I know I’m overly sentimental about this damned tree, but our mango tree is a survivor. Mango trees really don’t live in places north of South Florida, for one. And the now four-foot tall plant sprung up from the seed of a grocery store mango my dad ate in St. Louis and threw in the ground. It’s since survived moves from Missouri to Texas and Texas to Washington, two bouts with some nasty fungus, a lost limb and even the time Matty flew his drone into it, chopping off some of its leaves.
But mango tree is no longer four feet tall. It lost its second of two main branches today, after it fell to the same disease that cost the other one about a month ago. Thankfully, before things got worse, the mango tree had a good few weeks in which it sprouted a few baby branches closer to the root.
Fearing we might lose the entire plant, we took mango tree into a local nursery, where a caring gardener named Jerry took a closer look at the branch and pronounced it dead. He said the baby branches were still thriving, though, so he showed us where to hack off the limb to save the rest of the tree and sent us off with a fungicide that we’ll use to try and prevent any more damage. We’re very thankful for Jerry.
We gave Eva the amputated limb for a little playtime before sending him to our compost. But being in the compost means that part of mango tree will “continue” in the soil we’ll use to plant a garden in the spring.