The Papaya Farm

The days are now running together. We are all over the garden attempting to make sense of it. It seems so big. Sometimes I can't wrap my mind around it.

A couple of days ago we planted the papaya farm which is the cutest little farm this side of the pacific. In a 40 foot square fenced in plot there lie around 6 rows of raised red dirt which now have sprouting from them 32 beautiful green fleshy plants. Some of the darlings are a bit older and are nearing a foot tall but most of them stand mere inches off the ground. The green strikes a heavy contrast to the red dirt, especially when a new leaf has just emerged with a color that is almost neon.

Mr. Miller Molokai (who is visiting this week)is pretty smart about what these plants need and showed us how to make bowls around each seedling so that they can hold more water. With the dirt and the rocks they end up looking like bowls of chili. Especially when you put the water in them. The papaya plant then acts as a sprig of parsley.

It took me a while to plant them as I had to make sure that each chili bowl was symmetrical. Then what with all the relationship building going on with each plant... you can see how it would take some time.

My favorite one is Wilbur. He is the smallest one in the batch and so is named after another famous farm runt. In his little sapling container he had been overtaken by a large weed. When I removed the weed along came most of Wilbur's delicate root system. He is so small that I am not sure that he will make it. I vow to sing to him everyday so that he can grown some new strong roots.

I walk out to the papaya farm each morning. Give them water and miracle grow and sing to them. I think they like gospel.

This is my life now… covered in red dirt, singing to papaya plants.

The day goes by so fast that it feels nothing has been done and only my exhausted limbs, sore muscles and a ravenous appetite prove that I have worked. I still haven’t moved into the little caretaker cottage yet. Its bright pink and blue walls plead for attention. "Please paint me!" they beg. "I'll get to you," I promise.

Walking the garden I note all the pruning, weeding, and fertilizing that must be done. Then I step back. So much seems to be happening underneath the surface, under the ground where the roots are sucking the dry earth for any remaining droplets of moisture. These roots secure the plants to the soil, to each other, fending off high winds that might otherwise sweep them off to sea.

Above land, no roots hold me down in one place. I wonder if a big gust of wind might fly me right off this rock. How I wish sometimes I could settle down, allow some roots to anchor me, tie me to a piece of earth.

Day Three: The Invention of a Friend

Day Three

Day three is being brought to you by Lemon Verbana also known as LV. She is whom I send out to do the hard jobs here around Miller Molokai a.k.a. Paradise. Just in case you thought all we did for a day was sit around and stare at plants (there is quite a lot of that) I have described for you below a typical "work" day.

Today LV woke up before the sun because she was actually excited to start shoveling all the mud from the walkway. She's crazy right? Do you see why I keep her around though?

(Side note: Whenever it rains here, which isn't very often, the long driveway becomes a torrential river carrying all the dirt, gravel and rocks from its expansive stream and placing them, very inconveniently I might add, onto the front steps of Paradise.)

I told LV that all the mud is going to come right back down with the next rain and she's going to have to shovel it all over again. She said she doesn’t mind. "It’s a meditative practice" she says, which doesn't make any sense to me and I doubt she knows what it means either. But hey, "Whatever floats your boat LV!" or should I say "whatever fills your shovel."

After the driveway was replaced I noticed her standing in the trees with lilikoi (passion fruit) juice squirting all over her face and clothes. She's like an animal with those things. Crawling through the brush her eyes will light up on one of those little yellow fruits and then with cat like intensity she will pounce upon it and begin devouring the thing like a woman starved.

One thing I know for sure: you do no want to get in the way of LV and her passion fruit. Watch out!

Next time I saw LV she was cleaning the pool. She was having a heck of a time with that vacuum hose. From where I was sitting it looked as if she was in the clutches of a giant sea squid. I went down to check out my hypothesis. She said she wasn’t sure if it was a sea squid or not. She cleaned the pool from top to bottom, up and down with the giant hose. "Boooring!" I said. "You have to do this every other day?"
"It's meditative," she said.
"Whatever LV."

Something even more crazy about LV is that she has a kindness in her heart like nothing else for a dead animal. Earlier in the day I saw her near the dumpster lifting a great big dead bull frog from the road and placing him in the grassy field so he could have a "proper resting place" she said. Later I found her underneath the house by the pool pump in the company of a dead centipede. She was really struggling because LV doesn't care much for centipedes. She gave him a name, Samuel, and said that's all she could do at the moment. I bet you anything that she goes down there tomorrow and digs Samuel a grave and says a few words. I tell you that LV is something else.

She worked hard all day long while all I did was clean the house and cut come flowers for the guests. I got myself one library card too and some good books on gardening. The LV and me, we are going to have one heck of a garden.

I'd have to say the best part of LV's day had to be when she went to the Plumeria Farm. She said there was a big dog barking and she didn't know if she should run or not, when all of a sudden a nice man named Dick came to the door. He walked with a cane and had a sadness behind smiling eyes. He would have reminded her of a friend she met during the war… if she had ever been to war.

He told LV that they didn't have any leis for her to bring to her guests but when he saw her deflate like a purple balloon he suggested she sit down, tell him a story and he would teach her to string a couple leis. LV just loves people like Dick. She told him about her day, the mud walkway, the dead animals, and the sea squid as they delicately threaded the soft perfumed petals into beautiful leis.

Day Two

Day Two

I woke up today with the knowledge that this beautiful home is now my responsibility. Yikes! It feels like going from taking care of a cat to being in charge of an entire endangered feline species. I would be lying if I said I am not concerned. The plants outside my window eye me suspiciously, wondering if I am up to it.

I walked down to the beach this morning and sat and watched the waves come rolling in and out. Papahaku beach is three miles of beautiful sand and not a soul in site. It would be a great place to meditate. In fact I tried. I sat, towards the sea, cross legged with hands face up, my eyes closed and I emptied my mind of all thoughts… for one second. Then I started thinking about breakfast. Stopped myself, watched the waves, and contemplated the impermanence of all things before deciding to defrost some chicken for lunch. GRGH! This whole mediation this is difficult and not as much fun as food.

I gave up and went back to the house where I stared at the plants for a little bit and upon feeling overwhelmed treated myself to a nap. The plants glared at me as if to say "we knew you weren't up for it." "I'm tired" I thought back in my defense. They were not impressed.

Later I went to pick up my car from the wharf where it was arriving from Honolulu. Taxi driver "Harley" drove me there. He had just been married the Friday before. I asked him if it was his first marriage and he got really quiet and I silently cursed myself and my unbridled curiosity. He broke the awkwardness by showing me a framed photo of him and his wife. So precious! He keeps it face down in his front seat and handles it with such delicacy you would think it was the most valuable and fragile thing he owned. Shouldn’t we treat all marriages with such tenderness?

We arrived at the wharf and Harley gave me his card and told me to show it to anyone who gives me trouble. I immediately pictured myself in some sort of "trouble" and having to dig through the disaster that is my hand bag, looking through the gum wrappers, to do lists, and receipts, weeping in the face of my attackers because I can't find Harley's card. (I have since organized said handbag and know exactly where Harley's card is so attackers beware!)

Harley apparently knows everyone on the island which is about 7000 folks. I believe him because everyone we passed on the road waved and honked at him. "That's my cousin," he would say, "That's my other cousin, and my other cousin and my auntie…" and so on and so on. He and his wife had to have a secret wedding because if not then the whole island would have shown up. But boy did he get a scolding from his Aunties at Friendly Market who weren't invited. Not pretty, so I am told.

I retrieved my car from the wharf and was sadly disappointed. After driving that shiny red rental car my old Saturn looked like something pulled from the bottom of the sea.

When I got back to my little cottage (I have my own separate residence away from the Miller Molokai) I began unloading the jenga puzzle that was my belongings. I had hurriedly stuffed all that I own into my car upon learning that I could pack as much as I could get in there.

I love seeing my things in a new space! (Even if the new space is this broken down cottage with pepto bismal paint and eroded carpet and fungus like smell that reminds one of your grandmother's basement) I think I can make this place really beautiful. Just a little TLC is all it well take. Okay, maybe a lot of TLC.

At night, just before sunset, the storm came. I saw it out to sea, grey cloudy monster of a thing coming straight for me. At first I enjoyed the sound of the rain pounding down on the roof. Then I realized that the previous caretakers had informed me of leaks so I was then sent scurrying all about the house placing bowls and pans underneath every drip drip.

I felt very successful at handling my first rain storm. I walked by the plants a little taller in my step. They acted nonchalant but I could tell they were impressed. I sat on the bed for the rest of the night taking pictures of the beautiful glimmering drops splashing into the silver bowls, listening to the howling of the wind outside and the palm trees knocking on wood.

Day One

Day One:

So here I am on small nine-seater propeller plane all by myself, except for the captain, of course, who just so happens to be a friend of a friend and is about to give me an all exclusive ride of my life.

As the plane reaches cruising altitude he nods to the co-pilot chair upfront and asks "You wanna sit up front?" Do I ever!

I crawl up into the small compartment where I do my best to not touch anything out of fear that I might, with one wrong move, send us hurdling to our death.
After I get buckled in the Captain, or as I now call him "my new best-friend," shoots me a smile and says "You wanna see something cool?" and he swoops the plane down toward the sea with amazing force that I almost pea my pants. Descending motion ceases, my pea safely stored, stomach compartment a little worse for wear but all worth the view as we fly by the tallest sea cliffs in the world; the north shore of Molokai. Waterfalls at eye level cascade down the green rocky faces, looking magical and otherworldly as well as forceful and foreboding.

We pass by an outcropping of mountain where he points behind to a small house buried within the cliffs. "Separatist's" he informs me "There are no roads to their house. Everything has to come in by boat or helicopter. They mainly life off the land with as little contact with outsiders as possible."

Talk about seclusion, I think to myself. Now that is really living at the edge of the earth. I wonder who they are. What do they eat? Do they make helicopter trips to Costco to stock up on toilet paper and soy milk or do they grow everything there? Can they offer me tips on my future garden endeavors or would they rather kill me?

As I muse on my own future relationships with the islands inhabitants we go over Kalauapapa or better known as The Colony. A beautiful peninsula with a painful history. This is where we forcibly placed islanders with Hansen's Disease, more commonly known as Leprosy, and in the process tore apart lovers, families and generations. Some of the patient's still live there. I get goose bumps as we fly over this small world that held so much suffering.

We rise up and up and curve around to the west coast of Molokai. I see the long 3 mile stretch of Papahaku beach, (the longest beach in all of Hawaii) and I strain my eyes to see my future residence buried in the Kiawe (Key-ah-vay) trees near the south end of the coast. I am delighted to think that I will once again have the beach to the west of me. Living on the north side of Maui I could never quite convince myself that the beach was on the North and I would continue to look for sunsets in vain. Too many years of being a west coast mainlander is hard to shake. Relieved I am to have the ocean, the sand and the sunsets safely restored to their proper orientation.

As I get off the plane I thank my pilot friend profusely. I could never imagine a better welcome to my new home. An older couple stop me and ask if I am here for a visit. "I just moved here," I said realizing the impact of that statement. They mumble something about it being a "nice place" as they eye me curiously.

At the rental car kiosk I wanted to sing at the top of my lungs "I have arrived!!!" but I decided it wouldn't be the best first impression. I have full understanding that my presence on this island is not met with my same amount of enthusiasm. We have all seen the bumper stickers; "Welcome to Hawaii, NOW GO HOME!" On Molokai they seem to be more common than not. I don't take it personal but I will not ignore it either. I decide it is best to stay as invisible as I can for the next few months and hope that when they all start to notice my presence it will be like noticing a freckle on your hand that you are kinda used to. "Hey when did that get there?"

They brought me out one red car. It might as well have said "I am a Haole Tourist" in bright neon lights. But it drove fast and smooth so I wasn't complaining. I made my way into town. The little streets that make Kauanakakai are barren, a few shops and a lot of empty space. At first it appears like some tidal wave has just washed everything away but when you stop and take another look things start to unfurl like the "Natural Foods" store at the end of the block, the "Molokai Fish and Dive" or my favorite "Molokai Wine and Spirits." Many folks will leave this town not able to see any of the beauty that it holds and I think that’s how the locals want to keep it.

This is the thing about Molokai; it is as if the island and its inhabitants have weaved a magical spell on the place to make it appear like it is falling apart in order to avoid big developers and mass tourists coming in and reaking havoc. It is a secret place. It holds its beauty in strange and hard to get places. It keeps itself shrouded in a veil so that only those with the right eyes can see what it has to offer.

When I look at Molokai I can't help but see all the pot holes and the broken down hotels and the vacant store fronts. I can't help but hear the loss of dreams and hopes of so many who had plans to make Molokai the next Maui, of those who wanted to share the secret beauty with the rest of the world. But I can't help but feel the energy in the land; the excitement of the rocks, the sand and the Kiawe trees as they grow across the abandoned golf courses and scour the trails with thick thorns, joyous in their reconnection with the land and in their ability to take back what is theirs.

With my car loaded up with groceries I drive the main road back west to my new home. Everything I see amazes me; the trailer with animal paintings on it that hosts a humane society, an agricultural co-op, a papaya farm. Things become more interesting to you when you realize you live there.

And I do… live here now.
I live on Molokai.
How did this happen?
How did I come to live in this tropical paradise?
And how will I survive? I know no one and know less about how to care for a vacation home and tropical garden not to mention a papaya farm of my own.

Driving down the driveway to Miller Molokai (the home I will now be caretaking) the green foliage envelopes me. Standing under the Bee Still trees and the boughanviella I begin to get the feeling that the plants are threatening me to take a chance.

Oh strange place, where the wild things are.
Will I tame you or am I the one to be tamed?

Now a new adventure begins.

Do to the mysterious nature of the universe our heroine has found herself relocated onto the island of Molokai. Is it possible that she is slowly creeping herself westward into the pacific? How far will she go? What is she searching for? What will she find?

Molokai, part third world, part paradise, part ghost town.

Molokai… the last chance, the last ditch effort at making sense of this world, the last dance before she settles down?

Molokai… a land as mysterious, as frightful, as bright and energetic as life itself.

Then there is the isolation.

Alone, she will be totally alone. Nothing but a cat, a centipede and a few papaya plants. Will she grow mad or will Molokai be just about the perfect place for our girl to step into the mystery?