Olympian Fig

There’s something almost mythological about working with figs in Southern California. When I first planted my Olympian fig trees—what botanists call Ficus carica ‘Olympian’—I didn’t realize I was stepping into a relationship that would transform my understanding of what “exotic” really means. Sure, this variety might seem tame compared to dragon fruit or cherimoya, but let me tell you, there’s nothing ordinary about a perfectly ripe Olympian dropping into your palm on a warm San Diego morning.

Some folks call this beauty the Greek Fig or simply refer to it by its cultivar name, ‘Olympian’. In Mediterranean communities, you might hear it called by various regional names, though here in California, most growers stick with Olympian. It’s part of the broader common fig family, which doesn’t require pollination—a characteristic that makes it perfect for home orchards and commercial operations alike.

Why the Olympian Fig Deserves Your Attention

Let me paint you a picture. It’s late August, and my Olympian trees are absolutely loaded. The fruits hang like purple-brown teardrops, their skin dusted with that characteristic bloom that tells you they’re approaching perfection. Unlike some finicky exotic fruits I’ve worked with—I’m looking at you, rambutan—the Olympian fig seems almost eager to succeed in our Mediterranean climate.

Alexander Mitchell

What makes this cultivar special? The Olympian produces exceptionally large fruits, sometimes reaching the size of a tennis ball. We're talking about figs that weigh 80-100 grams when fully developed, which is substantial compared to many other varieties. The flesh inside is strawberry-red to amber, incredibly sweet with a honey-like complexity that makes you understand why ancient civilizations revered these trees.

Here’s what really sold me on Olympians: they’re remarkably consistent producers. In my operation, I’ve tracked yields over multiple seasons, and these trees deliver where others might sulk. Even during our occasional cool springs—yes, we get those in San Diego—the Olympians push through and set fruit reliably.

The Perfect Match: San Diego’s Climate and Olympian Figs

Have you ever wondered why certain plants just work in specific locations? The Olympian fig and San Diego County are like old friends who finish each other’s sentences. Our USDA hardiness zones (primarily 9b to 10b along the coast) mirror the Mediterranean regions where Ficus carica evolved over millennia.

Let me break down the climate sweet spots:

What this table doesn’t show is the feel of growing these trees here. Our dry summers? They concentrate the sugars in the fruit, creating an intensity you won’t find in wetter climates. That coastal fog we get in June? It provides just enough moisture to keep the trees happy during fruit development without encouraging the fungal issues that plague figs in humid regions.

I’ve learned that inland valleys—think Ramona or Valley Center—produce slightly different fruit than my coastal trees in Encinitas. The inland figs develop thicker skins and denser flesh, while the coastal ones stay softer and more delicate. Both are delicious; they’re just playing different notes in the same symphony.

My Journey: From Skeptic to True Believer

When I transitioned from conventional citrus farming to exotic fruits, I’ll admit the Olympian fig wasn’t my first choice. It seemed too… accessible? I was chasing the unusual, the tropical, the fruits that would make people say “wow.” But a mentor of mine—a third-generation farmer with gnarled hands and sharp eyes—told me something I’ll never forget: “The best exotic fruit is the one that grows effortlessly and sells itself.”

Here’s what I discovered during my first season with Olympians:

• The trees established faster than any other fruit I’d planted, showing vigorous growth within the first six months
• Pest pressure was minimal—a huge relief compared to the constant vigilance required for some tropical species
• Water requirements were surprisingly modest once established (roughly 30-40% less than my citrus)
• The local farmers’ market customers went absolutely wild for them, even though “everyone knows what a fig is”
• Restaurant chefs started calling me directly after tasting the fruit’s quality

That last point changed my business model entirely. I now have standing orders from five high-end restaurants in the San Diego area, and I can barely keep up with demand during peak season.

Cultivation Practices That Actually Work

Let’s talk dirt—literally. The Olympian fig is forgiving, but it’s not indifferent to soil conditions. In my operation, I’ve found that slightly alkaline soils (pH 6.5-7.5) produce the best results. San Diego’s native soils often run alkaline anyway, so we’re already ahead of the game.

My recommended planting protocol includes these critical steps:

1. Site selection with full sun exposure (minimum 6 hours, but 8-10 is optimal)
2. Soil testing to verify drainage—figs despise wet feet more than almost any fruit tree
3. Excavation of a generous planting hole (3x the root ball width, same depth)
4. Amendment with compost only if native soil is particularly poor
5. Planting at the same depth the tree grew in its container
6. Creation of a watering basin extending to the drip line
7. Initial deep watering followed by a protective mulch layer (3-4 inches of wood chips)

The beauty of Olympian figs is their self-sufficiency once established. During the first year, I irrigate weekly during our dry season. By year two, I’m down to every 10-14 days. By year three, these trees can handle our natural rainfall with just occasional summer supplementation—though I maintain consistent irrigation for maximum fruit quality.

Pruning is where many growers overthink things. Figs don’t need the complex scaffold training required for apples or the precise heading cuts of stone fruits. I follow a simple philosophy: remove dead wood, thin congested areas, and maintain a manageable height for harvest (I keep mine under 12 feet). That’s it. The trees do the rest.

The Economics: Does It Make Sense?

I’m a farmer, which means I think about profit margins while I’m pruning and cash flow while I’m harvesting. Let’s be honest about the numbers because they’re surprisingly compelling.

Compare that to the space requirements and you start seeing why I’ve expanded my Olympian plantings three times. A mature tree needs roughly 150-200 square feet. That means potentially earning $1-3 per square foot annually from an established orchard—not bad for a fruit that requires relatively little intervention.

But here’s the real secret: the Olympian fig produces two crops in our climate. The main crop ripens in late summer to early fall, but there’s often a smaller breba crop in early summer from last year’s wood. This extended harvest window keeps cash flowing and customers satisfied when other fruits are between seasons.

Challenges I’ve Faced (And How I’ve Overcome Them)

Would I be honest if I said growing Olympian figs was all sunshine and sweet fruit? Of course not. Every crop has its quirks, and figs certainly have theirs.

Bird pressure is real. Those mockingbirds and scrub jays? They have impeccable timing, arriving precisely when the figs reach perfect ripeness—about six hours before I planned to harvest. My solution involves a combination of netting, reflective tape, and strategic harvest timing. I’ve learned to pick slightly underripe for market (they’ll finish ripening off the tree) and to harvest twice daily during peak season.

The fig beetle (Cotinis mutabilis) can be problematic some years, especially in areas near untended fruit trees. These chunky green beetles bore into ripening fruit, creating unmarketable damage. I’ve had success with physical barriers (organza bags over individual fruits for my premium restaurant clients) and maintaining aggressive sanitation—removing any damaged fruit immediately.

Root-knot nematodes occasionally appear in certain field sections, particularly in replanted areas. When I see the characteristic galling on roots during renovation, I’ve learned to either solarize that soil section or choose nematode-resistant rootstock for new plantings. Prevention beats treatment every time.

The Payoff: Harvest and Market Response

There’s a moment every fig grower knows—when you apply gentle pressure to a fruit’s base and it releases into your hand with barely any resistance. That’s readiness. The Olympian fig at perfect maturity is slightly soft, with the skin just beginning to split near the stem. The aroma is intoxicating: honey, strawberry, and something almost wine-like.

I market my Olympians in several ways, and diversification has been crucial to my success:

• Direct restaurant sales: These yield the highest margins and the most consistent demand
• Farmers markets: Great for customer interaction and premium retail pricing
• U-pick operations: Lower labor costs and families love the experience
• Value-added products: I partner with a local jam maker who creates an incredible Olympian fig preserve that sells year-round

Is there anything more satisfying than watching a chef taste your fruit and immediately ask about weekly availability? Or seeing a customer at the farmers market bite into their first Olympian fig and their eyes go wide? These moments remind me why I shifted away from conventional farming toward something more personal, more direct.

The Olympian fig—this Ficus carica cultivar that traces its lineage back to ancient Greece—has found a perfect home here in Southern California. It thrives in our climate, tolerates our soil, and produces fruit that needs no explanation or education to sell. In a world of increasingly complex agricultural challenges, sometimes the best answer is the one that’s been working for thousands of years, just waiting for us to rediscover it.

After all, isn’t that what good farming really is? Not fighting nature, but finding the sweet spot where what you want to grow actually wants to be grown?