A short twenty-minute drive from where I live in Southern California it’s probably 90 degrees. But here, my Yahoo widget tells me, it’s a cloudy 65.
Nevertheless, it’s time to think toward summer, if for no other reason than I had my first mango the other day. It was too early–unspectacular and stringy–but no matter how good or bad it is, the First Mango of the Season always reminds me of the month I spent in Hawaii with a friend, on the way home from college in Japan. Since Jamie’s family is from Hawaii, we spent that month at lots of family events that usually involved lots of sushi. I learned that besides sushi, relatives in Hawaii often have mango trees, and an abundance of mangoes.
So Jamie and I became the recipient of several huge supermarket bags filled to the top with mangoes. Fresh, ripe, awesomely juicy mangoes. We ate mango after mango. We couldn’t eat enough mangoes. And they never got dull. Being a native New Yorker I was amazed at how good mangoes were at the source.
It’s funny how mangoes + summer + Hawaii + surfing often roll together, even for most of us who grew up with summers of pine forests + campfires + despicable forced swimming lessons in bone-chilling mountain lakes 9 a.m. (Hello! Camps Bronx House-Emanuel and Surprise Lake, and thank you for that lovely memory. Not.) I’m sure it’s because “Surf City, here we come” paints a far more attractive picture than “Be woken up rudely by teenagers in the freezing dawn, eat yucky Cream of Wheat and plunge into sub-zero water.” (I can still hear the buddy-call whistle. Make it go away! Make it go away!)
Over the years I’ve gotten requests to add seasonal versions to my Kitty Crossbones series, and maybe it was that bland stringy mango, but summer seemed to be the right time to launch seasonal kitties. The hibiscus version of summer took precedence here, but I think it spells s-u-m-m-e-r no matter where you spend it. And just in case you spend it in the Berkshires I offer it on sweatshirts too.



























