| Two weeks back, I helped out my father went a coconut reap. We got approximately 200 in quantities from 25 palm trees. All of them that had been hoarded were full-grown were we intended to split-crack into two with a hatchet and dig out manually the coconut meat with a hand-grip-designed-metal tool for copra production.
From the pile of coconuts, my father selected one, planned for his own special point and purpose to germinate. He’d be using it soon when it’s due enough to be planted in the ground. Yup, u heard me; my father is going to embed a coconut tree with it.
The chosen one was temporarily placed right on foot of banana foliage where dampen streams goes through, mostly on rainy days or whenever someone do some laundries on Sundays.
For maximum irrational security from thieves and intruders, he neither caged it nor chained it. His indestructible optimism thrust him to believe that as long as a stranger that passes along knows how to read, the fate of the said “special” coconut will be in good well.
So, with my father’s shaky-right-hand and twenty-seven strokes of inscriptions of a black Pilot marker, the stipulations on the aforesaid coconut proved to be as authoritative and understandable as an Internal Revenue stamp, though public yet sealed and secured. And it read “Ayaw hilabti”, a bisaya dialect and that means “Don’t touch” in English.
My father whispered a voluntary deep sigh of relief knowing that his chosen one, his seed of life and future coconut tree is in no doubt, will be safe. |
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