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Honolulu Lite
MY first papaya tree was a real champ. It made just enough papayas for our family to eat at a reasonable pace. The sad state of the
papaya needyIt was completely unlike the insolent banana tree in the corner of the yard. For months on end, that sadistic hunk of vegetation produced nothing but leaves. Then one morning I walked outside and there were 412 ripe bananas hanging there. I wiped the smirk off that tree's face with a machete.
I was thinking of my first papaya tree the other day as I pondered one of life's great mysteries: Why, in a tropical place like Hawaii, where there are more papaya trees than telephone poles, do papayas cost $1.79 a pound?
I have no papaya tree in my yard now. When we first moved into this house I tried to grow a couple but they were sexually confused. When you plant a papaya seedling, you never know what sex you are going to get. Only the girl trees make fruit. Or maybe it's only the boys. All I know is that I ended up with hermaphrodites, several boy-girl plants that, whenever they started to make flower buds indicating fruit was on its way, would think better of it and suddenly change sexes. I put up with this behavior for several months before I introduced them to Mr. Machete. I'll have no shirkers in my yard.
So, now, I have to get my papayas at the store like some common condo dweller. People look at you with pity when you buy a papaya in the store. Old women pat your hand and say, "There, there." Little kids point and laugh.
"Look, mommy, that man is paying $3 for a papaya. Is he a crazy person?"
"Don't stare," the mommy says. "He might be dangerous."
I understand their position. If I were in Alaska in the middle of winter and saw someone buying a bucket of snow at the supermarket, I'd think the bugger was lolo, too.
But those of us with yards that are papaya-impaired have little choice. Papayas aren't like mangos, avocados, lemons or bananas. Neighbors share those. Sure, they don't share out of true generosity. They share because they are up to their eyeballs in them. When a mango tree decides it's time to make some mangos, it goes to town. Neighbors back trucks up your driveway and shovel them into your garage.
"Howdy, neighbor, heard you were down to your last 800 mangos. There you go. That'll set you up for a couple of days. How are you fixed for bananas? Here, have five dozen more. Got to eat 'em by tomorrow, though, 'cause they're ripe."
Neighbors will share avocados even though it hurts. I don't understand the economics of produce. Honolulu can be hip-deep in avocados and they still cost $1.89 at the supermarket. So a neighbor will grudgingly fork over a couple of avocados even though they have enough to fill their swimming pool with guacamole.
But when it comes to papayas, neighbors turn into crack addicts down to their last rock. If they catch you looking at their papaya tree, they'll throw a blanket over it.
"Nice papayas," you say.
"Papayas? No, man, those aren't papayas. Those are, uh, potatoes. It's a potato tree. Gonna chop the stupid thing down later today. Here, have a couple hundred lemons."
Papayas were on sale the other day for 49 cents a pound. I walked around them for several minutes like a hyena sizing up a dead caribou. Once I was sure it wasn't a trick, I bought a couple. But just so I wouldn't disappoint the old lady in the checkout line, I bought a yellow bell pepper for $12.95.
Charles Memminger, winner of
National Society of Newspaper Columnists
awards in 1994 and 1992, writes "Honolulu Lite"
Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
Write to him at the Honolulu Star-Bulletin,
P.O. Box 3080, Honolulu, 96802
or send E-mail to cmemminger@starbulletin.com.
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