A Journey Through Time and Aroma

There's a coffee tree in my family's garden that's older than I am. While I was learning to speak, it was learning to thrive under the shade of our old mango tree, with areca nut palms standing beside it.

I still remember those childhood days, harvesting coffee like it was yesterday. The small, red seeds, bright as rubies. They would come away in my small hands with a gentle twist. Each harvest was more of a pastime. For me, it was an excuse to spend hours under the shade of the mango tree, breathing in the fresh, earthy aroma of ripe coffee cherries. I didn't know then that I was creating memories I would treasure for a lifetime.

The Transformation

My grandmother used to spread the freshly harvested cherries across wide mats, laying them out in the scorching sunlight. Day after day, she would tend to them, turning them carefully, ensuring each one dried evenly under the relentless sun.

Then came the work of peeling. We used to remove the dried parchment layer from each bean, revealing the coffee beans hidden inside. This tedious task required patience, but it was necessary before the real magic could happen.

The roasting.

She would use an old black iron utensil, blackened and seasoned from years of use. I felt as if the coffee beans were tumbling and dancing in that pan. Then they used to transform into deep brown treasures.  The aroma that filled our home with the roasting smell is still fresh in my mind.

That smell. Oh, that smell! Even now, fifteen years later, I would trade anything to experience it again. It was the smell of home, of tradition, of love. The nutty, caramelized fragrance would drift through every corner of our house, announcing to everyone that grandmother was at work.

The Journey of Beans

After the beans had cooled from roasting, came the final step: grinding.  We never sold our coffee. It was always a gift packet of freshly ground coffee wrapped and given to relatives and neighbors. Each bag carried not just caffeine, but the essence of that tree that had stood in our garden for longer than I'd been alive.

Fifteen Years Later: Still Thriving

That coffee tree is still there, still growing, still producing. Fifteen years have passed since those childhood harvests, yet it continues to thrive with the same vigor, yielding a similar amount of seeds every year.

The mango tree still provides its shade. The areca nut plants still stand nearby, faithful companions in this little ecosystem we accidentally created.

The Mystery Variety

Sometimes I wonder: what variety is it? Where did my family get it from? Was it a cutting from a neighbor's tree? A gift from a traveling relative? Seeds from a market somewhere?

The answer is lost to time. My parents don't know. My grandmother cared to know about its variety. All that remains is the tree and the memories of harvesting those seeds.

Perhaps it doesn't matter. Perhaps the mystery is part of its charm. This coffee tree is more than a variety name or a botanical classification. Whenever I visit home, I make a point to stand beneath it, under the same mango shade where I played as a child, and remember.

Some roots run deeper than we know. Some trees grow alongside us, measuring our lives in harvests and seasons, in cups shared and memories made. And some aromas, like that of grandmother's coffee roasting in a black iron pan, never truly fade. They linger somewhere deep in the heart, waiting for a quiet moment to return and remind us of home.