As the child of immigrants, I both feel at home everywhere and nowhere. And I try to figure out how to relate to the land where I am.  

I think of the mango trees we have lost.  

Myrtle + ian  

Grandpa Papazoom + Daphne  

Most trees hold memories, hold us literally as children, make it through storms. Sweet memories amidst storms + bitter seasons of life.  

What makes those mangos so sweet? Will they be as sweet this year?