Tropical Tale No. 2 - Vol. 4
Mangoes - "Food of the Gods"

We have a large 40 ft. mango tree in the front of our garden.  This tree has done more for me in making new friends than all the dog walking I have done in the past years living in Lighthouse Point.

The origin of the mango tree is unknown, but most believe it is native to Southeast Asia .  It is also the national symbol of the Philippines .  In Hindu Veda, it is referred to as “food of the gods.”  After the flowers finish blooming the fruit appears in about  three to six months.  When ripe, these yellow-orange balls give off a distinctive resinous sweet smell, which attracts the birds, squirrels and opossums, who love to take just one bite out of one fruit, then feed on the next one. Haven’t they heard we have a severe water shortage here in South Florida ? They are wasting my fruits!  Eat an entire fruit before ruining the next one, or I will chase you away - you spoiled brats!

Usually opossums only grace you with their presence in the dark, which has my Shih Tzu, Tzulin, scared to go out at night, but when one came up to our front door at lunchtime, I had to take immediate action.   I told my husband to scare it off with the hose, but he reminded me we are on Phase Three of the Water Restrictions, and would not think of breaking the law! If he couldn’t wash his car, he wasn’t going to wash an animal.   So I suggested he take a broom and shoo it away.  He refused to act like he was in a Keystone Cops movie.  That prompted a marital argument.  “I’ll get rid of it myself!  I am not a helpless female! In fact, I am a liberated woman!”  I yelled back at him, as I grabbed the golf umbrella to poke it. 

“Good!  You attack a rabid opossum, and tell me how far it ran away!  I’ll watch from the window!  Then I’ll call the paramedics and the wildlife center.”

Tzulin, safe in her master’s arms, sniffed on my clean window pane, with her eyes as big as saucers, watching as I told the animal to go away.  “Go on – git.  Go back to your mama! I don’t want you on my front door step.  I could accidentally step on you, and you could purposely bite me with your fifty teeth.  You are not an invitee.  You are a trespasser, and that is against the law.  No trespassing on private property.  I don’t care if you have squatter’s rights in my date palm. My dogs are afraid to go out to go potty on the grass because of you.  Move your furry behind now!” I waved the blue striped umbrella in the air like Don Quixote.  That motivated it.  Not wanting to break the law, he scurried across the street into the condos. Luckily, he didn’t get run over by the usual speeding cars. After all, opossums are protected.

What are the charges for murdering a marsupial in city limits? And who do I call?  The mayor?  The Lighthouse Point Police? The city administrator?  Public Works? Wildlife Care Center ? With all the intradepartmental rivalry going on you get passed from one phone number to another, with no results. So just in case you encounter an opossum, call Broward County Animal Services, they will trap it for $100. If you want something resolved, do it yourself, don’t count on your local government; except they are quick to contact you when they need your money to waste.   

Mangoes are a very popular fruit world wide with a peachy-pineapple taste, containing 15% sugar, 1% protein and significant amounts of vitamins A, B, and C.  I don’t like them because they are from the same family as poison ivy and contain urushiol.  After my first experience with contact dermatitis, food poisoning, and migraines, I am extremely selective with what I put into my body, and where it approximates, and who it sits next to. I have long since stopped eating in restaurants because of this reasoning.

Even though I don’t eat mangoes I am always amused by a family member covered in a bib from head to toe, leaning over the sink with yellow lips mumbling to themselves that there “has to be a better way of eating juicy mangoes!”  In India , a polite way of serving a mango is to use the “hedgehog” method, which is to get a non-allergic family member to peel it, remove the large pit, slice it down the sides and quarter it, while holding the fruit down with a fork on a paper plate, so it doesn’t slide all the way to New Jersey .

The leaves are toxic to cattle, and I think also to my Tzulin, who has broken out into a rash.   So I am pondering whether or not to cut down this tree which bears hundreds of beautiful yellow fruits, and which caused my husband to look like he had been three rounds in the ring with John L. Sullivan. He is now on steroids until the red, swelling, puffy closed eyes countenance dissipates and gives him back his normal “retiree” look, which is a cross between don’t- give- me- that- honey- do- list, and will- our- illustrious- politicians- ever- lower- our- taxes- and- insurance?  Otherwise known as instant cynicism.

But the tree, although causing grief to my family, is also providing a lot of joy to strangers who knock on my door begging for the “queen of the fruits.”  I gladly hand them bags of about forty mangoes, and ask them to pick up as many as they can carry away with them; so I don’t have to do it.  On the bright side, some of these people who are happy to receive these delicious fruits, “for the kids,” have become my new friends, as we chit chat about wild life in my garden and at city hall.

It is interesting to note that a garden not only brightens the community, feeds the soul, attracts butterflies and birds, but gives joy to residents and invitees who take pleasure in my hard work.  And if you don’t think that hanging upside down in a tree while brushing away mosquitoes, and wondering how I am going to jump down without having to call my orthopedist on my cell phone in my pocket, is hard work, then I suggest you knock on my door with your own ladder on your shoulder, when requesting my mangoes.  I’ll provide the pen for you to sign my petition to ban blowers in this city.  Terrible nuisance!  They blow my leaves onto my neighbor’s grass and their dust into my pool.  Raking and picking things up the old-fashioned way and putting them in bags does not seem to be cost effective these days. It is easier for these yardmen to blow dirt around the city. The blowers not only make you deaf but cause lots of neighborhood arguments that code enforcement has to straighten out. But first they need “evidence” as to “whose” dirt it actually belongs to. However, that is another subject for when my avocadoes are in season.  Stay tuned.

I am afraid to mention that I have seen dozens of avocadoes growing all over my tree for fear I will be deluged with more requests due to the high price of avocadoes, but these I will not give away so freely, unless you sign my petition.  (Is this bribery?  That’s ok, as I am not an elected official. Thank goodness!) 

As far as I know, my husband is not allergic to them, (the avocadoes, not the local officials) but we shall soon find out.  Perhaps this is one reason he never trusts my cooking.  It annoys me to no end when he asks suspiciously, “what did you put in this?”  As if I were about to poison him!

“Did you remember to measure?  Are you sure that half a pound of salt is not a misprint?”  These days people can’t be too careful with their diets - but one man’s delight is another’s poison - politically speaking.  In Mexico mangoes are eaten with chili powder and salt, and I grew up in Scotland eating chutney made with mangoes, but people who grew up with these trees tend not to develop allergic reactions.   Me?  I get acute dermatitis just thinking about the upcoming elections.

Alinka Zyrmont