Because You Never Asked

 

(6/09, Spain)

     In the essay “Doctors, II” I spoke of a date palm I’ve known since it was a child. Its story continues in this essay, but in order to understand the complete biography, the following historical data is necessary:

     This particular date palm finds its home on the grounds of the exquisite little hotel by the Roman Sea I’ve been frequenting for more than 20 years. The hotel itself is an elongated, 2 story structure, about 80 yards in length, oriented, more or less, along a southeast-northwest axis. About 15 years ago, they built a small addition onto the north side of the building. Not having any more property to the north, the owners added an L-shaped wing to the original structure, thus creating a horseshoe like enclosure on this side of the hotel. A small garden that had always existed on this side, now found itself enclosed in the horseshoe.

     About 10 years ago, in this small garden situated in the horseshoe, someone decided to plant a date palm --- probably Paquita or Katina, sisters who are third generation owners of the hotel, who have made it into the delightful place it is today. All living things born to this planet, be they plant, animal or whatever, find themselves in the environment they will have to deal with, with the conditions that dictate the quality of their lives. Amongst certain higher species of the animal world, some ability to make the best or worst of the environment dealt them in the poker game of life, may be evident, but even amongst the clods we call human beings, who seem to have the most ability to overcome these roulette wheel whims of fate, the hand they are dealt is usually very indicative of what they get out of life.

     On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being I never should have been born here and won’t survive my infancy, and 10 being this is the ideal place for me, one where the fullest expression of my species can be attained, the date palm in the horseshoe enclosure gets a 9.9. In less than a decade, its top leaves are reaching 25 feet above the ground, an accomplishment that pales in comparison to the impenetrable thickness of its cross-thatched bark, and a circumference at its base that 2 human beings could not encircle in their outstretched arms. Such girth suggests a powerful root system below, one that firmly anchors the perfect straight up posture of a magnificent example of this dry weather, desert palm, one that gives forth with a regular bounty of its most sublime achievement, its crop of thick, juicy dates.

     This is Maria Muldaur’s midnight at the oasis, put those camels to bed.

     There is really only one species that could now put this wonderful tree into a survival crisis, and I think we all know which one that is. If you need a little help, it’s the only one that includes, unfortunately for all species, Glenn Beck. Certainly, given the historical evidence of this species, the possibility of one of its innumerable bellicose confrontations and the horrifying destruction these actions are capable of, is never an unthinkable concept, albeit a remote one in this part of the world’s left field. A more pressing concern is the destruction inherent in this species’ commercial activity. For some members of this species, a glittering new condo would make them happier (or so they think) than some get-in-the-way date palm, sitting there making nobody any money. Given the mind set of the people currently in charge of the date palm, as well as the prevailing attitude of the island where it exists, this is only a remote possibility, even in the long run. As a result, in assessing the totality of the environmental data concerning this date palm, both physically and emotionally, it could be looking at a longevity figure somewhat akin to immortality.

     In the words of Smokey Robinson, “I’ll second that emotion”.

     If we ponder the environmental evidence, the spectacular triumph of this tree seems explicable. Foremost here could be the horseshoe structure that surrounds it on 3 sides and the directional orientation of such. The most vicious blows of nature in these parts, both in frigidity and force, come from the northern blasts of the planet’s less temperate zones. The less of this the tree might have to bear, the happier it would be. With the hotel’s horseshoe on the northern side of the building, the tree’s most vulnerable flanks are strongly fortified. Nice and cozy. If the L-shaped extension had been put on the south side of the building, thus leaving the northern side of the horseshoe open, chances are, a nice little garden with a huge date palm as its main protagonist, would be a more mottled, stunted affair, with a botanical result far less attractive.

     All other factors are well within the positive, especially sunlight, which is always a desert species’ bread and butter. Its enclosure in the horseshoe might have retarded access to this element, but, like a child born into a well to do family, the wheel of fortune has spun its way once again. The open side of the horseshoe, due to the sun’s daily path and its relationship to the exact orientation of the building, receives blinding amounts of sun.

     Within the next year or so, a change in the great date palm’s life is about to happen, one that should make it even happier. Its height is about to clear the limit of the building that surrounds it on 3 sides. It will emerge into a much larger world, one far more in contact with all the elements around it. It will begin to experience a greater range of sensations from an environment it hadn’t had full access to. At one time, this may have endangered its survival or retarded its growth, but the firm foundation created in its most formative years has erased such concerns. It has dug a deep toehold into its own survival, such that it now seems inexpugnable. It is time to come out. Bring it on. Wind, rain, sun, cold --- life in its full expression. Without being a scientific expert of any kind, I’d guess the big date palm is going to love it.

     Now that we’ve come this far, it’s time to tell the reader that the date palm referred to in this essay’s title is not the big beauty we’ve been talking about up until now. All that was just background, table setting, perhaps a bit more than necessary for the telling of this tale, but hey! who’s in charge here? When it comes to art, poetry and blah-blah-blah, there are no frontiers. This is all within the natural scheme of things, be it for date palms or unknown essayists, the combinations are something like infinite, and the seeds will fall, prosper or shrivel where they may.

     Anyhoo --- as already mentioned in such essays as “Music”, “O.J.” and “The Cell Phone”, the hotel which is the setting for this tale is situated on a beautiful body of water the locals refer to as “El Lago” (the lake). This is a misnomer, for although it looks like a lake, it is really an arm of the Mediterranean that enters through a small opening in an otherwise impenetrable spit of land that separates it from the open sea. The inner side of the hotel fronts El Lago and is buffered from it by a ten yard strip of sandy beach. A beautiful “terrazza“, imbued with the usual refreshments and gastronomic possibilities demanded by that hedonistic creature known as the “tourist”, overlooks the splendor of it all.

     The first thing I noticed upon arrival this year, was a diminutive baby date palm struggling for life --- all by its lonesome, in the open --- right in the middle of the beach in question. Like babies of all species, it was cute, an adorable, one foot high version of the colossus its species has the potential to be. The few leaves it had already unfurled were unmistakable miniature replicas of the real thing, but best of all was about 3 inches worth of bark that had formed at its base. It was young, tender and weak, but it was already a lovely facsimile of an adult, like an authentic model train.

     I sat down on the terrazza and began reading a book, but the little date palm kept calling my attention. Like Darwin in the Galapagos, I studied the survival possibilities of the little tusker, all alone and at risk on the naked beach. I felt empathy for it, maybe even something bordering on affection. I closed my book and stepped down onto the beach to get a closer look. Some wind had damaged one of the lower palm leaves and its green color was beginning to fade, giving the toddler a scruffy look. But lower leaves are supposed to fall off date palms and there was nothing to suggest a health problem. I gently closed my hand around the 3 inches of bark that had developed at its base. Although I could easily yank it out of the ground, I could feel its tenuous root system beginning to grab a firm hold on the planet. It had claimed this homestead for itself and was making its stand.

     How nice it would be if the baby sprout made it, and the beach could profit from its shade and beauty. What a good idea, I thought, to plant it there.

     About a half hour later, now back on the terrazza and more immersed in my book, the 4^th generation in the person of my good friend Pau (see essay “Who Owns Your Brain?”), strolled onto the terrazza. I asked, “Pau, who planted the little date palm on the beach?” He looked at me like it was a dumb question, and I immediately knew my mistake. It was the natural offspring of the big tree in the horseshoe. The dates grow, they fall off the tree, they dry up, they get blown about in the pinball machine of the elements, and voila! --- on occasion, the earth gets impregnated.

     Pau motioned me over to the edge of the terrazza and pointed down the beach. About 30 yards away was a little palm tree, now about 3 feet high, pinned against the wall of the terrazza and somewhat more anonymous amidst some bushes and weeds. In addition, there were 4 babies right under the big tree in the horseshoe garden, youngsters I’d already noticed the year before. Their proximity to mom made their origins obvious, even to a city slicker like me.

     Of all the siblings in this new generation, the baby on the beach was undoubtedly the most charismatic. Its gamble with life was the riskiest bet of all, but, ironically, its chance for fame and glory was the greatest. Its siblings were far more secure in their ability to survive, having been born in more logical places for their genesis, but their long range possibilities were limited.

     If we return to a Darwinian mindset and examine the environmental facts, it made sense for the palm against the terrazza wall to be born there. The on shore wind had piled some dirt up against it that the off shore wind would not return in kind. The same could be said for any vegetable seeds blown against the wall. That is where they’d stay and where some of them would eventually sprout. A light beard of grass had grown there, along with some other more unruly proletarian forms of plant life, solidifying the ground a bit, holding a bit more water --- and there you are: with the big date palm in the horseshoe providing the fecundity, another date palm, now big enough to be called a small child, was growing along the terrazza wall. The small vegetable province that had taken hold there would keep those bumbling-stumbling humans at bay, the wall offered some protection from the elements, how good it is to be alive, but ---

     If we return to the Galapagos and further delve into the survival of the species, the date palm by the terrazza wall has almost no possibilities to excel. The wall itself severely limits its sphere of operations, but even more telling is an impending conflict with those bleepity-bleep humans. The terrazza wall is the frontier of a fine restaurant overlooking the spectacular view of El Lago, its environs, and a larger island to the north. No act of nature would be allowed to impede this view, nor would any encroachment from its growth be tolerated on the terrazza. Chances are, this date palm, secure in its youth, will never get the chance to express itself further.

     Much the same is true for the kids now enjoying themselves by the side of their magnificent mother. It is a safe and secure crib for the moment, but trying to make a name for oneself in the shadow of the giant would seem close to impossible. Perhaps in the wild, out there at Maria Muldaur’s midnight oasis, they’d be part of those thick stands of date palms --- like mini-jungles of date palms --- I’d seen while traveling across north Africa. But here in the horseshoe garden there is no room for that. Their only chance for excellence is to be transplanted --- someone wants to plant a date palm, etc. --- not an impossible occurrence according to Pau.

     That leaves the little fella’ on the beach, the date palm for whom this essay was named, the one with the star quality, the one with “it”. Yes, it is in harm’s way out there, with those pesky humans frolicking about. At this stage of its life, a wayward soccer ball could close the books on it, or some kids chasing each other, or a blown over beach umbrella --- adios. And who knows what havoc the elements could assault it with at its totally undefended position. But it has already made it through one winter and is still in the game. Just a few more feet of growth; another few inches of bark; a deeper toehold in the earth, and its long range prognosis would improve notably. It’s doubtful it could ever be the gorgeous diva its mother is. The battering it will have to endure from its exposed location and the more impoverished quality of its sandy beach soil, will conspire in limiting its size and beauty, but it has all the room in the world to expand in, free of competition. It has a monopoly on any resources it is privy to. If we paraphrase the words of that great boxer-longshoremen, Marlon Brando, “I could be somebody”.

     Only time will tell.