The Silver Thatch Legacy: How a Palm Shaped Caymanian Identity

Walk into almost any gift shop in Grand Cayman and you will see them: hats, baskets, and fans woven from the silver thatch palm, sold as souvenirs. But these objects were not always souvenirs. For generations, the leaves of Coccothrinax proctorii — a palm endemic to the Cayman Islands and found nowhere else on earth — were the raw material of survival. They became rope that anchored ships, roofs that sheltered families, and the sole income for many women while their husbands worked overseas. How did a single palm species go from being the islands’ economic backbone to a symbol of cultural identity, and what does that shift reveal about the way small island societies hold onto knowledge?

The Cayman Islands government recognizes the silver thatch as the national tree, and the national coat of arms features a coil of thatch rope beneath a turtle. But official symbols do not always match lived reality. For many younger Caymanians, the palm is a background detail, not a daily presence. This article draws on recent events and interviews with practitioners to trace how a plant became a cultural anchor — and what that means for the handful of people still keeping the knowledge alive.

The shift from rope to craft was not an organic evolution. It was a forced adaptation after an external market disappeared, and it required deliberate intervention from outside.

The Rope That Held the Islands Together

Silver thatch grows wild across the Cayman Islands, its roots gripping bare limestone where almost nothing else takes hold. Early settlers likely began using the leaves immediately. The palm’s fronds are naturally flexible, salt-resistant, and strong enough to withstand years of exposure to seawater. These qualities made the fibre ideal for rope — and rope was the islands’ most reliable connection to the outside world.

By the mid-20th century, rope-making was the main domestic economy beneath turtling and seafaring. Caymanian men shipped with fleets like National Bulk Carriers, working overseas for months at a time. Women stayed home and made rope. Rose May Ebanks, one of the few practitioners still active today, told the Cayman Compass: “It was one of our main exports before tourism. The men went to sea and the women made the rope.” The rope money bought food, clothes, and schoolbooks. Men’s pay bought lumber, zinc, and cement. Both were essential.

The process was precise. Tops, or central shoots, were cut on the full moon. Some practitioners believed the trees held less sap during that phase, producing stronger rope — a belief still debated among elders today, with no scientific consensus. Fronds were cut carefully so the trees continued to thrive. Three strands were twisted together on a rope cart, each coil measuring 25 fathoms. The finished rope was packed aboard Cayman schooners bound for Jamaica, where it was prized for its ability to hold fast in salt water for years.

The Collapse and the Gift of Knowledge

In the late 1960s, Jamaica announced it would no longer buy Cayman rope. The economic lifeline snapped. Families faced sudden financial uncertainty, and the practical knowledge of rope-making — once widespread — began to fade.

But the story does not end there. Jamaica, the same island that ended the trade, also sent help. The Jamaican government seconded Edna Harrison, a skilled instructor in domestic crafts, to the Cayman Islands on a government posting. Harrison traveled to West Bay, George Town, Savannah, Newlands, and outer districts, teaching women to make new items from the same palm. Baskets sturdy enough for cassava and yams. Hats that shaded the face while letting breeze through. The same fibre, the same faith in the material, woven into a new purpose.

Rose May Ebanks, Vivene Glidden, and Ella May Bothwell were among those who kept the tradition alive through this transition. The export market gave way to local enterprise, and the first signs of a Cayman craft industry took root. The knowledge was not lost, but it was narrowed. Instead of miles of rope, women now made individual objects for sale.

From Survival to Pride: The Modern Revival

By the 2000s, silver thatch weaving was practiced by only a handful of people. Marcieann Hydes recalls watching her grandmother Edwina Ebanks plait fronds on the porch in West Bay. Her grandmother taught her not to waste anything, not even time. But for years, Hydes thought of the craft as something old, something from the past.

Then she and Rose May Ebanks began reimagining the material. They moved beyond baskets and hats into finer plaits, decorative panels, and designs that caught the attention of artists and visitors. In a 2025 interview with the Cayman Compass, Hydes said: “That was when everything changed. We went from survival to pride. People started realizing that what our mothers did with their hands was worth keeping.”

Today, neither Hydes nor Ebanks takes orders. They sell handmade crafts at the Cayman Islands National Museum and during Pirate’s Week heritage days. They also teach. School programmes, community workshops, and the National Gallery of the Cayman Islands support demonstrations. Old yards have become open-air classrooms, where children learn from elders who remember twisting fibre tight enough to hold.

In 2026, the National Trust for the Cayman Islands held a fundraiser titled “Silver Thatch: A Tapestry of Nature and Heritage” at the Cayman Collections Centre in West Bay. Twelve artisans demonstrated techniques, including Shirley Roulstone, Debbie Ebanks, Margaret Powell, and William Banker. Guests asked questions and shared stories. Cathy Childs, Environmental Programmes Manager at the Trust, told the Cayman Compass: “We are not just protecting places. We are protecting the knowledge and traditions that give those places meaning.”

The revival is not complete, and it is not uniform. Many younger Caymanians have never learned to work the fibre. The knowledge rests with a small group, and the gap between generations remains wide. But the material itself offers a kind of continuity. The palm grows wild, renewable, rooted in the same limestone it has always held.

Context and Comparison: Traditional Uses vs. Modern Applications

Comparing the historical and contemporary uses of silver thatch reveals a shift not just in what is made, but in how the material is valued. The following table captures the main differences.

Architects are now studying traditional thatch for its natural cooling properties, and some designers are exploring palm fibre as biodegradable packaging. The qualities that made silver thatch practical — salt resistance, strength, natural sheen — are now being reframed as sustainable. The craft is increasingly described as a model of circular economy: it wastes nothing and depends entirely on the land itself.

Questions Readers Ask

Why is the silver thatch palm important to Caymanian identity?

The palm provided the raw material for rope, which was the islands’ main domestic export before tourism. It also appears on the national coat of arms and is the official national tree. Its history is tied to women’s labour and economic independence.

Is silver thatch weaving still practiced today?

Yes, but only by a handful of practitioners. Rose May Ebanks and Marcieann Hydes are among the most visible. They sell crafts at museum events and heritage days and teach through school programmes and community workshops.

Can I buy authentic silver thatch crafts?

Authentic items are sold at the Cayman Islands National Museum and during Pirate’s Week heritage days. Practitioners do not take orders. Be cautious of mass-produced imitations sold in souvenir shops — they are often made from synthetic materials.

What happened to the rope trade?

Jamaica stopped buying Cayman rope in the late 1960s. The economic collapse led families to seek new uses for the fibre, and Jamaican instructor Edna Harrison taught women to make baskets and hats instead. The rope itself is no longer produced commercially.

Is the full moon cutting tradition scientifically proven?

No. Some elders believe cutting tops on the full moon produces stronger rope because the tree holds less sap. This has not been scientifically tested, and the belief is still debated among practitioners. It reflects a system of knowledge based on observation and oral transmission rather than experimental data.

What the Silver Thatch Reveals About Keeping Knowledge Alive

The silver thatch palm did not change. What changed was the relationship between the people and the plant. The same leaves that once held schooners to their moorings now hold a different kind of weight: memory, identity, and the quiet determination of a small group of practitioners who refuse to let the knowledge die. Rose May Ebanks put it simply: “You can’t get more Caymanian than this. It grows in our soil. It bends to our wind.” The palm does not care whether it is made into rope or a hat. But the people who work it do, and that distinction matters. For a deeper look at how Caymanian traditions are being kept alive across the islands, read our guide to meeting the makers and their unique crafts.

Sources and further reading

Cayman Compass. “Silver Thatch: The Palm That Held Cayman Together.” 2025. 🔗

Cayman Compass. “Silver Thatch Event Attracts Large Crowd to West Bay.” 2026. 🔗

Cayman Independent. “National Trust Fundraiser to Celebrate Cayman’s Silver Thatch Palm.” 2026. 🔗

Government of the Cayman Islands. “National Symbols.” 🔗

Related reading on IslandHopperGuides

Celebrating Cayman Brac’s Unique Cultural Identity — Explores how another island in the trio maintains its distinct traditions.

The Role of Storytelling in Cayman Islands Culture — Oral tradition as a vehicle for passing down knowledge, including craft techniques.

Grand Cayman’s Bush Medicine — Another body of traditional ecological knowledge facing similar pressures.