Mango Rain

The gray and black clouds began rolling into town yesterday afternoon from the north.  It wasn't long before the wind whipped itself up into a frenzy and the sky unleashed a downpour of rain onto our city.  Hard rain, swirling winds, windows slamming shut, balconies flooding, water flowing over every crack and crevise in the house.  Streets and potholes filling up with this beloved precipitation, laundry that was once dry is now soaked as it hangs on the drooping nylon clothesline.

Monsoon time, you ask?  Not yet.  It's only mid-March.  Monsoon starts in mid-June.

This rain is the Mango Rain.  Mmmm sweet, delicious, juicy mangoes.  

Every year, the jewel of the unbearably hot, dry, stifling summers in South Asia are the bright goldenrod-colored mangoes that line every street on sales carts crafted from bicycle wheel rims and eight 2x4s nailed together into a precarious platform to hold a pyramid of fruity and delightful summertime goodness.

Every year, the mangoes start as tiny green bulbs hanging from the trees that populate groves across the nation.  Slowly they mature into fist-sized orbs, still green, overly firm, and not quite yet sweet.  

Every year, at this same time, the heavens open up with an 'unseasonal' rain that seems to fall directly onto the mango trees.  The awaiting fruits soak up every drop, allowing the thirst of the growing season to be quenched, the maturing process complete.  Within just a few weeks - or if we're lucky, a few days! - the mangoes will be ready to be picked, packed, shipped, purchased and consumed.

This year I am especially thankful for the mango rain because it means I am one step closer to being able to produce more fresh mango sorbet... and one day closer to creating Rachael Ray's mango cole slaw I saw on her website the other day. 

Thankful for the rain, thankful for the cool temps, thankful for the mangoes.

Let it rain!

~lk