The Variety)

You cannot talk about ripening time without talking about heat. Figs are heat sponges. In my orchard, the trees on the south-facing slope ripen about a week faster than the ones in the partial shade of the windbreak. If we have a foggy “May Grey” or “June Gloom”—common here on the coast—everything slows down.

However, the specific variety you are growing dictates the timeline more than anything else. Locally, we often use the Spanish term Higo for the smaller common figs and Breva for that early crop, but the variety names span the globe.

I’ve put together a table based on my experience with the varieties I have in the ground right now to give you a realistic look at the timeline differences.

The Polination Variable

You might be wondering, “Don’t you need a wasp for that?”

It is a common cocktail party factoid that every fig contains a dead wasp. In San Diego, and for 99% of the figs grown in US home gardens, that is a myth. We grow “Common Type” figs. They are parthenocarpic. That’s a fancy way of saying they don’t need pollination to set fruit. The fruit swells and ripens without a seed ever being fertilized.

However, there is a type called the “Smyrna” fig (like the Calimyrna you buy dried). Those do require the Blastophaga psenes wasp to crawl inside the tiny eye (ostiole) of the fig to pollinate it. If they don’t get pollinated, the fruit drops off the tree while it’s still green. That process adds time and complexity, but for most of us regular farmers, we stick to the self-fertile types to avoid the headache.

How To Know It’s Time (The Harvest)

So, you’ve waited three years for the tree to grow. You’ve waited 90 days for the main crop to ripen. How do you know when to pull the trigger?

Unlike a banana or an avocado, figs do not ripen after they are picked. Once you sever that stem, the sugar production stops dead. If you pick it under-ripe, it will soften eventually, but it will taste like a bland cucumber. You have to wait for the tree to finish the job.

Here is my checklist for the perfect harvest:

• The Neck Droop: This is the tell-tale sign. The fruit should hang heavy on its stem, drooping down as if it’s too heavy for the tree to hold.

• The Texture: Give it a gentle squeeze. It should feel like a half-filled water balloon or soft flesh. If it’s firm, walk away.

• The Skin: Depending on the variety, the skin might start to crack or “check.” This is a good thing. It means the sugar content is bursting.

• The Ant Indicator: If the ants have found it, it’s definitely sweet enough. (Just brush them off; they have good taste).

A Labor of Love

Growing Anjeer (as my neighbor from India calls them) or Higos is not for the impatient. It is a lesson in delayed gratification. When I walk through my rows in late August, the air thick with the smell of dust and sweet fermentation, and I see those dark purple jewels hanging heavy against the broad green leaves, I know the wait was worth it.

So, how long does a fig take to grow? It takes a season of sun, a few years of care, and just enough patience to let the neck droop. But when you bite into that warm, sun-ripened fruit, you realize that time is just an ingredient, and this one tastes delicious.

Summary of the Fig Growth Timeline:

1. Differentiation: The tiny bud forms on the new green wood.

2. Rapid Expansion: The fruitlet grows to decent size but remains hard and green.

3. The Stall: Growth stops for weeks; internal flower development occurs.

4. Ripening: Rapid swelling, color change, and sugar accumulation (the final 2 weeks).

Farming these ancient fruits keeps me humble. You can’t rush nature, and you certainly can’t argue with a fig tree. You just have to wait for it to be ready to feed you. And believe me, it will.