Spirit of Aloha | Features | November/December 2007

5 Plant Taro & Find Your Native Roots
By: Cheryl Ambrozic

ISOLATED KīPAHULU MIGHT BE “THE LAST HAWAIIAN PLACE”

PHOTO: COURTESY OF K¯IPAHULU ‘OHANA PHOTO: DARRELL ISHII

A trip to Kīpahulu is like a cold glass of water—nourishing, refreshing and necessary. Traveling this narrow county road, I slow down. I shift reality, falling into a state of silence and opening into a state of appreciation. A place where waterfalls flow free­ly, floral bouquets bloom widely, tropical fruits fill the trees and the air thickens with the sweet essence of all three, Kīpahulu re­mains untouched by modern development. Kīpa­hu­lu is where Hawai‘i remains Hawai‘i.

Located on the southeast side of Maui, Kīpahulu is about 30 minutes from H¯ana and about two hours from Kahului. The area is predominantly Native Hawaiian, having the second-highest percentage of Native Hawaiians in the state (after Ni‘i­hau). Most families’ genealogies extend back hundreds of years. Often referred to as “the last Hawaiian place,” Kīpahulu is one of the most isolated communities in Hawai‘i, off the grid and committed to a self-sufficient lifestyle.

Twelve years ago, the nonprofit Kīpa­hulu ‘Ohana was formed to help sustain this lifestyle and provide work opportunities for the community. In cooperation with the National Park Service, it created a program to demonstrate how traditional Ha­waiians once lived on this land and how they have adapted and evolved on it today.

Founders John and Glenna Ann “Tweetie” Lind and Mike Minn—dedicated Hawaiian activists and now aging baby-boomers—work tirelessly to preserve cultural practices and this fragile environment. In an area named Kapahu Farm, they’ve unearthed 2.5 acres of lo‘i (taro patches)—a relatively small portion of what once blanketed this moku (district). They’ve helped remove invasive species, build an authentic Hawaiian hale (house) and build a community kitchen. In 2005, the ‘Ohana earned the Hawai‘i Tourism Authority’s Keep It Ha­wai‘i “Kāhili Award” for its authentic portrayal of Hawaiian culture.

Today, the ‘Ohana offers a cultural interpretive hike guided by Native Hawaiians with genealogical ties to the area.

Meet my hike guide, Kema Kanaka‘ole.

Standing under a thatched palm-frond roof, Kema wears blue flowered surf shorts, hiking boots, a branded T-shirt and Oakley glasses. A tall man, his shoulders are full of pride, his solid arms rest on his opu (belly), his fishhook necklace catches the sunrays slipping through the hale’s open walls.

Native roots dig deep in Kema’s family. His great-great-great-grandmother danced hula in King Kamehameha’s royal court. As one of the last Japanese samurai, and fearing for his life, his great-great-grandfather stowed away on a steamship to Hawai‘i. Jumping ship at La Perouse, he made it to ‘Ulupalakua Ranch and worked as a cook. One day, while traveling to East Maui, he stopped to rest in Kīpahulu. It was here he fell in love with a young Hawaiian maiden, knee-deep in mud, working the taro patches at Ka­pa­hu—Kema’s great-great-grandmother. Now, Kema helps his community by working the lo‘i and passing on the area’s history and culture.

Trekking with Kema, a hiker has the privilege of using an exclusive trail that only the ‘Ohana is allowed to use. On the four-mile journey, he and I pass ancient relics and remnants from the not-so-distant past.

First, we stop at the home site of the Po‘onika family—the last Hawaiian family that lived here in the traditional lifestyle in the early 1900s. Kneeling, Kema identifies various waist-high, crumbling rock walls under layers of jungle foliage. I see the patterns. As we weave through and over them, I realize they maze every way I look. With every species of plant, Kema jumps path to pick a seed or berry, opening up a personal story. “See this kukui nut?” he asks as he holds the walnut-shaped, hard shell. “My grandma would line up my brothers and sisters and make us drink its green sap,” he explains, his face twisting with the memory of its sour taste. He picks a false kamani seed, explaining that as a boy he would spend countless hours at the shore­line, enjoying these tropical almonds washed down by the river. With giant fingers, he gingerly picks a native ruby ‘ākala berry. “I like these on vanilla ice cream,” he says, smiling.

Kema takes me to George Kewalo’s 1920s plantation house and the remnants of the late-1800s Kīpahulu Sugar Plantation’s flume and dam. We penetrate deeper into the folds of the fertile jungle, full of light and shadow, bursting in blossom. Merging onto the Pipiwai Trail, we tunnel under a canopy of the bamboo forest, swooshing and clicking with the slightest breeze. “That’s good eating,” he exclaims, pointing out a large, freshwater ‘o¯pae (shrimp) as we cross the stream. We conclude at the 400-foot Waimoku Falls to listen to the crescendo of the crashing water and be cooled by its fleeting mist.

Returning down the mountain, Kema and I enter the clearing of Kapahu Farm. Illuminated by sunshine, heart-shaped taro leaves dance in the breeze. Tweetie greets us with a warm “aloha” and a table dressed with palaka cloth and banana leaves. She offers samples of food now growing at Kapahu Farm: taro, sweet potato, watercress, breadfruit, sugar cane and banana.

As I bite into a chunk of steamed sweet potato, Kema looks out across the ancient taro patches and tells me that this place is about promoting Hawaiian culture for Hawai‘i’s children. “Once these kids realize their greatness, they will want to live it and will work to preserve it,” he predicts.

The hike is over, yet I linger to watch Kema strip off his boots and submerge into the rich mud of the lo‘i—just as his great-great-grandmother did. Today, he’s harvesting taro for his daughter’s high school graduation party.

The Kīpahulu Cultural Interpretive Hike departs from Hale Kū‘ai below Haleakalā National Park’s Kīpahulu Visitor Center, off Highway 36 going east, just past mile marker 42. Hikes cost $49 to $79 per person. Reservations are required; visit kipahulu.org or call 248-8558.

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