Under the umbrella tree
If you’ve ever walked along a beach in the Philippines, chances are you’ve walked under Talisay.
Terminalia catappa, Talisay’s scientific name, is also known as the “umbrella tree” because of the shape of its canopy, often likened to the tiered roof of pagodas. Their leaves are shaped like long upside-down drops of water, which cluster around the end of each twig. Hence the term “terminalia,” since these leaves group around the terminus or end of each branch. The species name catappa comes from its ancient Malay name – ketapang. In Samoa they’re called Talise.
As I write this, I’m on my way back from walking under Talisay trees along a certain Visayan coastline. Doesn’t matter where, as Talisay trees are found all along the entire 36,000 kilometer Philippine coast – the collective sum length of cliff edges, piers, promenades, and beaches of all colors in the Philippines. What does matter is that most of us (if not all of us) can rely on such a coastal escape to get a melanin recharge.
It wasn’t just my skin that got darker. Turns out Talisay leaves change from green to red overtime before falling. Residents in predominantly northern latitudes would affiliate this with “autumn”, but this happens in the Philippines at the onset of the dry season. A splatter of red on white beaches all over the country. As we were walking, hermit crabs walked in the opposite direction under and around fallen Talisay leaves, an additional shield on top of their shells from the “adlaw”, Bisaya for sun.
Research by Dr. Frolan Aya and Rex Dianala found that Talisay leaves, though grown on trees, are good for fish too. When fallen and left to decompose in tanks of young ayungin fish, the leaves increased their survival rates. Something about the tannin present in the leaves, reducing acidity and ammonia nitrogen levels. Dianala also wrote that Talisay leaves have antioxidative properties that increase as the leaf matures. In Thailand, these leaves have been used as an alternative to chemicals and antibiotics in the farming of tilapia. In short, Talisay leaves are nature’s water treatment “plants”. This is what I will refer to time and again as “ecological services” of nature and our environment. These are free, available, accessible, and ancient.
Speaking of services, though it was a short break I still worked. I am nearing the end of my 5th children’s book in collaboration with an author from California. It’s about animals which I love drawing, so being surrounded by wildlife both flora and fauna prompted its near completion. While the Talisay trees shielded me from the sun.
Like Talisay, coconut trees are just as ubiquitous on our coastlines. We stayed hydrated with fresh buko from the “Tree of Life,” purveyed by a sari-sari store on the beach. It was hacked open and served in front of us, like they still do in Manila when escaping the heat from the sky above and the cement below.
Buko comes in many forms nowadays from inside bottles, shakes, pies, pancit, and more… but drinking its water and eating its meat enshrined within green coconuts plucked from trees growing freely for all to enjoy… this is the most universal and freshest way.
Coconut isn’t botanically a nut, unlike that of the Talisay. Talisay nuts are also called “Indian almonds” because of their almond-like shape and flavor. Despite my love of Talisay, I have yet to try it. For now I bask under its shade, just recently in real life, and now once again in my imagination.
