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(10/02/23)
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Junglepixiebelize - Recollections of a Gringa Pioneer
Nancy R Koerner - Copyright@2023 - All Rights Reserved
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
"Cry Geronimo"
Making a departure from my usual chronological history of the 1970’s and 80’s, I would like to briefly jump into the 2000’s to tell a favorite anecdotal story -- something comes to mind every year around this time. Since my father was born on September 29th (in fact, this year, this last Friday would have been Dad’s 102nd birthday) it’s easy to remember San Geronimo Day.
In 2008, when returning to SW Florida from one of my visits to Belize, I decided to smuggle a few tamarind seeds in my luggage. (Yeah. I know, I know. Mea culpa. Give me a break.) You see, despite having a green thumb for tropical exotics and ornamentals, I have never had much luck with fruit trees -- not here in the States. So I planted the contraband dozen-or-so seeds in pots, waited a few months, and got some pretty decent germination rate, ending up with eight healthy sprouts, about sixteen inches tall. I gave two of the little trees to a friend, and then continued to nurture the other six till they reached three feet. Good, I thought. Thinking they were now well-established, I transplanted them into various appropriate locations on my property.
Yum, I thought. Within just a few years, I should be eating home-grown tamarinds.
In 2008, when returning to SW Florida from one of my visits to Belize, I decided to smuggle a few tamarind seeds in my luggage. (Yeah. I know, I know. Mea culpa. Give me a break.) You see, despite having a green thumb for tropical exotics and ornamentals, I have never had much luck with fruit trees -- not here in the States. So I planted the contraband dozen-or-so seeds in pots, waited a few months, and got some pretty decent germination rate, ending up with eight healthy sprouts, about sixteen inches tall. I gave two of the little trees to a friend, and then continued to nurture the other six till they reached three feet. Good, I thought. Thinking they were now well-established, I transplanted them into various appropriate locations on my property.
Yum, I thought. Within just a few years, I should be eating home-grown tamarinds.
But, alas. Two of the little plants were destroyed by rabbits within a week, and although I responded by diligently surrounding the remaining four with chicken wire, two more fell victim to some type of cutworm in fairly rapid succession. And then there were two. I was bummed.
When the pair of survivors reached four feet in height, the one to the south of the house seemed to simply stop growing. But the other one, on the eastern side of the property, continued to thrive. Over the years, the disparity between the two became impressive. The sickly one, bent and decrepit, had failed to respond to any of my ministrations. I had fertilized it with cow manure, aerated the surrounding soil with my hoe, and had devotedly watered it for years. No luck. By 2016, the little sucker was eight-years-old, and still only four feet high. Eventually, I tore it out, and planted a guanabana in its place.
When the pair of survivors reached four feet in height, the one to the south of the house seemed to simply stop growing. But the other one, on the eastern side of the property, continued to thrive. Over the years, the disparity between the two became impressive. The sickly one, bent and decrepit, had failed to respond to any of my ministrations. I had fertilized it with cow manure, aerated the surrounding soil with my hoe, and had devotedly watered it for years. No luck. By 2016, the little sucker was eight-years-old, and still only four feet high. Eventually, I tore it out, and planted a guanabana in its place.
Meanwhile, the other tree (same age of eight years) had grown to the astonishing height of about forty feet, already having a diameter of at least ten inches. It was HUMONGOUS. In fact, I had never seen a tamarind tree grow so tall, so big, and so fast.
There was only one problem. The damned thing had never born a single fruit. I was still utterly tamarind-less.
There was only one problem. The damned thing had never born a single fruit. I was still utterly tamarind-less.
When my son’s family had come to visit in the summer of 2017, my Belizean daughter-in-law advised me. “If it doesn’t want to cooperate, you must beat it,” she said.
“Beat it?” I had replied, astonished.
“Yes, gyal,” she said, laughing, and lapsing into Kriol. “Unu hafu beet ahn wit chayn. Lash ahn. Fu mek ih bayr froots.”
“Beat it?” I had replied, astonished.
“Yes, gyal,” she said, laughing, and lapsing into Kriol. “Unu hafu beet ahn wit chayn. Lash ahn. Fu mek ih bayr froots.”
Yikes. Not my style.
The truth was that, having interacted with the Maya in Belize, and then with the Miccosukee aboriginal peoples here in the Everglades, I relate to the Native American tradition of pantheistic animism. Since childhood, I had always felt attuned to the spirits of trees, rocks, plants, animals, wind, fire, air, rivers, sun, ocean, planets, stars and all manner of natural phenomena. I am one of those people who will rescue an ant floating in the pool, or capture a spider and set it free, rather than kill it, unless it is a direct threat to my life, or my home. I hold reverence for the primal spirits of the elements, just as I consider Mother Nature’s wilderness to be my church. Nope. I could not deal with the idea of beating a tree to convince it to bear fruit.
However, I also really, really love tamarinds. 🥰
The truth was that, having interacted with the Maya in Belize, and then with the Miccosukee aboriginal peoples here in the Everglades, I relate to the Native American tradition of pantheistic animism. Since childhood, I had always felt attuned to the spirits of trees, rocks, plants, animals, wind, fire, air, rivers, sun, ocean, planets, stars and all manner of natural phenomena. I am one of those people who will rescue an ant floating in the pool, or capture a spider and set it free, rather than kill it, unless it is a direct threat to my life, or my home. I hold reverence for the primal spirits of the elements, just as I consider Mother Nature’s wilderness to be my church. Nope. I could not deal with the idea of beating a tree to convince it to bear fruit.
However, I also really, really love tamarinds. 🥰
It is sometimes said that, in life, that all you need is a good rationale. The premise is demonstrated in one of my favourite jokes:
Question: What is more important? Sex? Or a good rationale?
Answer: When was the last time you tried to go for three days without a good rationale?
Question: What is more important? Sex? Or a good rationale?
Answer: When was the last time you tried to go for three days without a good rationale?
Yep. All I needed was a good rationale. So the one I devised (to support my premeditated arboreal brutality) was that this tree needed to bear fruit, or order to bear seeds, in order to propagate the species. (Hey, it's Darwinian, right?) So, that fall, on September 29th, San Jeronimo Day, I walked up to the tree, apologized, then went to fetch my chains. And they weren’t little “girlie” chains either. They were big, fat manly-links.
It is no easy thing to beat a tree. Not only the spiritual desecration, but the potential of rebound. If I weren’t careful, the chain would bounce, and beat me back. I gritted my teeth, gave the tree about a few lashes, and then cried at the wounds I’d inflicted on its trunk. OK, OK, I panted, loathing myself. Enough. Now, the tree had no choice but to bear fruit in the spring. However, sure enough, May came and went. No tamarinds.
It is no easy thing to beat a tree. Not only the spiritual desecration, but the potential of rebound. If I weren’t careful, the chain would bounce, and beat me back. I gritted my teeth, gave the tree about a few lashes, and then cried at the wounds I’d inflicted on its trunk. OK, OK, I panted, loathing myself. Enough. Now, the tree had no choice but to bear fruit in the spring. However, sure enough, May came and went. No tamarinds.
The family came to visit again in the fall of 2018. Walking around the yard, this time with my son, I told him of his wife’s advice, and how my efforts had still failed.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, Mom, but you’re never going to get tamarinds from this tree.”
“Oh, no, let me guess. Tamarind is one of those Belizean species that have both male and female trees – and only the female bears fruit, right?
“No, Mom. It’s because this is a guanacaste.”
“I’m sorry to tell you this, Mom, but you’re never going to get tamarinds from this tree.”
“Oh, no, let me guess. Tamarind is one of those Belizean species that have both male and female trees – and only the female bears fruit, right?
“No, Mom. It’s because this is a guanacaste.”
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