By Earl Rowley

The dominate thing that extends above the weeds in my backyard is a beautiful mango tree. It is sanctuary for at least a dozen species of birds. Between the birds and the bees, a gallon of sugar water is consumed per day from my feeder, mostly by Orioles. Several times a day I’ll sit in my chair and watch the show: fighting, squawking, chasing and thousands of bees sucking themselves full of sugar water. It’s a sight I never tire of, nor should! In January I noticed for the first time the change that occurs yearly at this time on my tree . . . BUDS. Small, delicate buds, that will come into bloom and leave at its base an ever so small, little green ball, and they are appearing by untold thousands at the tips of mature branches. Of course, not all or even a small percentage will ever come to fruition. Some natural process of selection will cast off those not destined to become very, very good mature mangoes. This will be the fourth new crop that I will be able to observe from the blossom to the eating. It is a slow process. Counting from the first week in January until the first part of June, it becomes a half year project just paying attention to how such a little green ball transforms into such a beautiful, tasty fruit. The harvesting is as rewarding as the wait because