As some of you may know, I have spent the past two summers in Hawaii working for a fantastic company named Bold Earth. Through this venture, I have had the opportunity to work with some of the raddest people ever! Not to mention that work is hardly work when it is on the big island of Hawaii. Now, a lot has happened in these two summers. After three months on the island, two incredible co-leaders, some 40-odd participants from all over the globe, countless miles on planes and in vans, and some truly timeless moments, I can confidently say that this place has become a part of who I am. I will try to relay through words, to the best of my abilities, the moments that have ingrained themselves into my identity. Waimanu Valley There are places in the world that, when you enter them, transport you to another reality. Time shifts, colors change and the earth beneath your feet seems to shiver with each step. The shift is felt as twelve of us descend from the black sand beach of Waipio Valley and move from lush and open jungle floor to darker, pine laden slopes. 1,000 feet and nine miles fall away beneath your feet as the day takes us through a maze of mud, gnarled roots and thick, challenging terrain. The carcass of a wild boar piglet opens our eyes to the wildness of the place we are headed. Breaching the seemingly endless tunnel, the vast greenery of Waimano Valley surges up to meet us. Sheer walls of lush forest stand on three sides, lacerated by streams of water tumbling down to the thick grasslands below. The mind's eye reads the wind tussling the valley floor as unseen creatures bustling about the vibrant garden. The past merges with the present and future as we pass the jumbled remnants of a tsunami damaged house, on our way to set up our own camp on the surf beaten shores. We nestle in amongst the wind bent palm trees, a hodge podge of beaten up tents and hammocks lashed to insect ridden trunks. A fire is started, sores are nursed and an adventurous few strike out to explore our surroundings. Three days pass in a manner which most of our group is far from comfortable in. Mac-n-cheese comes with blackened pasta clumps at the bottom, rain flies are beaten into the ground and eventually forsake those they protect, grass cuts, rocks fall and the centipedes bight...hard. And yet jubilation seems to saturate the group as they find trees to climb and jump into the river from, hike to a falls that is so tall you cant see the top, and catch freshwater prawns to rip the heads off of prior to consumption. Something grows in this prehistoric valley, more visceral than the countless species of greenery that spatter its slopes. The potency of this place brings out the humanity of the tiny people within it. Through struggle and vulnerability, bare feet and sun burnt skin, angry words and stupid jokes, bonds are formed. On the last day it rains. Through the night it rains. In the morning it rains. The valley wall is swollen to an unrecognizable proportion. What was initially a few streams of cascading white water has become an opaque brown torrent of storm water. It tears its way through the frail but stubborn flora that crawls up the slopes. It fills the river and pours onto the bank, churning the unprotected soil into thick mud. What was a field of grass on our arrival is now a dangerous swamp lapping at the feet of our tents. Our trail takes us through the affects of this deluge. We ford the river that now heaves against our chests, using an abandoned kayak to transport our gear safely to the other bank. Soaking and alive, we climb the banks offering hands and support to each other as the prospect of a full day of soaking wet hiking sets in. And yet, the grumbles and apathy that flooded from frowning mouths on our approach, are replaced by affirmations and encouragement as we make our way back to prospects of something drier. - I have had the privilege to hike Waimanu Valley twice during these trips. This recount is a mix of the two. To be quite honest, I spent the second time here with a fever of 105F, unable to leave my hammock for two days. I pooped myself on the last night and had to walk out while essentially hallucinating. Maybe why I see this place through such a fervid lens. The Mokchu Family Waimanu Valley is only accessible through the farming community of Waipio Valley. This valley holds the families of some of the earliest farmers and settlers to the area. The houses and surrounding taro paddies have existed for over one hundred years. The land and people coexist in symbiosis, family seems to be the unwritten word as everyone helps each other work to produce the staple food Poi. The Mokchus are one of these families. Four generations call the sprawling farm home and a rich sense of pride and identity offers a unique opportunity for our participants and us. The patriarchs of this family are Aunty Alberta and Uncle Jason. Unlike any other two humans I have ever met, these two are at the same time loving, passionate, intimidating, knowledgeable and proud. Uncle Jason is the son of an immigrant father and Hawaiian native mother. In the 1920's his father helped dig the first taro patches, build the first houses and run mule trains up the treacherous valley walls to transport the gathered taro. He met Jason's mother during this time and started one of the first families truly connected to the Waipio Valley. For a period of time, they lived in the adjoining Waimanu Valley until the tsunami of 1946 devastated the community. Through floods and tropical storms, they stayed in Waipio. Developing and protecting the land that they now welcome us into with open arms. Aunty Alberta comes from a native Hawaiian family, bound close to the Waipio Valley and the nearby town of Honokaa. She never quite opened up about her early life with me but to say that this woman's life has been diverse would be an understatement. Everyone listens when Aunty Alberta speaks. Everyone glows when she takes a shining to them. Everyone quakes when she chastises. Aunty Alberta is a breast cancer survivor. She knows herself, the land she lives on and the intricacies of humanity in a way I have never encountered before. I am so grateful to have grown the relationship I share with her. So grateful for all she has taught me about myself, family and pursuing life as a steward of the land and humanity. This family, this land and the time I have spent with both have been humbling. I am so grateful to have my life intersect with such beautiful people and places. Thank you Aunty and Uncle. Tech free As part of Bold Earth's mission, they have a no tech policy for students participating in their programs. Now, I know that this is not a physical aspect of the island but none the less has changed the way I connect and empathize with the younger generation. In a time where everything has become a meme, it is hard to relate to such a seemingly insincere and apathetic group of people. But of course, these judgments come from assumptions and very coarse generalizations. Week after week, I was part of a group of young people whose comfort zone ended when they lost the use of their phones. And yet week after week, They truly impressed me with their ability to notice the control their phones had over them and the negative things they can lead to. They also were able to really consider the good ways they used their phones, how such advanced pieces of technology should be used as tools of communication and creativity. They were challenged to make eye contact, speak directly and share in tangible acts of gratitude. They were responsible for their actions and were held accountable by their peers. There was no hiding behind a screen, a social media persona or a thread handle. This scared them, it seemed to be the first time that they were truly vulnerable with their peers. A different kind of intimacy and friendship comes from sharing vulnerability. Platonic intimacy that many young people these days go their whole life without. These three things are what have spoken strongly to me from my time working in Hawaii with such a diverse group of individuals. There are many other stories that I am sure will come to mind somewhere down the road.
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Wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of the human spirit, and as vital to our lives as water and good bread.- Edward Abbey Archives
March 2020
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