why do fiddle leaf figs get brown spots in north america?
Every time I see brown spots on my fiddle leaf fig, I’m transported back to my grandmother’s sunroom, where her plants thrived on instinct and care, not apps or gadgets. Today, though, it feels like we’re caught between old wisdom and new trends. Some of us still check soil with a finger, while others rely on moisture meters and fancy grow lights.
But no matter your style, brown spots are a universal headache. Here in North America, our fickle climate—from dry Canadian winters to humid Southern summers—makes it even trickier. My neighbor swears by daily misting, while my son insists on letting his plant dry out between waterings. Who’s right? Maybe both, maybe neither.
Overwatering is the classic culprit—something my mother warned me about, but I ignored, only to find mushy roots and that unmistakable sour smell. On the flip side, underwatering turns those broad leaves crispy, pulling away from the pot’s edge like they’re giving up. And then there’s the eternal battle: should we prioritize lush, green aesthetics, or follow strict community rules about what’s allowed on our balconies?
I’ve seen friends in Arizona struggle with low humidity, while folks in the Pacific Northwest fight off fungal spots after weeks of rain. And don’t get me started on sunlight—too much, and the leaves scorch; too little, and they droop, longing for the sun. It’s a balancing act, and sometimes, it feels like the plant is testing us, just as much as we’re testing it.
When brown spots appear, I reach for my old pruning shears—cleaned with rubbing alcohol, just like Dad taught me. I snip away the damage, but never more than half the plant. Sometimes, I wonder if these old rituals still matter in a world of instant solutions. But as I wipe dust from each leaf, I feel connected—to my family, to the seasons, and to a community of gardeners who all have their own way of doing things.
So, what’s the right answer? Maybe it’s not about perfection. Maybe it’s about learning from failure, sharing stories, and finding beauty in the struggle. After all, isn’t that what gardening—and life—are really about?
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