It's very cold here in Chicago now. Supposed to snow tonight. Brrrrr! But I'm still warm from my two weeks in Hawaii. I can't say exactly what happened, but something did and I'm somehow changed by it.
Let me recount a little story about my trip. So much happened, and it was all good. First I flew from Chicago to Hilo on the Big Island. My
la'au lapa'au (the study of Hawaiian healing using medicinal plants and spirituality) brothers and sisters were preparing for their annual gathering begun by our beloved teacher,
Po'okela La'au Lapa'au o Hawaii (foremost practitioner of La'au Lapa'au in Hawaii) Henry Allen Auwae, twenty years ago. Papa Henry passed at the end of 2000, but his legacy continues through his
haumana (students).
I helped one of the
haumana charged with preparation of the food for some 40 - 50 people. This food had to last for four days of camping. It takes a lot of organizing and detail-oriented ability to do this task right. There's a tremendous amount of prep work making sure you have the right pots, pans, utensils, paper plates, etc. The lists are long.
We used the best local ingredients and kept them cold (no refrigeration where we camped) with huge coolers full of ice.
Then there was the set up of the camp - the kitchen, the eating area, the dish washing area, and the sleeping area. The whole endeavor was a volunteer labor of love. We maintained our respect for the knowledge that we received from Papa Henry in this way - to do what we had been taught, be helpful and to love one another.
It was a bit of a transition for me to go from a suburban Chicago life to getting back to the '
aina (land). It had been a year and a half since I had been home to the Big Island. My first morning back I woke up in Hakalau, an idyllic open space full of trees and pastures with a view of the Pacific Ocean in the distance.
I walked out onto the land, strolled down the long grassy driveway and found fresh yellow guavas for my breakfast. Ducks quacked occasionally in the distance content in their lush grassy area. Cows in the pasture next door stared back at me through the barbed wire fence and moo-ed. A couple of horses grazed by the guava trees.
Then it was time to get my hands dirty! I was excited to begin cleaning and prepping the Hawaiian staple
kalo (taro) for the poi and
kulolo (coconut and taro pudding).
Taro is considered to be the older brother of man. In Hawaiian legends of taro's origins, it's the stillborn first child of
Wakea, the sky father, and his daughter
Ho`ohokukalani. This child, buried near the house, grew into a taro plant they named
Haloanaka (long stalk trembling). The second son born to
Wakea and
Ho`ohokukalani took human form and was named
Haloa after his elder brother. From
Haloa the human race descended.
We cleaned several varieties of dry land taro. First we stripped off the dead leaves. Then we cut the tops off to replant. Next the rough outer skin was cut exposing the hard - sometimes slippery - inner gray or light tan corm that we would steam. The steamed corm was then grated for
kulolo or put through a juicer for poi.
In the old days, poi was made by steaming the corm and then pounding it until it had a smooth paste-like consistency. It is a staple of the Hawaiian diet and rich in a variety of nutrients including protein, calcium, phosphorus, magnesium, vitamins B and C. It's said that taro can effectively help the body enhance its immune system.
I also had the opportunity to pick
ho'i'o (fern shoots) in a lush valley. Besides being delicious
ho'i'o are thought to contain high levels of omega-3 and omega-6 fatty acids, potassium, iron, and vitamins B and C.
The shoots are best picked very young. They were a little hard to see at first in between lots of other plants in the tropical jungle. I couldn't see them with my city eyes. I had to relax, slow down, open my country eyes, and bend lower to the ground so i could see them.
In one section mosquitos must have fed on every exposed piece of my skin. I watched my irritation and itchiness start up. As a remedy, I took long time-outs from the mosquitos. I stood outside of their home on the road while my friend continued picking - oblivious of the little pests.
In between all of the day's preparation, I had time to go and visit the graves of my mother and father. My friend stopped on the way to pick beautiful red anthuriums that grew in a small section of her property. We made our way to the Veteran's Cemetery. I slowly walked over to their graves. There was an elder Hawaiian man seated on a chair playing a gentle melody on his ukulele some rows down.
I placed the anthuriums on each headstone and sat right in between them in deep meditation. It has been two years since my mother passed and four years since my father passed. It felt good to just sit and remember them and be grateful for my life thanks to them. It felt good to use my country eyes again.
I'll continue my Hawaiian journey in future issues of this newsletter. Until then, wishing you a
Mele Kalikimaka (Merry Christmas) and Hau'oli Makahiki Hou (Happy New Year)!
