The Day Palo Verde Joe Died and Fascism Won
I've always believed in symbols
They delivered him on Election Day 2020.
He was green and new, and I remember how fast the excitement flowed through me. I couldn’t wait to see how he’d look five years from then.
A few days later, we heard the big news. Joe Biden had won the United States presidency, and we decided to plant him in commemoration. We named him Joe.
He was a Palo Verde, and he became our anti-fascist tree, the election tree that would grow in remembrance of defeating Donald Trump and fascism for good.
Little did we know that only four years later, Trump would win his second term, this time through both the electoral and popular vote.
We’re now several months into his presidency, and ironically, Joe the Palo Verde recently died.
I’ve always believed in symbols.
The universe, or God, or whatever you want to call it, speaks to us through signs only we can understand. That’s what makes them powerful.
After my Grandma died, so did her lemon tree. Before a previous relationship fell apart, the ring he gave me broke.
I never intended on turning Joe into an election tree, or even naming him Joe. In fact, I’d haphazardly requested a week off work in November 2020 after a contentious year working through COVID in a healthcare communications leadership role.
Only after my boss approved my PTO request did I realize I took my vacation on Election Week. My boyfriend and I never intended on going anywhere. Instead, he’d suggested I finally plant up my backyard. I loved the idea.
Joe the Palo Verde was one of several plants I’d ordered from the nursery. I’d intended for him to grow into a shade tree in my backyard, one I could sit underneath and sip coffee or tea with a friend.
Along with him, I’d also bought Texas purple sage, orange bells, a Cara Cara orange tree, bougainvillea, and pink fairy dusters. The nursery delivered most of my plants before the election, but not the Palo Verde. They randomly returned on Election Day with Joe in their truck.
We didn’t plant him at first. I was scared violence would break out on Election Day that year. Instead, we planted some of the smaller bushes.
A few days later, my boyfriend and I heard the news: Joe Biden had won. I don’t remember what we initially did, just how joyful, relieved, and hopeful I’d felt.
I turned to my boyfriend and said, “We should plant the Palo Verde tree today! To celebrate and to always remember!”
It seemed so fitting. I’m Jewish, and we always commemorate by planting trees.
We spent the day slaving away under the Phoenix autumn sun in my backyard, digging a hole, filling it with water, then planting the Palo Verde, which is Arizona’s state tree. We took selfies and posted them on social media.
Afterwards, we looked upon the tree with pride: delivered on Election Day, planted on the day of election results.
“We should name him Joe,” I said. “In honor of Joe Biden and what his election represents. He’ll always remind us of the day we defeated fascism.”
I spent the next five years taking impeccable care of Joe.
I carefully pruned him the way an arborist taught me. I watered him deeply, but infrequently. I spoke to him words of love and encouragement.
He grew quickly for me, each year blooming a more robust canopy full of yellow flowers. This year, in 2025, he finally grew large enough to become a small shade tree. I was so excited, I bought a bistro table and chair set to place underneath him.
But this was also the year Donald Trump returned to office. I frequently looked upon Joe the Palo Verde to keep my hope alive.
He bloomed robustly for me again this April, and I enjoyed a single meal under his afternoon shade. But then, as the weather warmed, I noticed he stopped growing new leaves.
He shed his flowers, and his trunk began to brown. The news headlines began blaring of ICE kidnapping people off the streets, some of them American citizens caught up in the raids.
I didn’t know what was happening, or why. I wrote to my elected officials out of fear and duty, then contacted the same arborist from years ago.
He said it appeared Palo Verde root borers had attacked Joe, and he would most likely die. My representatives never wrote back.
Over the past couple of weeks, Joe’s branches browned completely.
He now appears officially dead, just as America bombed Iran.
I cried over Joe the other night. All those years of hard work, for nothing. Just as he became the shade tree I’d hoped for, he died, and the soil may need a thorough treatment before planting another tree.
I realized I may need to wait years for shade in my backyard, now.
However, my boyfriend asked if Joe produced seed pods from his flowers before he died. I told him yes.
“Why not take some of his seeds before you remove him, and plant more mini Joes?” my boyfriend asked.
I paused. Brilliant! Maybe Joe’s babies wouldn’t live in my backyard. I’ll want to plant a larger tree in his place to provide faster shade.
But we can scatter his seeds in the desert, plant several in small containers and give them away. Joe the Palo Verde may have died, but we can help him live on by planting his anti-fascist seeds everywhere.
Suddenly, I felt better. Yes, there was loss, but hope renewed in me again, because planting seeds is how things grow. I realized Joe is still reminding me: we must always resist.
Thanks for reading! My name is Shari Lopatin, and I’m a former journalist who now writes personal and political essays about life, culture, and social issues. If you like my work and want to show your support, “buy me a coffee” by donating a small tip on Ko-fi:
