HS Flora
| Ti, Ki |
| Written by Paul Wood |
| April 01, 2008 |
|
Cordyline fruticosa  Its name sounds exactly like “tea” (except in Hawaiian where, for lack of the “t” sound, it is pronounced “key”). But don’t associate this plant with hot herbal beverages. A friendly, happy plant that humans have always loved throughout the tropical Pacific, ti lends itself to dozens of uses. In old Hawai‘i, for example, ti was something you just had to have around the house, the lifestyle equivalent of scratch paper, pencils, string, and rubber bands—a handy item. But the only beverage ever derived from ti was something far more stimulating than your morning cup of lapsang souchong. This plant is so common in the Islands, from forest fringes to front yards, that people tend to forget how peculiar it is. Technically it’s a shrub, but it neither branches nor bushes. Each plant is basically a pole with a whirl of big green leaves on top. These narrow-oblong leaves grow a foot or two long; they are thin and cool, smooth and pliable. They can be folded, rolled, knotted, braided, and slit into sturdy ribbons. You can find varieties of ti with leaves in every shade of red, from crimson to rust, and some with stripes of pink and white. But the true pan-Pacific original is a rich, uniform dark green, unblemished and pleasing to the touch. The leaves sit atop a gray stem deeply pitted with scars marking the places where in previous seasons leaves formed, then yellowed, then fell away as the plant ascended. The plant produces flowers—tiny ones arranged in a lacy panicle or tassel that comes shooting out from amidst the leaves and hangs to the side. But these flowers have never been much of an attraction for humans. It’s all about the leaves.  The leaves are waxy and water-repellent. Hawaiians (traditionally) use them to thatch houses—and even to thatch themselves. The bird-catchers who worked in the misty forests would weave whole-body rain capes of bundled ti leaves tied onto an olona fiber net. You can weave the leaves into foot-protecting sandals before heading out on a volcano-flow hike. The key word is “protection.”This quality of ti leaves developed its own lore and symbolism. Kahuna (priests) would wear a leaf around the neck, a symbol of divine protection. In old days, a hedge of ti plants would protect a house from evil spirits. (These days, people just know that you’re supposed to plant ti by the front door.) At every hula altar or ceremony, ti is present as a safeguard. Waving a ti stalk signaled truce or surrender in any battle. Think about waving a ti pole with that bunch of flappy leaves at the tip. Think about slashing those leaves to increase their flappiness. Think of a high chief reclining on mats, with his attendant behind slowly waving such a device back and forth to chase away insects and to cool the chief. Such a practical use probably led to the invention of kahili, those symbolic standards that stood at either side of Hawai‘i’s kings and queens, emblems of their reign. One fascinating room at the Bishop Museum displays the kahili of all the ruling chiefs from Kamehameha to the overthrow. Each kahili is a grand hardwood spear topped with an elaborate cylinder of feathers. Each is a ti-pole fly-flap rendered as a work of enduring art. Aside from its talent for warding off evil, a ti leaf was and still is a darn handy thing to have around the house. It’s a dandy, organic placemat and food wrapper, an indispensable element of any imu (underground oven) and vital for the preparation of such Hawaiian dishes as laulau and kulolo. The kids used to make the leaves into whistles, and they would sit on the leaves to slide down grassy slopes. The “grass skirt” of tourism’s silly “hula girl” image derives from the use of ti leaves, shredded on the stem, to form a swishy skirt. This style of dance apparel didn’t appear in Hawai‘i until the time of King David Kalakaua—the 1890s. A true skirt (pa‘u) would have been made from tapa cloth.  But here’s the underground word about ti: it stores starch in its roots, which have dense white flesh. (The botanical name “Cordyline” comes from the Greek kordyle or club, referring to these roots, which can weigh up to 300 pounds.) When baked in the imu, this root-flesh turns molasses-brown and caramel-sweet. In the past it was even sold as candy. Such sweetness, when distilled, makes booze. All the early sailors knew this, and they taught the native chiefs how to make their own stills and transform ti-root into a high-grade transparent brandy known as okolehau. That’s the only “tea” ever made from ti. Outside of the tropics, ti makes a good house plant. A two-inch piece of stem set in water will root and sprout leaves, making an attractive table decoration. A stem chunk half-buried in a mix of peat and sand will send up shoots that can be cut free and potted. The brightly colored varieties need more light than the common green. |
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