Mangos Orchard in Moms Garden with My Grandmother and my Twin sister
I believe in the power of have a really nice hobby, like cooking, picking fruits with my grandmother and twin sister in my moms orchard in our garden in Brazil.
Summer weekends on my mom’s house were full of so many things— cooking caramel sweets or baking a cake, or going to the garden to take some mandarin or mangoes and eat them only using our mount. I remember that when my grandmother peeled an orange with a help of knife, and with this peel you turned singing the alphabet and when it’s broke this letter will be the name of your future husband. It was so funny trying to find some strange names. It’s crazy how something so simple can be very nice. My grandmother was crazy about orchard and fruits.
But what I remember the best was waking up in the morning and following my Grammy in her bed and ask her to brush her teeth and be there only to be with her incredible and fantastic person. She was the best. Those mornings, I’m certain I ate as many mangoes as I dropped into her basket. The yellow juice dripping off my chin, I could have stayed out there all day, perfectly content on a diet of only mangos.
The taste of a beautifully mango and the nice effect it has on me is something beyond my understanding. My grandmother’s been dead some months ago, and I miss her so much that sometimes hurts. I can almost hear my grandmothers laugh. See her warm, wide smile. I can almost see her at my garden taking a bite into a mango herself.
My grandmother died when I was 37 and have time developed many memories of her, but for whatever reason, the time we spent together in a orchard picking mangos was very strong for me. These memories make me feel closer to her—like I share a secret with her.
While the taste of an orchard of mango is wonderful, nothing is more enticing than the smell. The way the deep, rich scent lingers just above the skin, warming the air, it’s as if—standing there with my eyes closed—everything around me dissolves.
These memories of my grandmother that I have only experienced through the power of a sun-warmed, orchard mango trees make me feel closer to her and my twin sister because we were all three together. I love and miss her so much. Although I'm now living in a large city—far away from my Mom's house andthe smell and taste of my childhood. I realize that my belief in those mangos is what will eventually bring me to my mom's orchard with my sister and my grandmother.