Standing at the airport’s outdoor terminal area in Barbados, I checked the status of my flight to Union Island with the man operating the high-tech boarding system, which consisted of a ballpoint pen and clipboard.

“You’re going to Union, too?” asked a cheerful, rounded man standing behind me, clad in deck shoes, Bermuda shorts and a tropical buttoned-down shirt. He also awaited a charter flight running on strict ‘Island time.’ “Where are you headed?” he continued, assuming Union Island was not my final destination.

“Palm Island,” I responded, holding back my hair tousled about by gusts of wind from the approaching dual-prop airplane.

“Ahh, Palm Island!” he said with nostalgic bliss. “I love that place. Even thought about buying it with a few of my sailing buddies a few years ago. Asking price was only a million dollars.”

“What a bargain,” I said with a smirk and sarcastic undertone.

“For an entire island it is! I’ve sailed throughout the Grenadines and it’s got some of the whitest beaches around,” he contended with the conviction of a wistful lover.

Previous owner John Caldwell couldn’t have agreed more. This fellow salty dog discovered these sandy shores while setting out to circumnavigate the world in 1958 with his wife Mary. Starting in Sydney, Australia, the two got as far as Barbados before it became clear that the Grenadines’ crystal waters would become their new home. From 1960 to 1965 the two ran a charter sailing business, and John coined the nickname “Coconut Johnny” for his propensity to plant palm branches along the way. They often stopped at Palm Island for a picnic lunch, due to its ideally centralized location. The impenetrable swampy land only served as suitable accommodations for the millions of mosquitoes that resided there along with a few goats that always nipped Coconut Johnny’s saplings in the bud. Gnawing at Caldwell’s conscience was the idea that this island could be revived and made the perfect place for travelers.

He met with the St. Vincent and Grenadines government, and in 1966 leased the island for $1 per year for 99 years. Putting in a little bit of savings and a huge amount of effort, the Caldwells would not only develop the first airstrip in the Grenadines, but lay the foundation for a concept that would one day be considered one of the most coveted vacations in the Southern Caribbean, a private-island resort.

Approaching the island aboard the boat that transported guests from Union Island’s airport, the mist from the water’s surface kissed my face, while the staff waited to greet me with a rum punch at the dock. Yellow light emanating from the open-air pavilions competed with the twilight for attention. Escorted to my room, I strolled past couples lounging on the comfy rattan furnishings off of the main dining area and walking hand-in-hand along the winding path. It was obvious that this island’s key resource is romance.

Walking up the stairs to my room, elevated five feet off of the ground, the Island Lofts are literally a step-up in accommodations from the rest. The vaulted ceilings created a sanctuary of peace while the choir of waves crashed against my private stretch of beach, the heavenly echo resonating in the darkness. “Hmmm, total privacy, a stocked fridge and an extra long soaking tub. Forget buying the island; how much for this bungalow?” I quipped.

Tired from the trip and not wanting a heavy meal, I headed over to Sunset Bar, which serves casual cuisine. Pulling up a stool, I informed the thin woman tending the bar that I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted to drink.

“What do you like?” she asked with a level of perkiness equivalent to a cheerleader on a caffeine high. After listing off a few beverages of choice, she flashed a mischievous grin and informed me that she would concoct a “Sonya Special.” I later discovered this “special” varied depending upon your answer, but all were surprisingly tasty. She also proved competent in the kitchen, offering to whip something up for me because the chef had already left for the evening. A serious French fry connoisseur, I can attest to the quality of potato professionalism demonstrated at this fine establishment.

The next morning I strolled along the beach to get a glimpse of Palm Island by day. Thatched-roof umbrellas decorated the front patios of the beachfront cottages like that of a frozen daiquiri. “Primitive luxury” is the phrase Palm Island uses to describe these one-room accommodations, complete with a comfortable bed and cushy terrycloth bathrobes to slip into after a day of saltwater and sun. Both the Palm View and Beachfront rooms house two units under one roof. While the Palm View accommodations are set back from the beach a bit, they do extend a little bigger living space. The Plantation Suite offers a front sitting area and larger bathroom and is located in a two-story complex. These suites are one of the newest additions since the island was purchased in 1999, when Coconut Johnny’s family passed on the palm-planting legacy. By no means was this the end of green thumbs on Palm Island.

Palm Island now built a 90-foot hydroponics greenhouse, which produces five varieties of lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers and herbs, accenting plates perfectly in the Royal Palm restaurant. Chef Matthew Jack currently holds the title for “Best Chef in St. Vincent” and it comes as no surprise when the fresh seafood varieties grab hold of your taste buds—like the Grenadines’ monster-sized lobster. Palm Island is also in the running for another award, the Green Hotel Award, bestowed upon hoteliers that have displayed exceptional environmental efforts.

I experienced this oneness with nature firsthand while riding one of the bikes along a path skirting the 135-acre island. Doctor/painter Patrick Chevailler stood on the terrace in front of the art gallery-slash-doctor’s office extending a piece of bread to an iguana slightly smaller than one I’d seen eating giant rodents on the Discovery Channel. I later learned that this St. Francis of the reptile world sings the praises of Palm Island Nature Reserve Association formed to foster these ongoing endeavors. (Read more at www.gotopalm.com.)

Dr. Chevailler’s colorful underwater world paintings got me in the mood for a little scuba diving. Glenroy Scuba Diving is said to be one of the best dive operators in the Grenadines, so I decided to see if this doctor really had his paintbrush on the pulse of marine life around Palm Island. Like the point of a compass Palm Island is encircled by small islands such as Mayreau, Union, Petit Martinique and the Tobago Cays—island hopping almost physically possible. We stopped by the little islands for a rest between dives and even checked out a small wreck only 35 feet down. Moray eels, spotted drum fish and even a couple nurse sharks decorated the colorful reef as if Dr. Chevailler’s canvas stretched from shore to shore. Now more difficult for me to envision, was a time when Palm Island came closer to being a stretch of the imagination than that of a masterpiece.

Built on a dream that stemmed from a single palm frond planted on land others deemed worthless, Caldwell knew a private island holiday would make one feel more away from it all than even the most secluded resort—and this notion of literally keeping the outside world at bay is priceless. Sitting at the Sunset Bar, I took a sip of one of Sonya’s Specials and turned to the guy sitting next to me, “This place isn’t for sale anymore, but a few years ago the asking price for Palm Island was only a million dollars. What a bargain,” I uttered, without even a hint of sarcasm.