A RARE SMILE flashes across Lorelyn’s face.
She’s thinking about past harvests. Days when one of the neighbourhood men would arrive at her place with a machete and hustle up the family’s coconut trees, hacking down the fruit.
“We’d tell funny stories. Sometimes, the man in the trees would sing. It was hard work but we’d lessen the burden with laughter,” Lorelyn says.
She beams remembering how she collected the fallen fruit with her husband and together how they filled a wagon pulled by water buffaloes.
“Even my children would help when there was no school, they’d find the coconuts we’d miss, those that were hidden in the long grass,” Lorelyn says. “We’d allow them to keep those ones and sell them – it would be money for them to keep.”
Those harvest days – which would occur every three months or so – were the best days, say Lorelyn’s…
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