Remembering Lawai Valley

[Editors' note: This piece originally ran in the Honolulu Advertiser.]

by Mahealani Perez-Wendt

My corner of the world began with the bounty of a family garden, ranged beyond it to fruit-laden trees in a yard unremarkable for this part of the country, and extended to wild orchards tantalizing from low rolling hills to Norfolk mountains.

In the garden, a tangled vineyard of cherry tomatoes spilled over its lattice onto rows of chickpeas, carrots, radishes, green onions, and many other edibles. These were hedged in by the dense foliage of Surinam with its tart, pumpkin-shaped fruit, protecting against burrowing animals like Junior, our pet mountain pig.

There were mango, banana, avocado, and sprawling mountain apple trees, strategic blinds to friendly but sometimes overly-inquisitive neighbors who vigilently reconnoitered vehicles traveling the jeep road in and out of the valley.

Thickets of wild tangerine, oranges, strawberry guava and roseapple grew along the hillside. Green tendrils of liliko`i hoisted above kukui nut trees, forming arbors with topmost branches. Wild achote, oregano and cilantro grew in abundance, planted by my grandparents many years before.

There were flowers and ornamentals in the yard manicured by my Hawaiian mother – roses, calla lillies, ice pink akulikuli, canna, gardenia, hibiscus, innumerable varieties of ti and Hawaiian medicinal plants.

The roadside displayed miniature bouquets of fiery lantana, and lavender curls of manaloa hung from weathered fenceposts.

A stream traversed the pasture beyond our garden, its banks choked with reedy Job’s Tears and succulent white ginger. An old stonewall still assembled, its crevices ablossom with shell-pink and orange flowers. They were cheerful and resonating in the sun, a subtle aurora at day’s end. Eucalyptus, white paperbark and hau – these sentinels added to the magic beyond our garden.

Across the stream, an aging Auntie Louisa and Uncle Dionicio sunned themselves on their front porch, contentedly smoking black twists of Toscani. Their home smelled of freshly baked bread, and not infrequently, she stood on the porch, singing out and calling to everyone within earshot to come for fresh malasadas.

There were rituals of men, rituals of women. The men were consummate hunters, skilled with horses, livestock and cattle. My earliest memories were of tall, dark men in black saddles with leather riding crops and boots. The children were weaned on horses and cattle; they understood roping, branding, methods of slaughter. They listened as their fathers swapped hunting stories – some chilling, others full of country humor.

The women often worked as seasonal trimmers at nearby Lawa`i cannery, and were skilled with knives and techniques of butchery. The slaughter of animals occasioned a marathon of activity – cutting, sorting, wrapping, labeling and provisioning for families as well as market.

Sometimes they would gather to make sausages. At these times, the women would don kerchieves and spend the entire day bent over heaps of hot, savory spices and mountains of onions, peppers, parsley, garlic and pork for mosilla and linquesa.

This was a community of devout Catholics, and there were many discussions about church and the holy sacraments. How does one pray a soul out of purgatory? I wondered about these things.

There were festive celebrations and revelry with special wines, wonderful food, “katchi-katchi” music and of course, lively dancing. Everybody cut loose. I remember my uncles putting on their wives’ clothes, including brassieres, and dancing the rhumba. Unbelievable.

On some Saturday nights, families piled into jeeps and Model A’s for John Wayne movies at Kalaheo Theater. At these times, a great cheer would go up when the calvary galloped in against “redskins”. Times sure have changed.

It seems a child’s life in Lawa`i was an idyll of dreams – hours spent catching crayfish with guava branches and string; hours sitting on topmost branches of trees with forbidden shakers of shoyu, salt and pepper; exploring every trail, every fence, every foot bridge; knowing special rocks and secret places – we passed our time this way. We learned about family and kinship, and from the earth, we learned our place.