The durian tree that named a Penang family’s memories

A durian tree once grew in a Balik Pulau orchard named after a little girl. It stood for three decades before it was cut down. Its fruit never fetched a good price, but that was never really the point.

“My mother named the tree Janny, after me,” said Janny Lee, now a reporter with a Chinese daily. “I loved that tree very much even though the quality of the fruit wasn’t that good. Its flesh was pale. Anyway, the tree was cut down in 2000 when it was about 30 years old.”

She says it matter-of-factly, the way people do when a loss has long since settled into something warmer.

Durian orchard: A garden of names

Lee is the second of four siblings raised on her family’s 14-acre orchard in Batu Itam. The orchard today holds more than 200 durian trees. They include Musang King, Black Thorn, Hor Lor and Lin Fengjiao, alongside rambutan, mangosteen, cempedak, nangka and custard apple.

Despite growing up in a traditional orchard family, all four siblings carry English names, chosen by an aunt. Patrick is the eldest, followed by Janny, Albert and Antrus. Patrick has since turned the family’s durian into a cottage cake business of his own.

The trees, though, were named in a language of their own. One is called Jiu Chee, meaning small seed, a variety the family later identified as Capri. Another is known simply as the Clothesline tree, named for a neighbour who once strung laundry beneath its branches.

Each name works like a small biography. It marks time without needing a calendar. Durian season was never quiet. Lee remembers making up to 10 trips a day into the orchard to collect fallen fruit. It was both chore and childhood adventure.

Lost and found again

One story has stayed with the family longer than most. Lee’s mother, Lock Soon Gim, known simply as Kim, once became disoriented while collecting durian. She could not find her way back, despite being close to the nearest road.

“She called for our dog, Kai Xian, meaning Triumph, which then led her out to safety,” said Lee. It is the kind of story that sounds like it belongs in a children’s book. That may be exactly why it has been told so many times since.

Kim passed away in 2020. But before she did, the orchard gave her one of its best surprises. Among the trees was one bearing durian with golden flesh, and she named it after herself.

When it first fruited in 2011, the family discovered it was a Musang King. “An aunt had brought the sapling from Kuala Lumpur,” Lee said. “At the time, the vendor called it Pisang Emas, but the Agricultural Department named it Kunyit, or Raja Kunyit.”

Kim’s own name had been misspelt on her birth certificate. Without realising it, she had named a tree after herself. That tree turned out to be one of the most prized durian varieties in the country.

The durian keeping the land alive

The orchard is not simply a place of memory. It remains a working concern, and the family has adapted it over the years. The family has introduced newer Musang King trees using grafted saplings, chosen for commercial value. Rubber trees were cleared to make room.

Like many traditional orchard families in Balik Pulau, the Lees still observe customs tied to the harvest cycle. Ancestor prayers are held at home. Prayers to Datuk Kong, regarded as the guardian spirit of the land, take place outdoors before durian season begins.

Today, much of the orchard is leased to durian traders, though the family keeps a portion for themselves. Each season, family members still return to pick from their own trees and revisit the land where their childhoods unfolded.

The orchard has recently drawn outside interest too. American author Thomas Fuller visited while researching a book on durian. He joins a long list of people this land has quietly shaped.

For the Lee family, the orchard was never just about the fruit. It is a place where a tree was once named after a girl. Where a dog once led a mother home. And where flesh the colour of gold turned out to belong to a king.