In an emergency please break glass

 I've been in ignoring my true love lately. Not the man. Not the Mu. The other one that Annie Lennox sang about – broken glass. The  Facebook nag has been carping pointedly at me  regarding my neglected page.

    

Despite no ships in the summer, random orders and trunk sales have kept the little engine that could huffing right along.  But outside all my windows, in every direction the lush lure of endless green insists, and I am drawn outside, a cartoon character floating on a pie-scented breeze.
 The breeze is actually snake plant-scented. Factoid: stateside sansiveria typically lives in a pot in your house and adapts well to most light conditions. Here on St. Croix it is a weed growing unchecked and ubiquitous as  dense underbrush. It acts as background music, and despite a persistent stand of it behind one of my mangoes, dividing my neighbor's turf from mine, I never really give it a thought. Not until I'm back there in the evening looking for the Space Station or enjoying the stars and I'm suddenly hit by the cloying scent.  With a bloom stalk of wheat colored frothy florettes, our snake plant, like Glenn Close, refuses to be ignored.
 Inside, my house reeks (in a good way) of ripening pineapples, outside sansiveria--both so sweet you almost need to prick your finger and check your levels.

 

They are fair competition for the very bold cooking aromas of roasted garlic and Sriracha/chipotle-laden black beans, or lemongrass/peppermint tea and strong coffee I put up in big batches and chill.  Short version: it is so smelly-happy up in here.

   

 

But back to the Green. For now, it appears in the big Monopoly board of global warming we've inexplicably landed on Community Chest recently.  Surprisingly steady rains during what should be our dry season have kept the bushwhackers (men with tools, not drinks) humming in my neighborhood long after the season when they would normally be visiting family or playing cricket, dominoes or pool.
 Nearly every time I leave or enter my house I'm compelled to pass sentence on aggressive vines, yanking foe  and redirecting friend. Foe being wedelia,  also known as Cruzan kudzu. It is a cute little Shasta daisy looking thing that shares traits with "The Bad Seed," i.e. adorably innocent appearance masking murdetous intent.

   

Friend being Thunbergia, with its big periwinkle or white blooms that harbor fat fuzzy bees, hummingbirds or bananaquits, all hard at work on their missions. Primary is to suck sap, while incidentally pollinating.

My trick mangoes, the Keitts are coming in so heavily they are breaking branches. The trick is telling when they are ripe, as the big buggers stay green & only change from matte to shiny when ready.  Another sure way to tell is when the pearly-eyed thrashers 'check' by drilling a hole to reveal the beautiful, albeit beak- ruined, sunrise-hued flesh inside.
As mangoes go, the Keitts are longer, duller, more somber than their carnival-colored compatriots. The leaves are even a much darker tone.  In contrast, the earlier season Kensingtons were jolly, rounded, beautifully blushy and prolific this year.  And the cute little Julie bridged the gap, looking like a fat umbrella full of purple-to-orange ornaments.
 We are winding down to the end of this perfectly-paced pineapple season, with the last six of this year's 30 still to come in. I am a broken pineapple record – every year I proclaim the best ever. I really believe that this year (but then I do every year). I've made way too much pineapple/banana,
coconut milk-based ice cream. Sorry, I  almost kept a straight face when I used "too much" and "ice cream" together.  This week my favorite evening snack is a few wasabi almonds and pineapple chunks together in a bowl with a drizzle of balsamic reduction. Tonight I'll be making a "community shout-out sambal," with Grantley Samuel's cucumbers, Theodore Williams' fresh mint, and my pineapple chunks and key lime juice. It takes a village…
I'll be back at my sea glass soon enough, with renewed energy & (no doubt) inspiring visions of green. Until then I wish you a juicy, wild, inspiringly out-of-control summer.