[Time Trowel] Why pili thrives in Bicol

A trowel (/ˈtraʊ.əl/), in the hands of an archaeologist, is like a trusty sidekick – a tiny, yet mighty, instrument that uncovers ancient secrets, one well-placed scoop at a time. It’s the Sherlock Holmes of the excavation site, revealing clues about the past with every delicate swipe.

I grew up in Tinambac, Camarines Sur, at the foot of Mt. Isarog, about 50 meters from the shore of San Miguel Bay. Typhoons were a fact of life, and my Lolo Sano taught me to watch the wind. Habagat meant we prepared to leave; amihan meant we stayed. We watched the sky, observed the waves, kept the transistor radio on, tied down the roof, and waited out the storm surges.

Between those stretches of wind and rain, life revolved around food. I grew up on gulay na natong, kinunot, pinakro, and pili passed around after meals. When typhoons snapped banana trunks, we cut the fallen fruit and made linupak. The bananas had to be cooked before they spoiled. Storm damage became merienda, often the only food available.

No one called these regional cuisine. They were simply what we ate.

Years later, in a virtual meeting room where Commission on Higher Education (CHED) Region V was developing a Bicol Studies curriculum, those memories returned. I have the privilege of serving on the Technical Working Group, and in one session we agreed to begin with ecology.

How does the environment influence identity?

The question can sound environmentally deterministic, but it is not. People migrate, return, trade, and adapt. But they do so within conditions they did not choose. Rainfall sets planting cycles. Soil determines what thrives. Typhoons shape storage, architecture, risk, and food. Over time, these imprints accumulate on the landscape and on taste.

That is why we begin at the table.

Cuisine records climate, exchange, labor, and habit. In Bicol, identity often appears there in laing heated by sili, pinangat wrapped in taro leaves, kinunot na pagi with malunggay leaves, and pili shared during merienda or sent abroad as pasalubong.

The presence of the pili tree (Canarium ovatum) reflects these conditions. It grows best in areas with high rainfall, warm temperatures, and well-drained volcanic soil. The Bicol Region, along the typhoon belt, receives consistent precipitation. The soils shaped by Mayon, Isarog, Asog, and Bulusan are porous and fertile. These conditions support perennial crops such as the pili.

The tree grows in other parts of the Philippines, across Asia, and near Oceania. In Bicol, however, it expanded into farms and export networks. Families invested in grafting and cultivation. Small enterprises produced brittle, butter, oil, and confections. Over time, pili came to signal Bicolano enterprise. The capital of Camarines Sur even carries its name, Pili.

Ecology did not determine that outcome, but it made it possible.

Deep history is reflected in this story. Archaeological work at Niah Cave in Borneo and elsewhere recovered Canarium nutshell fragments dating back roughly 12,000 years. These remains are associated with Early Holocene hunter-gatherers in Island Southeast Asia. The finds show that people back then were already consuming nuts from this genus well before the spread of rice agriculture and long before the emergence of the political and cultural category “Bicol.”

The pili sold today along the Maharlika Highway belongs to a much longer history of human-forest interaction. Knowledge of trees sustained communities tens of thousands of years ago. People tracked fruiting cycles and processed nuts. What we now market as a regional specialty sits within that continuum.

That knowledge can help inform how we design a curriculum.

Research in psychology and education shows that a strong sense of ethnic identity is linked to higher academic engagement and lower levels of depression and self-harm among youth. When students encounter their culture as a field of study rather than a footnote, they gain orientation. They are less likely to see themselves as peripheral to the national story.

In a region shaped by migration, floods, storms, and uneven development, that orientation becomes significant. When a student in Sorsogon realizes that the tree outside their home connects them to tens of thousands of years of human history in Island Southeast Asia, perspective shifts. Being “from the province” gains context.

In one TWG session, Dr. Raul Bradecina of Partido State University returned to the question: How does the environment influence identity?

Going back to pili: Why does it thrive here and not elsewhere? The answer takes us to rainfall data in Region V, monsoon paths across the Pacific, and volcanic arc geology that links Isarog and Bulusan. It also brings us to farm ownership, labor organization, processing networks, and export markets.

One crop links climate science and economics in ways students can actually trace.

By contrast, sili (Capsicum species) entered the Philippines only in the last five centuries through colonial exchange. Despite its recent arrival and non-native status, sili is now central to Bicolano cuisine, underscoring how much of what is taken as “traditional” food practice is historically recent rather than ancient. 

And laing. Why taro leaves in coconut milk? Taro has a long history in Island Southeast Asia. Coconut palms line the coasts and lowlands. Combine the two, repeat the recipe across generations, and a recipe becomes associated with a region. The discussion moves from plant domestication to household practice to regional taste.

A Bicol Studies curriculum should treat these everyday items as evidence. Students can analyze why certain crops thrive in Region V. They can trace how monsoon rhythms and volcanic terrain shape cuisine. They can examine how repeated practice becomes identity.

In our meetings, ecology became the starting point. Monsoon cycles and volcanic landscapes have shaped livelihood options for generations. To ask why pili grows well in Bicol is to connect farms in Camarines Sur to archaeological deposits in Borneo and to a 12,000-year history of human adaptation in Island Southeast Asia.

That line of inquiry gives students direction.

Young people benefit from knowledge about where they live. When their food, crops, and landscapes are treated as subjects of study, they gain a clearer sense of where they stand.

CHED Region V deserves recognition for this initiative. This goes beyond adding a course to the curriculum. It signals that regional geography, history, food systems, and environmental history deserve attention in higher education.

A curriculum that begins with the land prepares students to stand anywhere. – Rappler.com

Stephen B. Acabado is professor of anthropology at the University of California-Los Angeles. He directs the Ifugao and Bicol Archaeological Projects, research programs that engage community stakeholders. He grew up in Tinambac, Camarines Sur.