Mango Dawn

It's just after six a.m. The sun is now peeping shyly over the Santa Cruz hills. The sky is a washed clean blue, that holds promise of another hot day.
I'm standing under the cool dark shade of my julie mango tree looking for my breakfast.
You can’t live on an island and not love mangoes. It's almost treacherous. Funnily enough, mangoes aren't indigenous to the Caribbean, they were brought here by European colonisers in the 18th century from Asia. I come from a long line of mango lovers and have been known to beg, borrow, steal and con younger more gullible members of my mango peon family out of their fruit.
Our Julie bears fruit all year round, but right now at the opening of the mango season she is laden with yellow pink flowers. Higher up, the starch tree is similarly adorned and I can barely contain my anticipation at the imminent arrival of the avocado season ( a little aside about the avocado tree- for years it bore no fruit, until one year just before the season, my mother walked up to the tree and threatened to chop it down, after which we've been enjoying the biggest, most buttery avocadoes on earth)
Mango season for me is the most fertile time of the year. Around the same time, flamboyant trees and poui trees set fire to mountain sides. And in my backyard I marvel at how lucky I am to not have to pay for these gifts. Back in Babylon-don I used to pay £3 sometimes for what passed as a good mango by European standards. If you were lucky, you might get a half decent one in Sheperd's Bush market on a Saturday morning. The problem with the Euro mangoes however, was that they just smell of box, when half of the enjoyment of a mango is the smell of it. It is a smoky, sweet aromatherapy called home.
Usually I start off the day with a Julie. This is the queen of mangoes. It's creamy but stringy. I like to choose a light green, supple to the touch, a tangy sweet that is not too ripe.
When it comes to starch mangoes, I prefer the ripe and slightly stale, a few black spots on its skin. But these starches are not just rare, they also congregate right at the top of the tree, leaving them prey to the many birds that pass through my yard. I'm usually standing under the tree shaking my fists at saucy kiskadees, who I swear are showing off on me with their wings and for spite they litter the garden floor with gouged mango carcasses to further anger me.
But this morning the mango gods smiled on me. I am lucky to receive a gift of not one, but two perfect, ripe and miraculously unbruised starches that are just sitting in a bed of leaves in the shade.
Rich in Vitamin A, B and C, as well as potassium, calcium and iron. They're not just a nutritious treat. This morning my mangoes remind me to always say thanks for even the simplest of blessings.

Comments

[arubagirl]

My mother adores mangoes. We went on a cruise of the Caribbean, she saw mangoes just hanging on trees, with no one even bothering with this treasure cove of mango goodness. I had to talk really fast to convince here that actually yes, we had to go back.

[Elspeth]

I find the skin is the best part.

[Kari]

Talk about bringing back memories! I miss Julie mangoes. We used to have a tree behind the apartment in St. Anns. Sometimes men from down the street would scale the wall, pick the best, and walk around front to try to sell it back to us. LOL. I loved the faces; my mother loved the seed.

[Caribbean vacations]

Oh, I love mangoes as you do. From green sour mangoes up to the very sweetest yellow mangoes. People here at our place made products from mangoes like dried chips, jam and smoothies.

-carl