My Mother’s Avocado Tree Bear’s Fruit
“Then he told this parable: A man had a fig tree growing in his vineyard, and he went to look for fruit on it but did not find any. So he said to the man who took care of the vineyard, ‘For three years now I’ve been coming to look for fruit on this fig tree and haven’t found any. Cut it down! Why should it use up the soil?’
‘Sir,’ the man replied, ‘leave it alone for one more year, and I’ll dig around it and fertilize it. If it bears fruit next year, fine! If not, then cut it down.’”
~ Luke 13: 6-9 ~
My Mother was forever propagating plants. It was not uncommon for her to sprinkle the seeds from a pepper or watermelon into a flower pot, or cut off the bottom of a stalk of celery and put it to root in a glass of water, or crush the heads of spent marigolds, scattering their seeds into the wind. Thus, I was often surprised when something sprang up in an unexpected place; and usually delighted with the sole onion or tomato plant which showed up in a rose bush. At the moment, I have what I feel certain is a citrus, though I have no idea what kind of citrus, growing in my potted bay leaf – in fact the citrus plant in now larger than the bay leaf. I cannot wait to see what Mother left me!
Thus in the tradition of a “farmer’s daughter” as she would say, several years ago, we enjoyed what we decided was a particularly good avocado, and thus after spearing it with toothpicks, Mother put the avocado pit into a cup of water and watched it sprout roots. After it developed a full blown root ball, I put the pit in soil, repotting it several times, until I decided it deserved to go into the ground.
A couple of years ago now, a neighbor approached me about cutting the tree down, as she feared it had grown too large, and in a hurricane it may be blown into her house. She knew my Mother had planted it; but pointed out that the tree had not borne fruit, and mentioned that her gardener told her that because of how the tree had been propagated it never would have fruit. I skirted the issue with her. I did not want to cut down my Mother’s tree.
I had taken my Mother, at least fifteen years ago, on a road trip, to see places which had impacted both of our lives. On that trip, we had found the farm her father once owned, and went searching for the tree she had planted, only to find a stump. It had made her so sad to see that the tree was gone; it broke my heart to think of taking down her avocado tree.
She often quoted Jose Marti: Before a man dies he must plant a tree, have a son, and write a book – for her three daughters’ at the very least equaled one son. She fulfilled this quote; I did not want to take away her tree.
About ten days ago now, while in Florida, Kate ran into the house yelling for me to hurry, and follow her outside. She was smiling, sort of, I was wondering what had happened, but followed along. Finally, neither of us could handle the suspense and she yelled out: The tree is full of fruit!
What tree? I asked.
(The first we cut and the first we ate!)
Your Mother’s avocado she answered. I could not believe it. At first, we only saw a few low hanging fruits, but then as we continued to investigate, we found that the tree was loaded with bright, shiny, green, avocados! What a great moment, so very glad the house did not sell when we briefly put it on the market, I would not have seen Mother’s tree fruit, or tasted of her bounty.
