(Part II)
Yes, that’s what plants are. My husband planted so many trees in our compound that now protect us from major pollution. It cocoons us in greenery and keeps us cool.
But not only in our yard did dad plant trees, but also in other people’s. Like Wendy and Roy’s lot, way before they built a house on it. Bamboo trees galore. You could get lost in it. But the property was large and when it was cleared, a lot of the bamboo stayed. Today people ask to buy small amounts of bamboo from them and it makes nice small extra income.
One of the things I liked to do in our own yard was to bury dead pets under the fruit trees. It nourishes the trees and encourages fruiting. My children, as kids, always remembered which tree Boris or Brownie or Mawmaw was under. On All Souls’ Day those trees had their share of candles.
I can’t forget the day the pet turtle of Rafa (my grandson, now a first year medicine student) died. He was then 3 years old and the turtle was barely on its feet two weeks. (I suspect it was overfed). Rafa was inconsolable. He stayed in his room crying all day.
I helped him get over his bereavement with a funeral service for a dead turtle. We placed the deceased in a small box lined with crepe paper and put a wreath on top of it. The two of us and one maid, carrying lighted tapers, escorted the turtle to its final resting place. Of course, the maid dug the hole. We prayed and Rafa was happy again. The turtle was Catholic and I’m sure went straight to heaven.
I myself have made everyone promise when I’m cremated, to bury the ashes under our santol tree. I want to be useful. I don’t want to be imprisoned in an urn and locked forever and ever in some columbarium. Columbariums don’t grow flowers, cemeteries do.
Horticulturist
Wendy is a dyed-in-the wool horticulturist. She had planted all kinds of fruit trees in her yard—rambutan, durian, lychee, mango, santol, balimbing, kamias, libas, guava. Our Japanese friend Shoko Matsumoto liked the rambutan fruits of one tree so much she made Wendy promise to have her ashes buried under the tree when she died. Shoko’s other friends found out about it, and asked if they too could choose a tree to be buried under. I’m afraid Wendy’s orchard will end up a regular cemetery.
The old people used to say that if you give birth, plant a lanzones tree at once. By the time the child gets to be 18, he/she will be able to enjoy its fruit. Of course, with grafting, lanzones now bear fruit in almost half the time.
Some trees really take an eternity to mature. Lychees, for instance, take all of 25 years to bear fruit. Lina Gueco said the family went on a short trip abroad and that was when their old lychee tree decided to bloom. Of course, there was nothing left when they got home. Even worse is waiting 25 years, only to find out that your tree is a male!
Santol, the backyard fruit, is a lot more generous. Blooming santol trees are the favorite of hungry street boys who throw stones to make the ripe ones fall. A house-owner, whose carport shelters three cars, has a big santol tree right next to it. When its fruits begin to ripen, she makes it a point to invite the neighborhood kids at once to climb the tree for the fruit. Much better than taking a risk that a barrage of stones would dent the cars beneath.
Only recently have our native species been given some attention and importance. So much so that a native garden in a plant show is usually labeled “Lola’s Garden.” Anything younger is imported stuff.
Fast-growing mahogany and gmelina trees, I’m told, have taken the place of many endemic fruit trees that are now almost gone—like lipote, the small perfectly round version of the duhat. Just days ago, in a party, however, Juju Tan proudly brought out a bottle of pure lipote juice from fruits that he had fathered. It was an excellent if rare drink.
I still remember fruits of my youth—the hairy mabolo, the seedy ratiles, mini apples called manzanitas. Nor do I see much of the translucent green, many-sided balimbing, the political fruit.
May our old native fruits not become so obsolete that the only fruits our great grandchildren know are apples, grapes, pears and Sunkist oranges.
P.S. It is my nonedible narra tree that is still in bloom. I don’t know how I could have forgotten to include narra in my column on trees.
Every piece of furniture “prewar,” to be called “quality,” had to be made of narra. It is a very heavy wood with a nice grain. The leading furniture manufacturer then was Puyat, and its art deco armchairs and coffee tables were so heavy two people were needed to lift a piece.
National Artist Rio Almario gave interesting information that narra’s original name was Naga, after which two cities, in Bicol and Cebu, are named!
