Law of the land

There's a sign on the way out of the Molokai airport that warns tourists to slow down. Indeed the only place I see people move fast is in one of the grocery stores where customers and employees crowd the isles, half of them filling their carts, the other half filling the shelves behind them. The chatter among them reveals relationships are monumentally more important than the transactions going on. Outside you find only moseying. No one is in a hurry here, and it doesn't matter how much of a hurry you want to impose, the law of he land says you go Molokai speed.


Along the 40 mph highway on the way to our rental the roadside signs tell of people who are suspicious of fads that might bring them fame and fortune. They don't want cable, they don't want cruise ships, and many don't want Monsanto that runs an experiment facility here. Our condo for the week is on the most unusual piece of property I've ever had the delight to explore. It takes us poking around for a day or so to figure out we are staying in a small studio portion of a bigger dream that contains acres of ocean front property and an abandoned golf course and resort. The leftover cement paths are perfect hiking trails through the overgrown fairways, sand traps and putting greens. Now these paths are used by the wildlife--Axis Deer, wild turkeys and peacocks. And adventuring tourists. Though someone had a grand vision to run a resort, the place is a monument to a local law that defies encroachment and commercialism.

One of the lovely things about this part of the world of course is the sun and the fruit it sustains. As we peruse the small farmers market, mostly filled with lovely, persuasive ladies in straw hats and polyester dresses pushing papayas and starfruit, which for some reason we grab. Vegetables are rarer and often sold cut up in plastic bags. But if you ask (Jeannie in the library I'm told) someone will give you directions to the island's premiere organic farm. There are no blueberries here shipped in from Connecticut. Here you find only things that are in season, grown on the property. I was absorbed in Barbara Kingsolver's book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle at the time and this kind of buying and eating really strikes a cord. You till, you plant a diverse garden, you weed, you water, you tender and you reap the benefits. There are no shortcuts. And there are no greater rewards than choosing to make a small impact on a fragile land and eat the fruits of your effort.

We walk on or climb over beaches every day. My first day in the ocean I forget a basic rule and get pummeled by a wave and frosted with sand head to toe. I know you don't try and jump a wave when it's close, but duck underneath it instead. The ocean wins. Period. A cheap lesson on my first day to seal my respect for my surroundings and universal laws of the land.

But perhaps the coolest thing about our vacation is the sun comes up, the sun goes down, we create a routine of things that make us feel good, we eat the local food because it's the right thing to do, we slow down and appreciate, we take off our shoes before we go inside, and we honor the culture by following the laws of the land. It is comforting to work our way into a routine dictated by the sun and moon. We sleep until we wake, eat breakfast outside, go out for an adventure, return and eat lunch, go out for an adventure, witness the sunset, and make our way back to the condo and our books and conversation.