This lomboy (duhat in Filipino; Java Plum in English) tree standing tall at the corner of two roads in our village is 48 years old. It was planted by my late dad. Behind it is our home which is just as old.
Dad, the original plantito--long before the term was invented--planted many kinds of trees in our yard immediately after we moved in. He and mom lived in the province, but he came to visit us to work the ground. Unfortunately, we had to cut the trees down when we had a house extension for three growing sons.
The only tree left is the lomboy because it is farthest from the house and didn’t interfere with the construction.
Every year, this tree generously bears fruits. Because it has grown so tall, Mother Teresa had painstakingly constructed a fruit picker made of a long wooden pole. During the tree's peak season, she would serve us and our neighbors a bowl of lomboy—washed, sprinkled with salt, and gently shaken in a covered bowl for a few minutes until the lomboy softens and the salt enhances its natural sweetness. Yum!
Caution: lomboy leaves your lips and tongue blue, as though you’re suffering from cyanosis or lack of oxygen.
Forty eight years later, today, our aged house is being renovated because it is falling apart. All the plants in the garden have disappeared from sight because they’re hidden by heaps upon heaps of construction materials.
But the lomboy tree?
It is far too tall, far too strong, and far too far away to be affected by it all. It needs to be pruned now and then because its branches get in the way of electric wires, but Dad’s tree has set its place in the sun.
From our terrace, Tony and I would often talk about Lolo Mate's tree, how it stood the test of time. With Tony gone, I view it still, but without words. So I decided to outdo words this morning by clicking my camera and let the photo above speak for itself.
