Hawaii: A million words. Part 2: the gates of Paradise*
When I was young visitors to my parent’s farm would rave about it. They would show up at the front door exclaiming “It’s paradise!” “A tropical wonderland” “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life!”. I thought they were mad. I’m older and wiser now. I no longer compare the wildness of true Hawaii to the manicured estates that we are presented as ideals in the media. I appreciate the honesty of the farm, a working piece of land that made a living for my parents, and don’t need to tidy away all the tools and compost heaps that make it what it is. The farm is set up a valley. You turn off the main road which winds round the coast, and head mauka (mountain side) up a narrow, rough dirt road. In a small car the centre median scrapes the bottom, rocks and fairy grass meeting metal. On one side of the road the steep valley wall, an inhospitable mass of sharp shoulder-high grass, thorny trees, and rocks rises. On the other, …