Kalo (Taro): The Sacred Plant at the Heart of Hawaiian Culture

Dense mass of heart-shaped kalo (taro) leaves

Long before it was a side dish at a luau, kalo (taro) was family. In Hawaiian tradition, this broad-leafed plant isn't just the source of poi — it's the elder sibling of the Hawaiian people themselves, born from the same story that explains why Hawaiians call the land an ancestor rather than a resource.

The short answer

Kalo (taro) is considered the elder sibling of the Hawaiian people in the moʻolelo (story) of Hāloa. A stillborn firstborn child was buried in the earth and grew into the first kalo plant; his younger brother, named Hāloa, became the ancestor of all Hawaiians. Because of this genealogy, kalo is treated with respect as family, not just food.

Why is kalo considered a sibling, not just a crop?

In most agricultural traditions, a staple crop is valuable because it feeds people. In Hawaiian tradition, kalo is valuable because it is people — or at least, it is kin. The moʻolelo of Hāloa describes the sky father Wākea and the earth mother's line producing a first child who was stillborn, sometimes named Hāloanakalaukapalili. That child was buried at the eastern corner of the house, and from the ground where he was laid grew the first kalo plant, its heart-shaped leaf trembling in the wind — which is what "laukapalili" describes.

A second child was born after, healthy this time, and named Hāloa in his stillborn brother's honor. Hāloa became the first Hawaiian person, and every Hawaiian since is understood as his descendant. That makes kalo, quite literally in the genealogy, the kaikuaʻana — the elder sibling — of the Hawaiian people.

Dense mass of heart-shaped kalo (taro) leaves
Kalo's broad, heart-shaped leaves are instantly recognizable in Hawaiʻi's wetter valleys. Photo: Jorryn Morais / Pexels

What does that relationship actually require of people?

A genealogy is not just a nice story — in Hawaiian thought it comes with obligation. Because kalo is elder kin, the relationship runs both ways: the plant nourishes the people, and the people are expected to care for the plant and the land that grows it. This is often summed up in the idea of mālama ʻāina, caring for the land, which is inseparable from mālama kalo. Elder siblings look after younger ones, but younger siblings are also expected to honor and support their elders — and in this case, "honoring the elder" means tending the loʻi (irrigated taro patch), keeping the water clean, and passing the practice down.

This is part of why kalo cultivation carries a weight in Hawaiian communities that goes beyond agriculture. A neglected loʻi isn't simply an economic loss; it's treated as a strained family relationship.

How is kalo actually grown?

Kalo is grown two main ways in Hawaiʻi: in flooded, terraced patches called loʻi kalo, fed by a constant flow of fresh water, and in drier upland plots called māla. Wetland cultivation is the more iconic image — engineered systems of stone-walled terraces and channels that redirect stream water from patch to patch, a system some botanists consider one of the more sophisticated pre-contact agricultural technologies in the Pacific. More than 300 varieties of kalo were traditionally recognized in Hawaiʻi, distinguished by leaf color, corm color, and growing conditions, though many of those varieties are now rare.

A loʻi kalo, a flooded taro field, in Hawaiʻi
A loʻi kalo — a flooded, terraced taro patch — channels fresh water from patch to patch. Photo: Alexey Demidov / Pexels

How does kalo become poi?

The corm (the starchy underground stem, often mistaken for a root) is what's harvested and cooked — traditionally steamed in an underground imu — then pounded, historically with a stone pōhaku kuʻi ʻai on a wooden board, into a smooth paste. Water is added and worked in until it reaches the desired thickness, and the result is poi: mildly tangy, slightly sweet, and nutrient-dense. Poi was — and for many families still is — the anchor of a Hawaiian meal, the food everything else was eaten alongside.

One custom tied directly back to the Hāloa story: when a bowl of poi is open on the table, arguing is traditionally set aside. Because poi represents Hāloa, the elder relative, conflict in his presence is considered disrespectful.

Kalo is not a metaphor for family in Hawaiian tradition — in the moʻolelo of Hāloa, it is family, the elder sibling every Hawaiian is descended alongside.

Is kalo endangered or at risk today?

Yes, in several ways. Historic loʻi acreage across the islands has shrunk dramatically since the plantation era, as streams were diverted for sugar and other agriculture and many taro patches were drained or paved over. Traditional varieties have also narrowed; of the many dozens once cultivated, only a fraction remain in wide use today. At the same time, there has been a genuine resurgence — community loʻi restoration projects on several islands, cultural education programs that put students' hands in the mud, and a renewed market for Hawaiian-grown poi — all aimed at keeping the practice, not just the plant, alive.

How can you connect with this tradition respectfully?

If you're visiting or living in Hawaiʻi, the most direct way is to support a working loʻi: many community organizations welcome volunteers for restoration workdays, which is a far more meaningful way to encounter kalo than a passive tourist stop. Buying poi and taro from Hawaiʻi-based growers, rather than mainland-grown taro substitutes, supports the same farmers keeping these varieties alive. And simply knowing the Hāloa story — and sharing it accurately — helps keep the plant's meaning attached to it, rather than letting it flatten into just another tropical starch.

For everyday ways to carry a piece of that story with you, our Hawaiian mythology collection and flora and nature designs are rooted in the same moʻolelo, drawn with an eye toward accuracy rather than decoration.

Keep reading from the journal

A young kalo plant with heart-shaped leaves growing among wildflowers
A young kalo plant. Traditionally, more than 300 named varieties grew across the islands. Photo: Daniel Torobekov / Pexels

FAQ

Is kalo the same as taro?

Yes — kalo is the Hawaiian word for the plant known in English as taro (Colocasia esculenta). Both terms refer to the same broad-leafed plant grown for its starchy corm.

Why is kalo called the "elder sibling" of Hawaiians?

In the moʻolelo of Hāloa, a stillborn first child was buried in the earth and grew into the first kalo plant. His younger brother, Hāloa, became the first Hawaiian person, making kalo his elder sibling in the genealogy every Hawaiian descends from.

What is a loʻi kalo?

A loʻi kalo is a flooded, terraced patch engineered to keep a steady flow of fresh water moving across the growing kalo, historically built with stone-lined walls and channels connecting patch to patch.

Can I grow kalo outside Hawaiʻi?

Kalo can be grown in many warm, wet climates and even in containers with consistently moist soil, though it won't carry the same cultural or genealogical significance outside a Hawaiian context — it will simply be taro.

Is it disrespectful to eat poi if you're not Hawaiian?

No — sharing and enjoying poi is welcomed. What matters is approaching it with awareness of its significance rather than treating it as a novelty, and, if a bowl is open at a gathering, keeping the traditional custom of setting aside arguments in its presence.

Kahana DesignsWritten from our studio in Kailua-Kona, Hawaiʻi. We're a Native Hawaiian–owned design studio making culturally grounded art, apparel, and handwoven jewelry. Read more of our journal or explore our work at kahana.shop.