As the sun rises over the dry stretches of southern Tamil Nadu, silhouettes begin appearing against rows of towering palm trees. Some carry ropes coiled around their shoulders. Others carry sickles and woven baskets.
For generations, these climbers have scaled palmyra trees before dawn, tapping sap, harvesting fruit, and collecting leaves that would eventually become everything from jaggery and handicrafts to sweets and roof coverings.
Today, many of them are in their seventies.
And that worries Dr Preethi Hari Babu.
“Without community support, the tree cannot be protected. That is the charm of the palmyra — the community and the tree survive together,” says the 30-year-old tourism researcher and assistant professor from Chennai, whose doctoral research has focused on understanding how Tamil Nadu’s state tree can be revived through tourism and community engagement.
“When I understood the benefits of the tree and saw communities trying to revive it, I realised there was so much more to explore,” Dr Preethi says.
“I have hosted three tours. In each tour, nearly 20 to 30 people participated. Most of them did not know about the community and their livelihoods. They were overwhelmed to learn about them, purchased the products, and even saved their contacts to place orders in the future,” shares Dr Preethi.
A journey that began in a classroom
For Preethi, the journey into the world of palmyra did not begin in forests or farms. It began in classrooms.
After completing her bachelor’s degree at Ethiraj College and later pursuing an MBA in Tourism, she entered the tourism sector, believing that every place has something unique that shapes its identity. While working with a nature conservation NGO in 2019, she joined a trail focused on palmyra landscapes.
That changed everything.
“When I understood the benefits of the tree and saw communities trying to revive it, I realised there was so much more to explore,” she says.
Eventually, while pursuing her PhD in Tourism from Mizoram University, which she completed in 2025, she turned the palmyra tree into the centre of her research.
The idea stayed with her long after the trail ended.
Eventually, while pursuing her PhD in Tourism from Mizoram University, which she completed in 2025, she turned the palmyra tree into the centre of her research — not just as a species, but as an ecosystem connecting livelihoods, ecology, culture, and identity.
More than just a tree
Across Tamil Nadu, palmyra trees stand along roadsides, fields, and coastal landscapes. But according to Preethi, reducing them to scenery misses their significance.
Large communities depend on the tree directly for income.
“There are edible and non-edible products. There are handicrafts, exports, climbers who harvest products, and women who make jaggery. It creates employment at many levels,” she explains.
Large communities depend on the tree directly for income. (Photograph: Gio Shravan)
Women’s collectives produce palm jaggery and craft products. Climbers harvest sap and fruit. Artisans weave leaves into baskets and utility products. Entrepreneurs make jams, squashes, and sweets from palm fruit.
And then there is the environmental role.
The tree helps reduce soil erosion, supports water retention, and acts as a habitat for multiple species. In coastal and dry landscapes especially, these ecological functions become critical.
“It is not only useful for people. Many species survive because of these landscapes too,” she says.
Where livelihoods climb trees
During her fieldwork across Kanyakumari, Thoothukudi, and Villupuram, Preethi spent time with climbing communities whose relationship with palmyra stretches across generations.
“There are huge climber communities, almost like fishing communities. Their identity and livelihoods are deeply connected to this tree,” she says.
One such climber is 32-year-old Anto Brito, whose family has worked with palmyra trees for generations.
“My grandfather was a climber, and my father was also in this profession,” he says. “After my studies, I got a job elsewhere, but I did not find satisfaction there. Here, I am physically fit, I am with my family, and I enjoy the work.”
But what struck Preethi most was how invisible many of these value chains remain. (Photograph: Gio Shravan)
His family remains deeply involved in the palmyra economy. While Anto climbs the trees and harvests sap and fruit, his parents prepare food products made from palmyra produce. Together, they also run two shops that sell handicrafts and food items derived from the tree.
But what struck Preethi most was how invisible many of these value chains remain.
Many people know palm fruit. Few know how much more exists.
From neera-based beverages to jams, squashes, jelly, adhirasam, and paniyaram, communities continue creating products that rarely receive mainstream attention.
For climbers like Anto, the work remains seasonal but can provide a meaningful income. Between April and October, he harvests enough sap to produce around two to three kilograms of karupatti (palm jaggery) a day, earning roughly Rs 1,000 daily during the season.
“In a day, I climb more than 10 trees,” he says. “During the COVID period, I used to climb nearly 20 trees a day.”
One of them was a fruit festival organised with local communities and hosted at Madras School of Social Work, where artisans and producers from Villupuram showcased dishes made from palmyra produce.
To change perceptions around palmyra products, Preethi began organising palmyra trails and community events.
One of them was a fruit festival organised with local communities and hosted at Madras School of Social Work, where artisans and producers from Villupuram showcased dishes made from palmyra produce.
“About 150 people came and tried the food. Many had never tasted these products before,” she says.
The moment that changed perspective
One experience continues to stay with her.
As part of her extended research, Preethi travelled through remote islands in Indonesia for 15 days, studying how communities there interacted with similar palm ecosystems.
Instead of feeling distant, it felt familiar.
“I was proud that this potential already existed in Tamil Nadu,” she says.
Communities there used palm trees for food, crafts, and even musical instruments.
“That was when I realised this tree connects communities across Asia. The community involvement travels with the tree.”
The benefits are directly shared among the community and supported by the government. For Preethi, it serves as one of the strongest examples of community-based tourism. (Photograph: Gio Shravan)
Rote and Sabu are remote islands in Indonesia. They conserve the palmyra — known locally as lontar — in every possible way.
“More than conservation, I can say they co-exist with the tree. Sasando is a traditional harp-like musical instrument native to Rote Island, made from lontar. It is considered a symbol of identity, culture, heritage, and pride. You can see its influence everywhere on the island, from heritage monuments to modern décor inspired by its shape. There is even a Sasando-shaped building that serves as the official residence of the Governor of East Nusa Tenggara in Kupang.
“Sabu Island is mostly covered with grasslands and lontar palms. The majority of people depend on the tree for their livelihoods. They make intricate handicrafts such as baskets and handbags, while also preserving their traditional products.
“Namata village in Sabu has conical lontar-thatched houses, where visitors can observe animist and ancestral worship practices. Visitors can also experience ikat weaving and watch climbers collect sap from the trees, locally called tuak. The area is underdeveloped in terms of infrastructure, amenities, and sanitation facilities, but it is remarkably well-maintained and organised.”
The benefits are directly shared among the community and supported by the government. For Preethi, it serves as one of the strongest examples of community-based tourism.
How tourism can help revive community livelihoods
For Preethi, tourism is ultimately about empowering communities by sustaining their livelihoods.
“Community-based tourism can create additional economic opportunities while helping communities showcase their culture and knowledge systems,” she says.
Visitors could experience both the edible and non-edible worlds of the palmyra ecosystem — tasting fresh palm products and traditional foods while also learning how leaves are transformed into handicrafts, utility products, and decorative items through skills passed down across generations.
The benefits, she believes, extend far beyond tourism revenue.
Visitors could experience both the edible and non-edible worlds of the palmyra ecosystem — tasting fresh palm products and traditional foods while also learning how leaves are transformed into handicrafts, utility products, and decorative items through skills passed down across generations.
Women who already play a central role in producing jaggery, food products, and handicrafts could earn directly from visitors without relying on middlemen. They could price their products themselves, run their own enterprises, and continue living and working within their villages instead of migrating elsewhere in search of employment.
“Tourists are not only visitors; they become consumers who understand the work, effort, and knowledge behind these products through direct experience,” says Preethi.
That experience also creates a deeper understanding of the communities whose livelihoods depend on the palmyra and of the ecosystem that supports them.
Unlike conventional tourism experiences, palmyra communities carry generations of ecological knowledge that exists nowhere else.
They know the birds and insects that inhabit the trees, understand seasonal cycles, and recognise changes in flowering and fruiting patterns that come only from living alongside the landscape for decades.
“They can narrate these experiences as stories, making the journey more memorable while sharing traditional ecological knowledge associated with the tree,” says Preethi.
In her vision, tourism becomes a platform not only for conservation but also for collaboration.
Palmyra artisans in Tamil Nadu could exchange ideas with palm-based craft communities elsewhere in the world through co-learning platforms, helping revive traditional practices while encouraging innovation in products and design.
She also imagines dedicated celebrations that place the tree at the centre of public attention.
“Why not have an exclusive Palmyra Day celebrated globally?” she asks. “The tree deserves recognition for everything it supports.”
Greater visibility, she believes, could also encourage more research and development around palmyra products, crafts, and sustainable livelihoods.
The outcome, according to Preethi, is not simply economic development but social development as well — one that supports inclusive growth, circular economies, and sustainable tourism models rooted in local ownership.
Tourism, she argues, can strengthen the relationship between climbers and the trees they depend on by creating value through cultural experiences, palm-based products, and ecotourism.
As communities begin earning more from the living tree, they gain stronger reasons to conserve palmyra landscapes, preserve traditional climbing skills, and protect the biodiversity that exists around them.
A tree that cuts across faith
What also fascinated her was how the palmyra quietly crosses religious boundaries.
Muslim families use palm leaves during wedding decorations.
Christian households use them for decorating homes.
In Hindu traditions, sweets wrapped in palmyra leaves remain part of festivals like Karthigai Deepam.
“It connects people in ways we do not always notice,” she says.
The challenge no one talks about
For all its benefits, the future of palmyra remains uncertain.
The biggest concern is not the tree itself.
It is the people.
“Most climbers today are around 70 years old,” says Preethi.
The younger generation increasingly avoids climbing work due to safety concerns, low earnings, and changing aspirations.
As climbers disappear, traditional knowledge risks disappearing with them.
“You cannot separate conservation from communities,” she says. “If we want the tree to survive, the people connected to it also need support.”
Unlike conventional tourism experiences, palmyra communities carry generations of ecological knowledge that exists nowhere else.
Her answer lies in tourism.
Not mass tourism, but experiences rooted in local knowledge — trails, festivals, food experiences, and community-led storytelling that create livelihoods while reviving interest in traditional systems.
Because for Preethi, saving the palmyra is not only about protecting a tree.
It is about protecting everything that climbs with it — livelihoods, culture, memory, and communities that have spent generations looking up at these tall silhouettes and seeing not just trees, but survival.
