Indian Mango Trees

A few minutes ago every tree was excited, bowing to the roaring storm, waving, swirling, tossing their branches in glorious enthusiasm like worship. But though to the outer ear these trees are now silent, their songs never cease.  -- John Muir 

When there were just 4 of us kids, we had 6 indian mango trees in our home in the Philippines, 1 in front and 5 in the back. Each of us has our own tree. The one in the front is Kuya Ronald's. Just behind the pig corral in the north side is Daddy's while Derek's is the one on the south side of it. Mine is behind daddy's and Ate Yvette's is behind Derek's. The lone one in the center at the back of the property is mommy's.

Mommy's tree yielded fruit much much later than everybody else's but we still had lots and lots of fruits. Our mango trees were so famous (because we were blessed to have them ahead of the others.) Friends and family near or far would come to our house to taste them. We were able to give them away and sell them when someone wants to buy them or when our parents needed extra money.

Derek's tree always yielded the best looking and tasting fruits. I recall hearing from somebody that animal manure are very good fertilizers. It must have been true, for Derek's tree is very close to the pigs' waste canal. Among all the trees, his always had fruits all over; there were even times when the fruits seemed too heavy for the tree that they would touch the ground. I used to bite the good-looking ones while they were still in the tree and if they didn't taste ripe enough for me, I would leave them in the tree - with bite marks. Whenever Derek saw one, he will tell everybody " Eileen did it again!"

One time, while I was in 3rd or 4th grade (I was 8 or 9 years old),  my Uncle Sencio told my mom that he will get some mangoes for his family. When I heard of it, I volunteered to do it. Immediately, I climbed my tree and picked mangoes, letting them drop in the ground while my sister Yvette was picking them up to put them in the bag. I was trying to reach for some more, when I stepped on a baby branch that wasn't able to support my weight. I fell.

The next thing that I remembered, I awoke from sleep. Apparently, I passed out. When I opened my eyes, I was already in the front of the house, in a bench under Kuya Ronald's tree. Upon waking up, the first thing I saw was Dr. Cabanero with a syringe in her hand, then my Kuya Ronald holding a big bolo knife (machete) crying and uttering these words: If Eileen dies, I will kill that tree.  Hu hu. Everybody rejoiced for I was ok, afterall. (It was much, much later though, that I learned Mom did a cpr on me).

{(It just dawned on me how much the apostles and the believers then must have rejoiced upon learning that the Lord Jesus rose up from the dead!), Mark 16:6-But he said to them, "Do not be alarmed. You seek Jesus of Nazareth who was crucifies. He is risen, He is not here. See the place where they laid Him."}

My mother then asked my brothers Ronald and Roderick and sister Yvette to keep me awake by playing cards with me. They tried so hard but I didn't want to, I just wanted to sleep. (My mother believed that if I go back to sleep, something bad will happen to me, according to old foklores). So Mom dressed me up and the next thing I knew, we were on the way to a faith healer 4 towns away from us, who specializes in orthopedic massages. His name was Cleto. He examined my front and back, and told mom i broke my left collar bone. The fall made it protrude forward. Then he touched it using the knuckles of his 2 thumbs and made it go back to its original form. He advised me to refrain from exhaustive physical activity for a time.

I Corinthians 12: 7But the manifestation of the Spirit is given to each one for the profit of all: 8for to one is given the word of wisdom through the Spirit, to another the word of knowledge through the same Spirit, 9to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts of healings by the same Spirit"

A year or so later, I was atop Derek's tree when I fell again. I was alone. I could not breathe and I crawled forward. After a while, I felt okay. The first thing I did was get a drink. Then I looked for my family, and found them in the house. I remember I was so happy to see them but I never told them that I fell again from a tree because I was afraid I will get spanked. But it was clear that it was the hand of the Lord that touched me that day. I could have died for no one was there. Nobody knew where I was.

"Because you have made the Lord , who is my refuge, even the Most High, your dwelling place, No evil shall befall you, Nor shall any plague come near your dwelling; For He shall give His angels charge over you, To keep you in all your ways." -- Psalm 91:9-11

Those trees bring back a lot of memories. I remember playing house on top of them with our childhood friends, Geocilyn, Marilyn, Marilou, and Maggie. Later on, one of them (Maggie) became my sister-in-law. We put hammocks for our dolls. We did not mind climbing up and down every time to get things when we needed them.

One unforgettable event was when Marilyn was once eyeing a very nice looking mango from Derek's tree. She did everything she can to get it but the stick won't hold the fruit so it fell on the pig's waste. She fished it out of there, washed it and soaped it up good then peeled it. She did not mind our teasing her as she ate it with gusto. She said it tasted so good.

One of our household helps (Tata Imo) constructed wooden benches under Kuya Ronald's mango tree. The four of us kids would use them to perform sing and dance acts as we imitated a once famous band called "Toto's children". They also served as living room as we entertained friends and family who came to visit. The tree provided shade and it's always been nice to get fresh air breeze from there.

Raised as catholics, my aunt Reking used to tell us to refrain from climbing trees on Good Friday "for the Lord is dead", she said. If you fall, no one will save you. Stubborn that I was, I did not listen; and once, I almost fell again. I remembered her words and did not do it again on Good Friday from then on. But I never stopped climbing trees; and i fell from one of them one more time, though I was not hurt that time.

This may sound yucky, but there was a time when we were little that our septic tank messed up so we had to go outside when nature calls. I remember my brothers doing it on top of the trees and so did I and my sister. No one can see you atop there, so it was safe.

We were so proud of our trees that we boast about them to our friends. I remember my sister Yvette showing hers off to her high school friends from OLCA when they came to visit.
When I was in 5th and 6th grade, I used to bring my friends from another school (Digna Cabello & Baby de Sagun) to our house to eat indian mangoes. They have been one of  our main instruments of hospitality to friends near or far.

It is also an indian mango tree that provided haven to my 1st cousin Lilibeth or Beta as we fondly call her when she got in big trouble with her mama. Nobody noticed she was missing until it was night time. Everybody searched for her everywhere: at all of our friends and relatives' houses. Nobody saw her. I remember Daddy, Nanang Ylang and Tita Reking joined the search, flashlights in their hands. Almost everybody was worried to death and didn't know what to do anymore. Then my brother Derek went to the mango tree and shone the light in its base. He saw Beta's slippers there. He aimed the flashlight up and there was Beta, nesting high there in a branch. And all of us said, thank God for the mango tree!

The only trees remaining to this day that I know of are mine, my mom's and Derek's. Oh how I miss them!

When I was in 5th grade, my school principal Cheving Brotonel taught us this poem in a song and it will remain in my heart forever:

I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree
A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed against the earth's sweet flowing breast`
A tree that looks at God all day and lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear a nest of robins in her hair
Upon whose bosom snow has lain who intimately lives with rain
Poems are made by fools like me; but only God can make a tree

-- Joyce Kilmer--

special thanks to Mom, Gie-ar, Pupay and Onjon for making it possible to post the above pics of our existing indian mango trees in the Philippines.