Every tree is in full bloom in our backyard this time of year.
As early as January, I have noticed that the Malay Apple tree (locally known as makopa/macopa) had started blooming with bunches of white tendril-like flowers that tend to fall to the ground as soon as the fruits are formed and which our house helps routinely complain about as being makalat.
The dainty langka tree also started forming its offering of one jack fruit per year. But because the tree is somewhat slender, and its branches very delicate, it cannot support its heavy fruit and so we always have to harvest its one baby earlier than necessary, letting the fruit ripen in one of the clean, dark corners of our bodega.
The kaimito tree is also heavy with fruits that people from near and far covet. This has been its most prolific year, it seems. Every other day we get requests from friends and strangers for permission to pick the tree’s fruits. We say yes to neighbors, but no, to strangers for obvious reasons. We just tell them to pick those that are accessible from outside the fence.
The kaimito has disgorged bushel after bushel of perfectly round and delicious fruits this year and still it continues to bear more. How wonderful and perfect God’s fruit-bearing trees are. Our unassuming, but dependable backyard tree has brought joy and nourishment to a good number of people this season. Why, just the other day I heard a young boy begging to be allowed to climb our tree, saying, “Sige na, Ate, gusto ko lang pong matikman . . .”
Today, I took two ripe kaimito fruits from the refrigerator and ate them. It had been awhile since I last tasted their sweetness. I dug into the halved fruits with my spoon and put the tender, milky flesh into my mouth. They’re still as good as when I first tasted them as a young girl many, many years ago.
