I think my current commute to work is one of the best commutes I have had so far. I have the honor of working on a 9,600-acre property on the slopes of Maunaloa in South Kona of Hawai‘i Island. Most ‘āina ma uka (land upland of town - in this context, specifically the mountainous slope of Maunaloa) in South Kona is private property; therefore, many people who live in South Kona, are not able to experience the ‘āina ma uka. Here I share photos of my commute to work, hoping that someone who has not been able to experience South Kona can have a little glimpse of the area. Step 1, from the main South Kona road, turn ma uka. This marks the beginning of driving up. Our starting elevation is 1,800 feet. Step 2, drive up through a neighborhood mixed with small agriculture lots. Some look more like typical homes, while others are more like coffee shacks. Step 3, keep driving ma uka. Once we reach 2,700 feet in elevation, we drive through a 1,900-acre coffee farm. When the coffee is flowering, the countless small white flowers look a bit like snow from a distance. Around this point of the drive, the back seat passenger looks like the photo below. Chilling in the upside-down relaxed state. Step 4, keep driving up through the coffee farm to reach the last gate marking the beginning of the property I work on. Step 5, at this point (2,900 feet), I pull off the road and offer an oli. An oli is a Hawaiian chant often used to set an intention and/or ask permission to enter a space (whether a physical space or a state of mind). The oli I most often share was written by a professor in the department I am a part of, and it honors the communities and places in which we learn and work. Dr. Mehana Vaughan encourages its use to welcome, ask permission to enter, or request guidance for educational and research efforts, that they may bring pono for Hawai‘i’s ‘āina and people. Sometimes I am eager to oli, while other days, I am in more of a hurry or just want to get to work. However, I turn off the work truck, get out, stand on my feet, and orientate myself to the forest. Physically, emotionally, and spiritually connecting to the ‘āina. I share these words. With time and repetition, it now feels disrespectful to not oli when driving to my research sites. It feels like walking past a beloved family member without saying hello, or even making eye contact. In a chapter from Braiding Sweetgrass, Dr. Robin Kimmerer describes ceremony. She shares a ceremony her family would give at the beginning of summer canoeing days. She writes, “…I imagined that the land heard us (in reference to their ceremony) – murmured to itself “Ohh, here are the ones who know how to say thank you.”...” After an oli, you wait for a response, permission to enter. Typically when I oli, I give the oli to the ʻāina rather than to a specific human who can provide a verbal reply. Even though I speak a different language than the ʻāina, I feel the makani, I hear the manu sing, I smell the nahele/ulu lāʻau saying aloha. I hope, and imagine, that the ‘āina murmurs in response, “here is the one who asks permission, acknowledges, and gives thanks.” Step 6, hop back into the truck and drive up through remanent mixed native and non-native forest. Below are photo examples of some mixed forest species we pass. ‘Ōhiʻa lehua (Metrosideros polymorpha; large tree trunk), ʻieʻie (Freycinetia arborea; vine on the ʻōhiʻa trunk), ginger (dominant dark green, large leaf plant in the understory), hāpuʻu (Cibotium menziesii; tree fern above the ginger). Up close of an ʻieʻie flower. Step 7, arrive at the nursery. Sometimes my drive stops here at 3,600 feet, while other times, I keep going up another 1,000 to 1,500 feet to reach field sites where we plant and kilo (observe) seedlings. Only thing that would make my commute better is if I could bike rather than drive.
In Braiding Sweetgrass, Dr. Robin Kimmerer shares that ceremonies, such as my commute to work and sharing an oli, “have the power to focus attention to a way of living awake in the world...(that) ceremony is a vehicle for belonging - to a family, to a people and to the land.” She goes on to ask, “What else can you offer the earth, which has everything?” So for now, I will offer my thanks, my words, my time, my intentions, in the form of an oli. A ceremony of kanaka maoli (native Hawaiian people). Mahalo.
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AuthorI started this blog as part of my Botany In Action Fellowship through Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens Archives
June 2023
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