Mahalo Nui Loa

They say that the Big Island either draws you close or spits you out. Well, what was supposed to be 2.5 months turned into 9. And during that time, I soaked up everything I could. Just a smattering:

Starting a garden at Mahalo Aina with my housemates. And with the black gold soil (i.e., horse manure plus compost) it took little time until it was bursting with tomatoes, collard greens, kale, swiss chard, basil, rosemary, luffa, kalo, sweet potato, and other medicinal plants.  

Selling baked goods at a local farmers market while my housemate Syrissa offered her Bold Botanical Brews.

Taming an overgrown banana grove. Each banana stalk fruits only once before it must be chopped down to make space for new growth and nourish the soil. And I relished the machete-wielding excuse to do the deed.

                                        

Making chocolate from pod to bar. My eternal gratitude to Syrissa for allowing me to apprentice with her. 

                                            

Keeping bees and harvesting honey.

There were kirtans and raga concerts, song circles with my incredibly talented housemates, sweat lodges, and festivals. Sunday Funday with ecstatic dance, Kehena Beach, and drum circle (once was enough). 

Sometimes you have to go an ocean away to run into a friend from home.

My beautiful housemates

Harvesting (more importantly: eating) fruits that would not be out of place in a Dr. Seuss book: Oddly shaped shells protecting gelatinous delicious flesh wrapped around a seed. And selling lychee during its fleeting season.

Soursop

Breadfruit - tastes like potatoes

Ice Cream Bean - tastes like marshmallows

Star Apple - tastes like blueberry pie

Lychee

I sold out in mere hours and made a killing each time

Camping. Little Miss “I-don’t-understand-why-anyone-would-voluntarily-sleep-on-the-ground” camped. And it was fun!

Learning how to shoot a rifle.

And Mahalo Aina was buzzing (both literally and figuratively) with excitement, with the births of Valiant and Artemis. 

Riata and Artemis

Sure, paradise has its cost. The insects are intrusive (think: termites on a kamikaze mission), the humidity makes everything musty, gas nears $5/gallon, and Kīlauea eruptions impact air quality. But the Big Island didn’t spit me out. It stretched me, shaped me, and then showed me when it was time to move on. I leave, reluctantly, with dirt under my fingernails, salt in my hair, a nasty gash on my finger from a lychee picker, a braided horse tail (donated generously by Bucky, Sonoma, and Aurora), and a heart cracked wide open.

Thanks for everything, Hawaii.* 

*Especially my teachers Fabi and Steven, the entire Swift Wind herd, Zoe, Syrissa, Chai, Koa, Ollie, Lizzy, Alizah, Adrean, Michael, Rabbi Shaya and Hinda, Gary, Ido, Mina, the island cars I drove, and Tūtū Pele.

The Beauty of Silent Cacophony

I always say I’m happiest when I’m elbows deep in manure, so I decided to put that theory to the test. Through a mix of my Jewish and equine connections, I found myself at Eden Farms Hawaii at the Seeger Institute, located in the Puna district of the Big Island. It’s a regenerative farm owned, stewarded, and loved by the inimitable Gary Rosenberg – a musician/handyman/occasional mohel/farrier-turned-farmer with a relentless passion for restoring the land. 

Gary and Cowgirl

Gary operates on the belief that Earth was in balance 10,000 years ago, before the Agrarian Revolution (i.e., human intervention) disrupted it. His mission: restore that balance, and thus, the climate. Eden Farms is a living laboratory, a 38-acre off-grid experiment in soil rehabilitation and farming with the goal of restoring the land so it sustains life long after traditional agriculture has exhausted the soil.

And this place is alive. Nearly 1,000 creatures – hens and roosters, goats and sheep, ducks and geese, horses and donkeys, bees, and pigs. So many pigs. They roam freely, coexisting in a delicate, self-sustaining ecosystem. No antibiotics, no hormones, no anti-parasitics – just balanced soil creating resilient animals (which in turn balances the soil). Because when the earth is healthy, everything else follows.

Parade of the piggies

This is Squish. He was bottle raised without other animals and unfortunately doesn't realize that he's a goat. He spends most of his day hanging out with the chickens and head butting people who don't give him enough pets.

There’s a fine line between passion and obsession, and Gary straddles (and often crosses) it daily. He tirelessly advocates to anyone who will listen that we need to create communities that implement holistic carbon-sequestering systems that improve soil conditions and nurture biodiversity (more life begetting more complex life) while simplifying our lives, believing that this holds the key to restoring climate balance, ensuring the soil is arable in 50 years, and strengthening societal relationships. He's not wrong and persuading people that our food system needs a complete overhaul is no easy task.

Rather than adhering to conventional farming methods, he listens to what the land and animals need and attempts to meet them in a way that restores rather than depletes the environment. His methods are unconventional – like planting in contour with the land instead of rows, getting pigs to stomp down the foundation of newly dug ponds for irrigation channels (working smarter, not harder), or hauling in fish scraps (reducing waste) and spreading them onto fields before planting. The sight is disgusting, the stench is overwhelming, and the swarms of flies and maggots make your stomach turn. But there’s a reason behind everything he does (and often a compelling one, no matter how many holes I tried to poke). The nitrogen from the fish burns down invasive growth, the pigs feast and churn the soil with their hooves, and the maggots are a favorite meal for the chickens. No fertilizer, no tilling – just nature working as it’s supposed to. The cycle continues: rich soil grows nutrient-dense grass, which feeds the animals, whose healthy waste (shockingly odorless) nourishes the crops.

Field with newly planted papaya and avocado trees

Years of mucking horse stalls has desensitized me to manure, so I dove right in. I eagerly handled unglamorous yet deeply fulfilling chores of farm life: sweeping and collecting goat and chicken manure then using it to plant seeds, caring for newborn goats and sheep, protecting chicks from mongooses (yes, that’s the correct plural), transplanting crops, driving a mule (ATV, not the animal), wielding a chainsaw, whacking weeds, shooting rifles, and starting horses, just to list a few. I found immense joy meditating in the greenhouse, enveloped by the calming cacophony of silence punctuated by rooster crows, goat bleats, and the occasional donkey bray. I became more comfortable with death, a constant reality in this world, and placed animals that had passed beneath trees, returning them to the land to fuel new growth.

This was the first time Leah had a person on her back.

From day one, Gary and I clicked. I found myself drawn to the farm, spending nearly every spare moment absorbing his lessons on carbon sequestration and land restoration, while engaging in hours of philosophical discussions about how humans are both the problem and solution to our current existential crisis (more the problem these days). And lavishing love on Winston.

Did anything come of my crush on this hyper-intelligent and mercurial Jewish farmer? I plead the fifth. Luckily, a house filled with fluctuating numbers and species of animals, a distinct whiff of eau de prepper, and a man singularly obsessed with tilting at windmills saved me from myself. Eventually.

Tūtū Pele, the revered Hawaiian goddess of creation and destruction, wields immense power. Her lessons can sweep you up in their intensity, but if you listen, they also will illuminate what truly matters to you. The heart of her energy is in Kīlauea, the active volcano located in Puna that she calls home, and her force is especially potent throughout the district.

Pele took hold of me at Eden Farms, which is squarely in her jurisdiction. I was completely caught up in life there and ignored the increasing number of red flags waving right in front of me. She also showed me what’s important. Working with farm animals – check. Tending to the land – check. Embracing a quieter existence in community – check. Repeating patterns, behaviors, and relationships that have never served me – a hard pass.

Of course, lessons often come the hard way. At first, I didn’t listen, so Pele escalated the message each time. I strained my back lifting feed bags, damaged my car on the farm’s rough roads, and even endured a bout of scabies (do not recommend). But I wasn’t deterred until I was knocked hard to the ground by horses* and ran out of patience with the increasing tension between me and the farmer. Pele had been screaming at me that it was time to move on, and I finally surrendered. 

There’s growth in knowing when it’s time to leave, even when it still has a hold on your heart. Eden Farms will always be my happy pIace and Gary continues to send me homework assignments on restorative farming and preventing the end of civilization as we know it, which I sometimes complete.

I cherish every moment I spent at Eden Farms and am deeply grateful for all I learned, carrying those lessons to wherever I land next.

*The fall shook me physically and emotionally. Afterward, I laid down on the earth to release the shock, grateful I wasn’t hurt worse (yes, Mom, I was checked out at the ER). When I lifted my head, I saw a flock of sheep standing about 20 feet away, their eyes locked on me until they were sure that I was okay. Animals always know and I’m thankful for their vigilance and care.

Different sheep

Aloha nā lio

Aloha nā lio means “hello horses” in Hawaiian. Aloha lio means horse lover. Both apply here. Through a friend, I found the Mahalo Aina Sanctuary on the Island of Hawai’i (aka, the Big Island). 

The Big Island is the largest and youngest island in the Hawaiian archipelago. It’s home to 5 major volcanos (some of which are active), including Mauna Kea, which, from base to top, is the highest mountain in the world. The Big Island also features 11 out of the world’s 13 climate zones (no arctic or tundra), ranging from tropical to desert to snow peaks up top Mauna Kea. It’s known as a place of profound spiritual energy and connection, rooted deeply in Hawaiian culture and enriched by its dynamic natural forces. Unsurprisingly, it’s also an area rife with tension between the indigenous Hawaiians and mainland interlopers.

Jungle

Hiking the volcano before it erupted

                                                     The volcano erupting (12/30/24)

Crystal clear water on a black sand beach and sea turtles

Sunset from above the clouds

Atop Mauna Kea at sunset. It was freezing.

Paniolo Festival. Paniolos are traditional Hawaiian cowboys.

Mahalo Aina is located on the Northeast side of the island, high up on the mountain overlooking the Pacific Ocean, and it is delightful. Fabi, the owner, keeps a herd of 16 horses (soon to be 17) on the property, meaning that you walk out on the lanai to a stunning view of the lush pastures and ocean, surrounded by horses grazing freely. 

We’re situated so high above that you can see the cloud line from the driveway. And the full moon reflecting on the still water below is serene and striking.

Fabi has a gift for healing trauma (equine and human). The horses that weren’t bred at the sanctuary all came from traumatic situations, many of whom were untouchable at first. By saying yes to the no’s and taking the yeses as far as the horse will allow, she has been able to rehabilitate them into loving creatures using communication, consent, and connection. The result is inspiring. You must earn each horse’s trust, and once you do, it creates an unshakable bond. When I groom a horse, I ask permission before using each brush and putting on the saddle and bridle. If the horse says no, I have to find someone else to ride that day (no one has said no yet). And they enjoy being ridden – because otherwise they would say no! Even after riding for decades, I still have a lot to learn, and Fabi (and more importantly, Bucky and Sonoma) have helped me grow.

                                                         I haven't cantered bareback in decades.

The sanctuary is located in the town of Pāpaʻaloa, an unincorporated community consisting of farms and a local country store. The nearest city is Hilo, about 35 minutes south. Importantly, it has a Target. Driving up the coast to the north is dotted with charming towns. Life is relaxed but expensive, due to the fact that nearly everything is imported. (Note to self: stop choosing magnificent, but pricy destinations). The beaches are glorious and come in shades of regular, black, and green sand. The hikes and waterfalls are beautiful. Tropical fruits and vegetables are plentiful. Oftentimes, all you have to do is pluck one from the closest tree and sink your teeth into it.

 

The Papa'aloa Country Store is the local (and only) gathering place and has everything you could need - including live music on the weekend.

                                                        Sonoma and I like to go guava hunting together. 

 

My housemates are lovely and in addition to the horses, we share the house with 3 dogs and 6 cats (and uncountable geckos and coquí frogs).

 

Lunch. Genius. Nothing comes for free. That includes island living where you’re surrounded by striking scenery and temperatures from 60-85 degrees all year. And in this case, the price is insects. They're everywhere and from termites to cockroaches, they’re impossible to escape (except for the house I'm living in -- they do a top notch job at controlling them). It’s a wonderful lesson in letting go.

Also, beware of falling coconut fronds.

It barely grazed my shoulder

 

The staggering views, frequent rainbows, and sweet songs of Hawaii still draw me close. I’ll be here for a bit longer…