Memories of a Mango Tree

As summer approached, so did the loud thumps of mangos falling daily in my backyard. People said the area was a mango farm; my whole neighborhood bursted with them. I was the proud friend of a tall, thick mango tree that guarded my home like only a titan could. Every year it gave amazing plump and juicy mangos, so sweet they made my belt expand by a notch during the summer months. During season so many dropped it was hard to even attempt to freeze them all, although my mother and I tried, cutting and storing them one by one, scrubbing our nails to get the staining orange dye out. When my mom would visit during  mango season, she would run out early mornings to get them faster than the wild raccoons and squirrels. One time a huge mango fell right on top of her head, almost giving her a concussion, but it didn’t matter to her. Next time she was on a mission, sporting a construction hard hat. If you know us, you know nothing came between us and our mangos.

I can tell you stories about and around the tree. Like when I came from work one day to find all my mangos gone. The tree was full of them in the morning, ready to drop them one after another. It was about the time they would change color from green to orange, which practically threw me into daily anxiety, drooling to see them ripe once and for all. Mango thieves were a Miami thing, and I learned the hard way. How painful to see the fruit pulled from the branches before their time, but the tree had the last word and hid a few for us to enjoy. Yet another troublemaking thief that took them from us was hurricane Irma. Sadly she took away part of the tree, too, sending it into shock, thus leaving us without mangos for the following season.

If that tree could have talked, it would have told you about my daughter building a treehouse with her dad, or when its shade blessed the union of my sister and brother in law during their garden wedding. It stood tall with Brickell and Downtown Miami as a backdrop, with its many modern towers and glass windows standing in contrast to the tree’s connection to nature and our past. That tree witnessed the landscape of the city constantly expanding as its own branches reached high, aiming for the clouds. How many stories it might have watched unfold. The swishing of its leaves when I asked for sweet gossip was more like a hush sound, if you ask me. The only way I could  share its secrets was by sharing its bounty. Each season I would post, “The mango lady is back!” People sent me texts, Facebook posts, calls for a bag or two. I didn’t mind—in fact I loved it! Sharing its deliciousness became a treat as sweet as the fruit itself.

In my backyard, only this tree provided shade on a hot and humid Miami day. I often sat under it while I meditated, smelling its flavor and daydreaming of the pigments of green, bright orange and red that dressed the fruit it bestowed upon us.