WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT PALM FRONDS?

“What do you know about palm fronds?” Andrew Jackson demanded suddenly one afternoon. 

I shrugged.

“Spiky leaves.”

He reprimanded me with a stern look.

“An explosion!” he cried.  He took off his hat and waved it around.  “An explosion of leaves! I want to see a palm garden on the east face of the main entrance. It will remind people of the brave men and women who fought for… freedom and… tradition... in the... wars of our nation.” He finished with a flourish.

“That was ridiculous,” I said. “You’re not getting a palm garden.”

“What about if I’d had fireworks?”

“You mean while you were speaking?”

“Yes. Going off around me.”

“Who would have set them off?”

“I would have.”

“It’d take away from the message if you were bent over, lighting fireworks.”

“I would have had timers.”

“How?”

“Different lengths of wicks.”

“So you would have lit them, and then walked over here.”

“Yes.”

“And then asked me what I thought about palms.”

“Yes.”

“What if I would have told you that palms were native to sunny, marshy locations, generally south of the 26th parallel, that they reproduce by layering and can have softwood cuttings successfully taken in the early states of maturation.  And, what if I would have gone on to list the varieties currently grown commercially, like the Pygmy Date Palm, Phoenix roebellenii, which grows like a living fence, or the Lady Palm, Rhapis excelsa, which can grow like a dark sister to a healthy ten feet even in low light.  What then?”

“Then the fireworks would have been exploding during your thorough explanation, adding emphasis and punctuation, and you would have become impassioned by their presence, and would have demanded a palm garden on the east fence of the main entrance.  You see?”

“I know a man in Charleston,” I said.  “I’ll send for 300.”