The Traveler’s Palm

Not long after my arrival on Bequia I was introduced to my first traveler’s palm. Being new to the tropics I had never seen exotic flora such as hibiscus flowers or frangipani blossoms, and the garden at the Frangipani hotel was chock full of them, explosions of vibrant colours that held me spellbound. The garden was magnificent and, as I gazed in wonder at a particularly unusual tree, a voice interrupted my reverie;

“That’s a traveler’s palm. Nice, isn’t it”?

Startled, I swung around and looked at the tall man who had appeared seemingly out of no-where. Taking in his rather disheveled appearance I assumed he was the Frangipani’s gardener and, in a way, I suppose he was. I agreed that the palm tree was indeed lovely. My response acted as encouragement for the gardener, who continued;

“We call it a traveler’s palm but it’s actually a cousin to the bird of paradise flower, it’s more like a banana tree than a palm – just look at those leaves!”

Well, the man was certainly a fan of his tall tree, and so I asked him WHY it was called a traveler’s palm.

“Gurl, this tree is the stuff of legend! See those leaf stalks? Each one can hold up to a quart of rain water, water than can be used by thirsty travelers. You don’t want to be drinking the stuff, it’s pretty nasty, but if you’re dying of thirst it would come in handy, wouldn’t it? And look at that fan of leaves, that’s actually a compass that can be used to direct a traveler because it grows in an east-west line. This tree is a magnificent gift of nature”.

The two of us stood in silence and admired the magical tree, a silence that was broken when the man offered me a drink. The “gardener” was none other than Son Mitchell, owner of the Frangipani Hotel and the country’s future Prime Minister! I have never forgotten that first garden encounter with Son Mitchell and, as it turned out, neither had he.

Years later I was entertaining a young travel agent from England, taking her to various points of interest on Bequia in an effort to help promote tourism on the island. We had stopped at the Frangipani for a cold drink, and encountered Son relaxing under a palm tree in one of his low wooden chairs. The travel agent sat down and chatted happily, totally unaware that the man she was conversing with was the country’s Prime Minister. Son liked the young lady, and told me to bring her up to his house the following day to see his garden.

The next day I collected the travel agent and, as we drove up to Mount Pleasant, I filled her in on Son Mitchell. She was utterly amazed that the man she had chatted with so casually the previous day was the country’s Prime Minister, and filled with awe that such a man was about to give her a personal tour of his garden!  Son outdid himself that day; he showed the young lady every inch of his grand house (a rather palatial dwelling called ‘Helianthus’) as well as every plant in his garden, a tour that took a lot longer than I had anticipated! As we were getting back into my car Son told me to wait, and disappeared into his garden. When he returned, he was carrying what looked like a dry dead stick, a stick he handed me with considerable pride.

“Judy, plant this in front of your house, right by the porch, it will do well there.”

As we drove through the gates of Helianthus the English visitor whispered,

“Did the Prime Minister just give you a dead stick”?

I laughed, and told her that anything Son Mitchell gave me would without a doubt grow, he would never give me a dead stick!

I had already guessed that Son had given me what turned out to be a magnificent traveler’s palm. I was by no means a gardener, quite the opposite really, but did as he suggested and planted the “dead stick” in front of my house. It took a while, but when the tree began to grow it grew quickly, an elegant and distinctive tropical treasure that soared high into the air. The large, banana-like leaves formed a giant fan that turned with the sun, living up to its name by providing a crude compass for travelers. The tall, graceful tree lived for many years in front of my house, its deep green leaves whispering gently in the wind, and I was sad when it eventually died.

I miss that traveler’s palm, and I miss Son Mitchell too; the “dead stick” he gave me all those years ago is, I believe, the only thing I have ever planted that actually grew. All it needed was a “Sonny” spot!