On the new road from Santo Domingo to Samaná there is particular stretch with many miles of oil palm plantations on each side of the highway. Within this corridor there is a smaller section, itself quite large, of nothing but dead oil palms. The cause of such abundant death haunted me. When they grow be¬yond a certain age, oil palms become less fertile and provide fewer nuts. At that time they are culled, to make way for a new generation of saplings. This I learned later. I imagine there are many options to culling acres of trees. Sawing them would be a rapid death. But of all the ways to die, the thirst of a tree, is the slowest. Rather than cutting them, they are denied water and fed chemicals to dry them.
Elaesis guineensis. Alive, I never paid them heed, but dead, they command atten¬tion. Oil palms.
On the new road from Santo Domingo to Samaná there is particular stretch with many miles of oil palm plantations on each side of the highway. Within this corridor there is a smaller section, itself quite large, of nothing but dead oil palms. The cause of such abundant death haunted me.
When they grow be¬yond a certain age, oil palms become less fertile and provide fewer nuts. At that time they are culled, to make way for a new generation of saplings. This I learned later.
I imagine there are many options to culling acres of trees. Sawing them would be a rapid death. But of all the ways to die, the thirst of a tree, is the slowest. Rather than cutting them, they are denied water and fed chemicals to dry them.
There is a solemn beauty in their death. Lined, so uniformly, they resemble battle-tired armies more than trees. Occasion¬ally I saw one that lived apart but died as a maiden, hero, or trickster. A select few are witnesses to a sol¬emn coronation.
They die in a barren state but a haggard dig¬nity is common to them; as if they found glory in defeat.