antipodes

Mangos are best eaten in the bathtub with a friend.

But the people who planted several miles of mango trees along a coastal road in Puna, Hawaii probably did not have this option. According to local legend, migrant farm workers put the mango seeds into the ground a century ago to provide food while wandering up and down the coast looking for work.  I have no idea if this story is historical fact, but the thought of travelers, tired and perseverant, stopping to find the sweetness of food and shade fits the place perfectly.

People still come, mostly with family, to collect the free fruit, as do wild pigs. I saw a black sow with her spotted piglets having a mango feast, making wet and satisfying sounds.

A sign with a mysterious message hangs on the tree above where the pigs were snacking. The vertical diamond orientation suggests a warning, but of what? Waiters carrying trays of mangos in the forest, wearing feathered hats and making gestures with their hands to indicate the deliciousness of the fruit while smacking lips?

The road meanders through papaya plantations…

And passes through rain forest that has returned to untended pockets.

But the celebrities of this eco-niche are the mangos, which have grown large enough to tunnel over the road, emphasizing its curve and eclipse as it passes the next rise, refreshing the cliché, “what lies around the next bend?” It’s season and the mangos are dropping by the thousands and each fall has its own sound. When the fruit first separates from the branch, it makes an indistinct noise like the sound of someone snapping fingers with wet hands. Then there is a pause, very pregnant of a second or two, before the sugary bomb hits the tarmac with a deep wet “THWAP” or a “THWOMP” if it hits the hood of an oncoming car.  As a pedestrian there is relief  to not have been under the oncoming mango.

The impact on the asphalt is great enough to break the skin, a natural enough occurrence, since the tree is working to release its seed. But it hurts to see pleasure go to waste.

As agents of mother nature, a group of surfers in an old Corolla, a past-child-bearing couple in a red Mustang convertible and two fisherman in a Ford 350 continue the work that gravity began and create expanding galaxies…

and stretching nebula for miles along Mango Road.