"Eating mangos."

"Great! Can I come over?"

"Sure. Bring a shovel."

The friend wondered why, but he brought the shovel. When he arrived at his friend's house, he found him outside digging.

"I thought you were eating mangos?" he asked.

"This is part of the process." He poked a seed in the black soil. 

Mangos are delicious. My kids have been known to write their name on one, to stake a claim. And yet they have never participated in the growing or harvesting of fruit. 

I talked to a woman who ordered forty hazelnut trees last year. But they never arrived. She called the company to complain but nothing happened. The next year she ordered thirty five more, and this time not only did the thirty five arrive, the replacement forty came too. She and her husband dug seventy five holes in the ground and wrapped them in fencing to discourage the deer. 

I asked how long it would be until they got a crop. 

"Three to five years," she said. I do not know how much the saplings cost, or how many days went into planting them. But clearly they believe the investment is worth it. Maybe I will go visit again in 2018 and taste some nuts. 

Marriage includes its share of digging and sweat. And waiting. There are times when I long for sweetness, and what I get is dirt. Mango trees can produce fruit for three centuries. Kinda makes the effort seem like a pittance.