Spirit of Aloha | Features | January/February 2004

The Places We Love:
KEOKEA IS ONE GOOD PLACE
By Lollie Groth

"It is essential to experience all the times and moods of one good place."
-Thomas Merton

When the Maui Mouse Invasion of 2002 arrived, I had been living in Keokea for seven years. There was a reason for the "invasion": heavy winter rains, which caused an abundance of grass seed, a dominant mouse food source, enabled them to reproduce six to 10 litters a year. Coincidentally, as the mice were taking refuge in my home, I decided to seek refuge in another kind of home. I became a Buddhist. Now, as I was trying to live according to the 10 virtues-I vowed to honor all forms of life and not resort to sticky traps-I realized I had made a pact to peacefully coexist with rodents. This was disconcerting, because even though I didn't take my refuge vows lightly, I also wasn't crazy about rooming with a zillion Stuart Littles.

Mice were everywhere. Hello. They'd run in and out the front door, they'd skitter along the countertops and, looking for the crumbs of life, they'd peek inside the slots of the toaster. In self-defense I brought a Have-a-Heart trap and began the Keokea Mice Relocation Program. This consisted of live mouse drops in various venues on my way to work, my favorite near a former boyfriend's home. I also challenged my cat, Leo, to see who could catch the most mice. We started out even, but Leo soon lost interest and turned back to basking on the lid of my landlord's hot tub. So much for this Tom and Jerry scenario.

When I discovered a mouse in the Milk Bone box, I seriously began to fantasize about a move to a sea-level condo, complete with dry wall and walls that actually connected with the floor. But how could I? Wasn't it this rural nature that I loved? I loved the cool, elevated air that breezed in off the mountain. How could I ever leave my rakatooted Keokea home? I like it here.

I like the resident pueo, a Hawaiian owl that floats over the pastures at dusk. I like the chatter of the mejiros, Japanese white-eyes that perch on my fig tree. I like the quiet that is punctuated now and then by the thud of an avocado falling from its tree. I like waking to Mr. Shim's machete whacking the cane grass at 5:30 in the morning, and his chipper, "How do you like your view?" In my pre-coffee state, I want to say, "How do you like yours?" but I bite my tongue and take in my new north shore view, as the light begins to reveal surf at Paukukalo and Kanaha.

Three thousand feet above Wailea, on the green slopes of Haleakala, is where you'll find the community of Keokea, where I have now lived for about eight years. There's something exotic about Keokea: it's not quite flush with other visions of Hawai'i. After a rain, the pastures are infused with green, and the four o'clocks bloom in the rock walls that line the road. When the mist begins to shroud the landscape, it looks more like Ireland than Maui. So there's magic here. Perhaps it's the cooler nights, or the fragrance of eucalyptus, or the quirky generosity of its constituents. I will never forget the afternoon Herbert Shim pulled up in his Jeep, his terrier in tow, with a pot of freshly steamed, homegrown corn, ready to be buttered and peppered.

Herbert Shim's family has been working the land in Keokea since before the turn of the century. When other siblings ventured to Honolulu or the Mainland, Herbert stayed on in Keokea. "We're close to heaven up here. And I've got my parents to thank for that. It's so beautiful here it makes you want to kiss the ground."

The Chinese began arriving in Kula and Keokea in the 1840s. They planted Irish white potatoes and sold them to whaling ships; later they exported the potatoes to California during the Gold Rush. After California established its own potato crop, farms in Keokea began to produce corn, beans, onions, cabbage and sweet potatoes. Truck farming was the rage. Shim says that his grandparents grew chicken corn, Maui red beans and Irish potatoes. His grandfather took these traditional crops in a wagon to sell in Lahaina.

By the turn of the century, Keokea's Chinese population flourished. And measures were taken so the Chinese could maintain their culture and language. The Rev. Shim Yin Chin, born in Canton, China, was recruited to teach Chinese in 1900. He was the money-raising force behind the construction of St. John's Episcopal Church, which, when it was completed in 1907, served as both a church and a Chinese language school. Herbert Shim doesn't remember Shim Yin Chin, but he did attend Keokea School. He recalls: "I used to walk to school barefoot. When it rained I'd carry an elephant ear over my head. We couldn't afford umbrellas."

In 1911, the Homestead Act was passed, which enabled farmers to acquire land that they had previously leased from the government. After the land was surveyed and opened for bidding, the sale was advertised in English and Hawaiian newspapers. Somehow, the news was not brought to the attention of the Chinese. Aware that the Keokea farmers might lose their land, Rev. Shim wrote to the bishop in Honolulu to explain the injustice of the situation. Many of the families had worked the land in Keokea for more than 15 years, yet their Maui-born children were not of legal age to claim the land. The bishop was able to persuade Gov. William Frear to amend the act. According to the Hawaiian Church Chronicle of December 1911, "the Chinese who had been long resident in the district, and whose children, 17 or 18 years of age had been born there, were granted leases on the premises, which they had occupied and improved until such time as their oldest son, an American citizen, had a right to acquire title."

The first place I lived in Keokea was near mile-marker 15. I slept in a one-room abode that had originally been built as a garden shed to house lawnmowers. But the builder, who enjoyed its quaintness, continued to keep his tools in the garage, and then converted the shed into sleeping quarters. On the floor was a futon; on two walls were paned windows. With the screens open, the smell of night blooming jasmine blasted in. Outside the doors were rows of Manoa lettuce. Strawberry plants sprouted from black cinders, hauled in Sunday afternoon by truck from Kanaio. It was blissful. I read Rumi, listened to the rain on the tin roof, drank mugs full of chai and fancied I was on the terraced hillsides of Darjeeling.

A year later, I moved to a once-gray house that sits like an aerie on the slopes of Haleakala. Now closer to "downtown Keokea," I am within walking distance of Grandma's Coffee House, our center of the universe.

I'm sitting in a booth at Grandma's with the owner, Al Franco, and Dr. Joe Thompson and Uncle Joe. The big topic in Keokea these days is the recent sale of the 31-acre Thompson Ranch to Oprah Winfrey. "Not everybody's selling," says Uncle Joe, who used to lead trail rides at Thompson Ranch and now lives in South Point. "Woody said no." Woody Goble runs a flower farm at the end of Thompson Road. You can get his carnations for two dollars a bunch at Mrs. Chung's, the gas pump and store three doors up from Grandma's.

Jerry Thompson, the 27th of Charlie Thompson's 28 children, had mixed feelings about selling the ranch that his father started in 1901. He was able to parlay the sale into more acreage above Middle Road, with enough land to keep a herd of cattle and operate trail rides. Good looking and wiry, Jerry is the quintessential cowboy. You could see him riding into Keokea town in chaps and spurs to get a hot dog at Fong Store.

"Keokea will always be my home, because all my friends are here," says Uncle Joe.

"He has two friends here, and he has to pay them 50 bucks to stay," says Dr. Thompson, wink, wink.

In the book Maui Remembers, by Gail Bartholomew and Bren Bailey, there's a picture of downtown Keokea in the 1940s and it's strange, because, with the exception of the cars, the town looks virtually the same today. Many of the buildings are still standing. Only the tenants have changed.

Kevin Kihara, who runs Fong Store and is married to Fran Fong, tells me some of the town's history. "Mrs. Fong's garage used to be a makeshift movie theater. Pat Mau, who lives on Thompson Road, used to be the projectionist. They closed it down in the '50s when people started to get TVs. Grandma's used to be a restaurant that served local-style meals. The gallery used to house a barbershop. But if you really want to know the stories behind the buildings, talk to Mrs. Fong."

Although the service station at Fong Store no longer operates, the island that once housed the pumps is still there. So is the covered porch and the red bench. Two doors up the street is Ching Store, which opened in 1939. Florence Hew Ching has worked in her husband's family store for over 40 years. She grew up 2 miles from the store and went to Keokea School.

From Mrs. Ching I buy red anthuriums, pink carnations and narcissus, and she tells me that Keokea "has changed some, there's more people, more houses." She also sells manapua (pork-filled dumplings) local produce, including onions, green beans, ginger and bananas, and essential delicacies such as Nice Brand packages of bean thread, canned bamboo shoots and, of course, Spam. One of the best local meals I've ever eaten was fresh green beans, fried with onions, and cubes of Spam over rice.

Keokea has a special universe. I glance out and see Ted Issacson on his sit-down mower, buffing out his nine-hole golf course. There's Sheldon Wallau, who built a tower out of Kaupo rock and is now building a barn. Kevin Fong and Mrs. Ching are in their stores in front of their TVs, and they can give you the score of any game. Halfway down Thompson Road, Mrs. Mau is in her garden, picking cigar flowers to make a lei. At mile-marker 14, composer Robert Pollack is practicing "Four by Five," a short John Cage-like piece in 5/4 time, "to be performed," he acknowledges, "on two pianos with one roving pianist." And there goes Moon, driving around in his sedan, his bamboo fruit picker sticking out the window.

As I write this, clouds swirl off the crater. The winds are up, and my prayer flags are blowing. What luck I have to experience this one good place known as Keokea, with its kind people and mountain moods. Perched on the slopes of a dormant volcano, I live where mice and Buddhists alike can take refuge.

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