Red revolution

I was on my way home from the office around three in the morning when I saw this incredible sight that I just had to stop, get out of the car and look. It was the waning moon, the half orb hanging low over the northwestern skies and casting an eldritch radiance over the waters of the Saipan lagoon. The wind had died so nothing disturbed the glassy surface of the sea except for tiny wavelets that broke the surface from time to time, refracting the moon’s glow into a million Tivoli lights that made the entire sea shimmer and dance. A few miles out to sea, the steady glow of lights from the pre-positioned ships was reflected in the waters, casting elongated mirror images that heightened the illusion of a painting in motion.

It was a magical sight, an unexpected gift that reminded me of how beautiful the islands are. I couldn’t help but feel privileged, like being at the receiving end of an unlooked-for benison. Yet, looking back at it now, I shouldn’t have been surprised. The islands are extravagant with such gifts, awash in such beauty that it scatters them with abandon to anyone who has the time to stop and take notice. For us who live on the islands, it’s easy to take these things for granted but that incident a few weeks ago reminded me again why a lot of people come to the islands.

Take the flame trees. We never really notice it anymore but could anything be lovelier than driving along Beach Road when the flame trees are all decadently abloom, each one trying to outshine the other in an unwitting contest of beauty and grace? Just the other week, I saw the first flame tree putting out a tentative bloom along Beach Road, the flash of vivid red a startling sight at this time of the year. In a matter of days, as if an unseen signal was bugled all over the island, the annual pageant of flame trees in bloom began to unfold, first a shy petal here and there, like bashful maidens timidly putting on their finery, then almost overnight a full conflagration to rival the cherry trees in Washington D.C. For people new to the islands, it must be a sight to snatch one’s breath away—hundreds of trees being immolated in a vivid whirl of self-created flames that linger until the end of August. That in itself is already a tourist draw, a natural phenomenon that could easily be sold as an attraction to nature-starved people from highly urbanized countries.

Which begs the question: How come there aren’t more flame trees on the island? Magnificent, stately, and alluring in full bloom, doesn’t it make sense to blanket the islands with the tree that has become synonymous with the CNMI itself? Wouldn’t it be a sight to see if all streets and highways on the island are lined on both sides with flame trees? Imagine a tree-lined Middle Road, its unyielding urban surfaces filtered through a green and red prism of majestic trees, its concrete-and-asphalt reality softened by crimson blooms both above and below. Driving won’t be a chore at all! We wouldn’t be zipping by in such a hurry when we’re on the road.

From a practical standpoint, the flame tree is also quite sturdy, capable of withstanding the full blast of a typhoon, with a full crown that provides an expansive shade from the tropical sun. By lining all streets with flame trees and allowing their branches to meet overhead, this will provide shaded avenues that will perhaps encourage more people to walk.

Here then is a worthy yet relatively inexpensive project to enhance the islands’ attractions. Assign a division at the Department of Lands and Natural Resources whose job will be nothing but the growing of flame trees all over the island. They will handle the propagation, upkeep, replanting, and cultivation of nothing but flame trees. For every flame tree that falls during a typhoon, they will have two to replace it. For every flame tree that is sacrificed to an infrastructure project, they will plant new ones to replace it. For every flame tree that is cut down to protect power and cable lines, they will grow new ones in other parts of the island. They could also work with volunteer groups who want to help, and provide incentives to individuals and organizations who will plant and take care of flame trees. They could also implement an adopt-a-flame-tree project (which wouldn’t really require much work as these trees are quite self-sufficient and are mostly able to take care of themselves without much interference).

We should celebrate the flame trees. We should treat the cutting down of a flame tree akin to cutting off one’s limbs—with profound horror and something that is taken as a last measure. And when April comes around every year, we should hold a festival in its honor because the flame tree has become as much a part of the local culture as mwar-mwars. Its crimson petals are depicted in the Commonwealth’s flag, it is the official name of the biggest arts festival in the Pacific, and when people think of flame trees, they think of home.

(The views expressed are strictly that of the author. Vallejera is the editor of the Saipan Tribune.)