Coconut season

My house does not have as many coconut trees as other houses in the village. On the sand dune behind the house, my grandfather planted only two coconut trees, one fire coconut and one green coconut. On the rest of the sand dune, bamboo and other bushes grow wildly.

I don’t know if it’s because of the soil or not, but my two coconut trees and the rows of coconut trees in the village all have big skulls, each bunch has a bunch of fruit hanging down. These summer days are the days when coconuts are at their best. The coconut meat is not too hard and the coconut water is just sweet enough, not too sour or too bland. Normally, the fire coconut is sweeter than the green coconut. But for my family at that time, every coconut was precious because it took 12 months for the coconut tree to produce a crop of fruit.

My father had to meticulously twist and weave dozens of dry banana leaves to make a satisfactory saddle. Carefully testing its sturdiness, with a sharp machete strapped to his belt, he quickly twisted the saddle into a loop around his leg and nimbly climbed the tall coconut tree.

Below, we craned our necks until we felt dizzy. We could only see our father cutting coconut leaves and then coconut spathes. He dropped each item to the ground and at the end of that arduous climb, the bunches of coconuts laden with fruit were picked. Our father split the coconut leaves in half and woven them beautifully to roof the hut to watch over the melons. Our father soaked the strong, flexible coconut spathes in water and then cut them into thin strips to hang strings of tobacco. And of course, the sweetest coconuts were ours.

The first coconuts of the season have shiny green skins and fresh stems. The coconut water is slightly cloudy, sweet, and occasionally has a slight sour taste. The coconut meat is not too hard, you only need to scrape it with a spoon, like eating jelly. So my brothers and I ate it all, but I was the hungriest, so I was given two coconuts.

In my village, coconuts are rarely sold in bunches or with their shells still on. Most people trim them, using sharp machetes to peel off the outer shell, leaving only the coconut skull and the slender flower-like stem on top. The bunch of coconuts are peeled cleanly, and when brought to market, they will be placed with the fresh watermelons, still with their powdery layers.

Now my father is very old, his health is no longer enough to be able to nimbly pick coconuts anymore. Even the banana leaf sledges have become a thing of the past when the safe and convenient coconut climbing tool was invented. However, every summer when I visit the village, I often see the carefully peeled coconuts with stems as fresh as flowers still present in the corner of the market. It turns out that, in one way or another, the beautiful memories of the coconut season in me are still present. Just suddenly seeing the image of the familiar coconuts is enough to revive a whole sky of childhood. And to make before my eyes appear the image of my father nimbly wearing the sledges on his feet to climb up and pick coconuts, the coconut trees planted firmly by my grandfather, cheering happily under the clear blue summer sky.

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