Seven Rides in 30 Miles

Work yesterday was great. We weeded around the banana trees for a few hours then pulled some of the overgrown pineapple plants. After several years of producing pineapples, the fruit becomes increasingly smaller. We found a few pint-sized pineapples, which meant that the plant was ready to go. Some of them seemed to have stopped flowering altogether.

Removing the plants is a dirty and dangerous job. We were all wearing short sleeves, so our arms got pretty cut up from the spiky leaves, which in most cases were longer than our arms. It required that we grab the plant near its base, a home for many bugs and geckos, as well as gecko eggs. I also saw a number of very large spiders. With some wrenching and twisting, the pineapple can be yanked out, but it’s not easy. Altogether, we pulled two large truckloads of plants, which we later dumped on the edge of the farm.

The physical labor here is very satisfying on a lot of levels. Visually, I love being able to see the progress we’ve made at the end of the workday. It’s been awesome learning about the different fruits and plants, and seeing what my (small) hands are capable of, whether it’s yanking a pineapple plant or shoveling manure. The tired feeling that buzzes through your bones when you’ve showered and lie down to rest, is so consuming that it’s almost like meditation, as is the work itself. Sometimes my mind is wondering, but most of the time I’m so focused on the task at hand that I feel more like I’m not thinking of anything at all.

When work was finished for the day, we set out hitchhiking to Kailua, a tourist town on the North Kona coast, about 15 miles away. We were in search of fins to improve our snorkeling ability, and maybe a beer if we happened upon somewhere suitable. Here’s a brief summary of each ride there and back (moms, hopefully this will allay some of your fears):

Car One: Jamie and her young son Naya picked us up about five minutes after we started walking. It turned out that she cleans the rental house that Steve and Elizabeth own, just down the road from Ke’ei Beach (by the way, that’s pronounced “kay-ay,” in case you were wondering). She told us how we should go to Volcano as soon as possible (which we actually are planning to do this weekend), so that we can pay our respects to the goddess Pele. We got a kick out of that. They dropped us off at a gas station after about five miles.

Car Two: Two young men, both native Hawaiians, picked us up in their old beater of a car. They’d just gotten out of work and hinted that they wanted to sell us some pot, but we didn’t take the bait since they seemed to be setting us up for a rip-off. We answered the usual “where are you from” blah blah blah, and then they dropped us off at Keahou Beach, which was full of tourists. We’d mentioned that we were looking for snorkel gear and they recommended this place near the beach, where I bought some fins. But before their car pulled away, the driver got out and fished around in his trunk. He handed us two nice snorkels and masks and said to take them for free because he had a bunch that he didn’t need. They’re much nicer than our own snorkel gear, so we very gratefully accepted the offer, both confused and overwhelmed by their kindness.

Car Three: Peter wanted to search for cheaper fins, and I wanted to explore Kailua, so we continued on. In just a few minutes a guy stopped who was around our age. He’d come from California to visit his uncle. He was nice and quiet and less nosey than the others, and he dropped us off in the center of Kailua.

We walked around, had a beer and a snack, and got Peter some fins. Kailua has some really beautiful beaches, but it’s extremely tourist-oriented. Every other shop was a gift shop or real estate company trying to sell time-shares. We felt out of place in this setting, which by contrast to the farm, was both unnatural and overpopulated. It was time to head back.

Car Four: A truck with a flatbed on the back (and a dog on the bed) stopped in the middle of traffic and told us to be quick and jump on. There were holes in the truck bed, but we hung on and jumped out when the guys in the truck stopped at a store a few miles down the road. “Was it scary back there?” they asked.

Car Five: In about five minutes a guy in his early 20s driving an SUV stopped for us. He was very friendly and kind, telling us about his move from Oregon and his current job in construction. He dropped us off at a supermarket. A few minutes later he pulled up beside us, “You forgot this,” he said, handing me my bag. Wow, people in Hawaii really are nice. My wallet was in there, along with a bunch of other things that he could easily have run off with.

Car Six: After picking up a few items at the grocery store, we were very happily picked up by a woman just getting off of work. The sun had set and it was about to rain, so it was a big relief. She was quiet and asked a few questions, giving the typical response of “Oh, wow,” when we told her we had come from New York City. To people in Hawaii, NYC is the antithesis of living here, where everything is on done on “island time,” and with “aloha spirit.” She was going through Captain Cook, so I asked her drop us off at “Pahoho Road.” Somehow she figured out that I meant Napoopoo (pronounced “Na-poe-poe”), but congratulated me for not having said, “Na-pooh-pooh,” a common mistake among visitors.

Car Seven: The last ride home. Standing on the dark, rainy shoulder of the road was a little depressing. We faced the prospect that we might have to walk the last four miles home, but then a car with two young Mexican men stopped for us. They didn’t speak much English, but with some gestures and hand-waving we told them where to stop.

We were exhausted and never happier to see the farm.

On a side-note, we’ve been keeping an eye on this cocoon that’s perched itself on the edge of one of our tent poles. Pete noticed it the second day we arrived, when it was a beautiful chartreuse color with gold flecks. Yesterday I noticed that it was becoming transparent and you could actually see the butterfly forming within. This morning we woke up and the butterfly was emerging from the cocoon—a monarch. We watched it for a minute or two, and when we both had turned away for a second, it flew off, leaving behind the remains of its cocoon.