Roots, Storms, and the Spaces In Between: Parenting Reflections from a Hawaiian Tale

In Lucilyn Rodrigues’s children’s book Under the Koa Tree, Hawaiʻi isn’t just a backdrop. It’s a heartbeat. The islands hold opposites in the same palm: volcano and ocean, rain and sun, emerald forest beside bare black rock. That balance becomes the stage where a tiny gecko named Hula is swept from her nest by a sudden storm and flung into a world that’s equal parts beautiful and dangerous.

At first glance, it’s a kid’s adventure. Look closer and you’ll see a quiet handbook for parents learning how to hold on and let go.

The Shelter of Roots

Hula’s life begins under a young koa sapling. If you’ve ever stood beneath one, you know: koa isn’t just shade. It’s steadiness. It digs deep into volcanic soil and keeps growing where other trees give up.

Home feels like that for a while. Parents build the circle; children move safely inside it. We hope our roots are enough for whatever comes next.

But storms don’t RSVP.

When the Storm Breaks

Rodrigues’s storm is immediate and merciless, wind slicing the forest, rain hammering sideways, thunder shaking everything loose. One moment Hula is tucked in. The next she’s airborne.

It’s hard not to think about adolescence. The “storm” might be a first heartbreak, a friend group that fractures, or the sudden privacy of teenage independence. These squalls arrive without warning. Our kids are carried into weather they have to read for themselves, and we’re left under the tree, watching the sky.

The Space Between

Alone on the island, Hula discovers a startling gift: she can shift her color to match what she touches. It’s magic and a mirror.

Teens live in that in-between, too. One day they’re curled on the couch; the next they’re trying on new music, new clothes, new versions of themselves. Are these masks? Are they discoveries? Usually, they’re experiments, prototypes of a self still forming. It’s exhilarating to witness. It can also pinch the heart, because each new shade looks like a step farther from home.

The unspoken question hovers: Will they still find their way back?

The Quiet Fear (and the Bright Thread)

Hula’s journey runs through thunderous waterfalls, the orange glow of Kīlauea, coffee hills scented with sun and soil. Kids will see adventure. Parents will see risk.

On every page a gentle refrain repeats: Will she see her ‘ohana again? Parents whisper a version of that as their kids move through the world: Will they return to me, not just in body, but in spirit?

Here’s the book’s soft promise: the koa still stands. Roots hold. Branches wait. We can’t cross every lava field for our children or outrun every storm, but we can be the steady landmark they look for when the weather clears.

Read Under the Koa Tree with your child for the thrill of Hula’s journey, and for the reminder that the strongest love isn’t the net that never breaks; it’s the tree that’s always there when they’re ready to climb back in the shade.