The Mango Tree
I was a tween when my parents told us that we were moving to a new house. I was thrilled to see a variety of fruit trees in the backyard. There was a large mango tree surrounded by grapefruit, orange, ackee, and avocado trees. I was overjoyed!
Year after year, the mango tree grew taller. Every so often, the tree gifted us with the sweetest, juiciest mangoes. Those harvests became some of my most treasured childhood memories. During the summer, we created a game - whenever we heard a thud outside in the yard, the four of us would race to the tree, pushing, tripping, and blocking one another just to be the first to grab the freshly fallen mango.
My brothers quickly mastered the art of climbing it—a skill they inherited from my mother, who had been an avid tree climber as a child. Sometimes, my brothers would climb the tree simply to hang out and have brother-to-brother sessions. Whenever guests came to visit, my brothers would often sneak away, scaling the tree’s branches and hiding there until the visitors left.
As the years passed, the tree continued to grow—and grow—and grow. It loomed over the yard, casting a wide shadow and blocking out the sunlight. One by one, the other fruit trees produced less and less fruit, and eventually, they were cut down. Yet, the mango tree remained, still growing but yielding fewer mangoes each year.
We often debated whether to cut it down, but hope kept us holding on. Every so often, it would surprise us with a handful of beautiful mangoes, and we’d convince ourselves to keep it, clinging to the memories it held. However, more often than not, we waited in suspense—only to realize the season had passed without bearing fruit.
One day, my father’s friend came by and glanced at the tree. “Have you considered cutting it down?” he asked. My mother was ready. My father was ready. I was not.
I protested, asking, “But what about the fruit?” They gently reminded me that it hadn’t produced in years. Still, all I could think of were the memories—the childhood summers filled with laughter, games, and sweet mangoes. I didn’t want to let go of the tree because, in a way, it felt like letting go of the past. It took time, but I eventually made peace with my parents decision.
On the day the tree was cut, my mom and brother sent pictures. In a nostalgic daze, I sent a photo of the tree to my brothers, accompanied by a goodbye song to the tree—No judgements, I was having a whole moment.🙂
It was hard to let go of the tree that once gave us such amazing fruit. It was easier to hold on to the memories of good times than to accept that the tree no longer consistently produced. Instead, it simply kept growing—crowding out the other plants, draining nutrients, and stifling the growth of surrounding plants—while giving nothing in return.
Once the tree was cut, I realized it truly was for the best. The cutters revealed a massive gap of rotten wood in the trunk. The tree was hollowed out and unstable. Had it remained, any bad storm or disturbance could have sent it crashing onto the house, destroying it. Our parents home could have been ruined by the tree I initially wanted to hold onto.
Afterward, the yard felt lighter—brighter. Sunlight flooded the once dark corners. Small fruit trees, whose growth had been stifled by the mango tree’s shadow, began to flourish. With unfiltered sunlight and rain, they thrived.
The yard, once dim and confined, was now full of light and life. Though I still hold fond memories of the mango tree—the sweet fruit, the climbing games, and the laughter—it doesn’t compare to the beauty of the yard without it. Now, there is space for new memories and fresh beginnings.
