After a few swipes on Aunt Polly’s plank fence, Tom Sawyer tired of painting whitewash. So it doesn’t surprise me that there’s no hint, in Mark Twain’s novel, that Tom took a paintbrush to tree trunks.
I have been intrigued with this peculiar cultural phenomenon since I was Tom Sawyer’s age. Yet I don’t see painted or whitewashed tree trunks very often anymore. In the 1950s and 1960s, along rural Kentucky and North Carolina roadsides, you could overlook a few cows and cemeteries, but you’d never miss a white tree trunk.
Rose and I spent 10 days in Sanibel, Florida, with our family, a couple of weeks ago. We packed the car and drove away from Kentucky with a foot of snow on the ground and the temperature headed to minus 15 F
Along Interstate 75, in North Florida, two days later, with chilly temperatures only in the 40s, we passed mile after mile of beautiful cabbage palms, long needle pines and live oaks that inevitably gave way to endless boring exits, pockmarked with the same national hotel chains and fast food joints. (Confession: I’m a sucker for Cracker Barrel. The chicken and dumplings are scrumptious.)
You rarely find whitewashed trees along any busy interstate highway, though. These landscape artifacts can still be found, off the beaten path, in Florida and around the world. I am surprised and delighted whenever I spot one.
I saw whitewashed trees in Turkey and Greece a few years ago. (We now know that the oracles at the Temple of Delphi were stoned, huffing ethylene poring out of intersecting tectonic faults underneath the temple. However, I can’t confirm that the oracles sanctioned whitewashed Greek trees.)
Sanibel is not exactly filled with stoners. Nor is it swinging South Beach. There’s an old Florida vibe about it. Sanibel is the winter preserve for a lot of vacationing old people. (I am, until the end of my time on earth, stuck in this demographic.)
But there’s more going on here than just old people bicycling, fishing and shelling. The Sanibel-Captiva Conservation Foundation (SCCF) has preserved, with tremendous foresight, 1300 acres of land on Sanibel, Captiva and neighboring Pine Island. They operate a fun native plant nursery, too. I’m still not sure what pushed my temptation button to buy pairs of tender seagrapes and coonties to haul back to a life indoors.
Rose and I love to visit the J.N “Ding” Darling Bird National Wildlife Refuge. We take binoculars and study the birds each time we visit. We forget the birds as soon as we return home. Then we learn them all over again the next time.
We rented a cabin at the Castaways on Sanibel, within walking distance of the beautiful Gulf Coast beach. It turned blessedly warmer.
The Castaways has a special palm grove. I mentioned to a friendly maintenance man just how much I liked his painted palms. He shook his head, raised his hands and claimed no responsibility. His colleague felt more fondly toward the colored trees. He said that you could also find them in Jamaica. A Brazilian landscape worker, it was explained, had previously taken liberty with the white paint at the Castaways.
Stephanie Rose Bird has found a spiritual meaning to whitewashed trees. The author of the Big Book of Soul: The Ultimate Guide to the African American Spirit suggests the color white, as in, whitewashed tree “…represents the ‘other world,’ that is the spirit world from which we conjure energy.”
Besides good energy, there were practical applications for whitewashing, or painting, tree trunks. According to British tree consultant, Peter Thurman, insects might be fended off, and sunscald on tree trunks could be avoided, as well. Plus, the painted trees were more visible along roadsides at night.
But practical seems secondary to tradition.
While we were in Florida I couldn’t stop thinking about Skink, a recurring character in Carl Hiaasen’s popular novels.
Skink, “a ragged one-eyed ex-governor of Florida” and a “renegade,” is not at all cordial to the greed mongers who are laying waste to swaths of Florida.
Skink would like these painted palms.
Skink likes old-fashioned.