What the Palm Trees Know

I have been fascinated with palm trees for as long as I can remember. Growing up in Northeastern Ohio, they were purely imaginary, something I only saw in magazines or movies. I didn’t see my first real palm tree until I was sixteen, when I was an exchange student in Colombia and visited Cartagena.

I loved the ocean and the sand, too, but it was the palm trees that truly captured me.

Lying on the beach beneath them felt deeply peaceful. When a gentle breeze passed through, they made the most soothing sound, a soft whisper as the fronds brushed together. I could lose entire stretches of time just watching them sway, their movement slow and rhythmic, as if they were reminding the world to breathe.

We lived in Florida for many years, and somewhere along the way, I took palm trees for granted. You know how it goes,you don’t rush to the beach when you live near it, or hike the famous trail when it’s practically in your backyard. Familiarity dulls the magic.

Now we live in the mountains of Western North Carolina, and seeing a palm tree feels like a small event. Something worth noticing. Something rare.

We’re in Fiji right now, and palm trees are everywhere. Each morning I walk along pathways lined with them, tall, short, curved, straight, all different kinds, all quietly doing their thing. This past year has been heavy in ways that are hard to explain, and these palm trees have had their work cut out for them, trying to soothe a tired soul.

We’re only on day three, but for the first time in a long while, I feel it, a soft settling. A loosening. A sense of calm slowly returning.

Maybe palm trees don’t just grow in warm places. Maybe they hold warmth. Maybe they know something about resilience, how to bend without breaking, how to move with the wind instead of fighting it, how to stay rooted while still reaching toward the light.

And maybe, after all these years, that’s what I’ve been listening for.