The Giving Tree
Hala serves as a reminder of appreciation and transition
By Savannah Dagupion
photograph by iStock/stitched photography
Along Maui’s coasts and dry, windy flats, hala trees rise on stilted frames of roots from salty, sandy soil. Their long, blade-like leaves reach upward, then arc down, fanning from each branch into a broad canopy that can resemble a shaggy haircut. Beneath the canopy hang the fruit – large, segmented globes composed of wedge-shaped keys that appear light green, bright yellow or deep orange.
Known botanically as Pandanus tectorius, hala is indigenous to Hawaiʻi and figured prominently in the lives of ancient Hawaiians. Its leaves, called lauhala, were stripped, dried, softened and woven into mats, baskets, hats, fans and other crafts – a practice that continues today. The leaves also thatched roofs and formed canoe sails.
The wood of male trees is denser and was used for building houses, canoes or bowls. The softer wood of female trees served as irrigation piping in loʻi kalo (wetland taro farms). Aerial roots were twisted into cordage. The fruit, though fibrous, was eaten in times of famine.
When ripe fruit is taken apart, keys can be strung into lei, their scent sweet but subtle. Lei hala mark transitions and are often given at graduations, retirements and funerals – a gesture acknowledging movement from one stage of life to another.
An ʻōlelo noʻeau (Hawaiian proverb) tied to hala says, “Puhalu ka ihu, nānā i ke kāʻao” – one doesn’t notice the pandanus until the fruit has fallen and scattered its scent. In other words, people often notice the many good things a person does only when it is too late to show appreciation.
As with the fallen fruit, the tree’s worth can be overlooked. Yet the hala endures – sheltering shores, yielding fiber and fragrance, giving steadily whether we pause to notice or not.
photograph by Hawaii Tourism Authority (HTA) / Ben Ono
