Just recently, we were blessed by a lost cousin’s visit to Hawai‘i.   Alison represents a part of our ‘ohana that suddenly left around the end of the first decade of the twentieth century and moved to Albany, New York. In the recent past her cousin from that line, Barbara, had also visited and worked with us regarding family history. Good people. During my “little kid” days when I was responsible for being seen but not heard, I had listened to bits and pieces of the family drama that had unfolded in Lāhainā, Maui (pictured above) during the end of the nineteenth century and through the twentieth. Like most kids I was clueless when words such as “fraud,” “pono ‘ole,” and “auwe!” were used by the adults in the telling of our family drama. Years passed, I stumbled into adulthood, and became totally focused on finding a path to care for my own growing family. Drama was abundant enough in my nuclear family, so the aches and pains of generations past held little interest.

Lot of this changed as I entered the midsection of my time here. I had found my passion for helping others, our family’s Christian faith had matured, my children were swimming up the rivers of their own lives, and my wife and I had found a slowly lowering level of challenges in family life (actually we realized later that the nature of the various challenges were changing, not their pace). In the midst of this change there was also a growing interest on my part about my Hawaiian roots, the host culture, the language of my elders, the history of our people. Prior to this, these issues held little interest for me as I struggled to find footing in a western culture. Hawaiian things seemed to be decorative like the Kodak Hula Show that played in Kapi‘olani Park for decades, the radio show “Hawai‘i Calls,” or the good fun local music and hula times at the Barefoot Bar at the Queen’s Surf and other venues in Waikiki. In her youth, my mother and her siblings were not allowed to speak Hawaiian at home, so we had been separated from our native language. My father was from Pennsylvania. The expectations my parents had for me were driven by a non-Hawaiian culture and even the high school I attended, though thought to be “Hawaiian,” was in fact a school for Hawaiians to learn the ways of the western world. It was with this background that in my mid-life I found a growing interest in all things Hawaiian.

Looking back on the past couple of decades I can say this growing interest and awareness of Hawaiian reality has been a marvelous, amazing, and painful journey. I would not trade it, but I can understand why many are hesitant to dive into their Hawaiian reality and the history that comes with it! It is this background that brings me back to our recent short visit with cousin Alison.

Though our understanding of all the nuances and side trails of our family history are still being studied by some of the ‘ohana, the outlines of the family division at the beginning of the twentieth century probably tracked very similar stories in other Hawaiian families. Our Hawaiian ‘ohana comes from the land division of Kaua‘ula above the town of Lāhainā, Maui. It seems that according to some of the records we have in hand, the various parts of the ‘ohana- the Hinau clan, the Pelio clan, the Manaku clan, the Lindsey clan, and the Ayers clan- were in possession of a significant number of land holdings, several of which also held some of the water sources for the region. A significant part of these holdings came from a man named Joseph Likona Kapakahi, who married into the ‘ohana by taking my great grandfather’s aunt Hana Pelio as his wife. Hana was widowed and then sent to the leper colony Kalaupapa in December 1890, where she struggled to defend her title to the lands of Kapakahi from seizure by Pioneer Mill Sugar Plantation. When I read the correspondence surrounding the legal battles and Hana’s plaintive plea that she could not leave Kalaupapa to defend her rights, I was taken by the fact that the Bayonet Constitution of 1887, which stripped both the Hawaiian people and the Hawaiian King of significant political power, also led in the last six months of that year to a significant increase of Hawaiians sent to Kalaupapa. Plantations were working hard to secure land and water for their commercial investments and it seems they did so at the expense of numerous Hawaiian families, the traditional owners. Was Kalaupapa used in these efforts by the plantations? As the saying goes, “If it looks like a duck, sounds like a duck, and walks like a duck, it is probably a duck.” The connection between land tenure issues and Kalaupapa would be an interesting subject to explore but it is only one piece in the creation of the “culture of shame.”

Back to our family’s history in Lāhainā. Upon Hana’s death in November 1904, it seems her claim to the lands of Kapakahi had been given to her nephew (my great grandfather) Alama Pelio. Alama also passes soon after and his widow, my great grandmother Hattie Namo‘olau Manaku Kaikale Ayers, receives the inheritance.

Family tradition says that Namo‘olau was of the ali‘i class, a business woman, and the court interpreter for Queen Lili‘uokalani. She was always favored by the Queen when she visited Lāhainā and the Queen gifted beautiful jewelry to her over the years. The Queen was also a close friend of Hana’s daughter-in-law Kapoli Kamakau, who unfortunately was also sent to Kalaupapa and became part of the family through the marriage of her father Umikukailani to the widowed Hana, while all three lived at Kalaupapa.

My great grandmother Namo‘olau had two flights of children. She had either married or was in a common law relationship with a Thomas Eugene Ayers, a Scotsman who fathered several children with Namo‘olau and then disappears from the scene. We think they had two daughters and one son: Mary Alice (marries a Japanese diplomat and dies in Japan), Thomas Ayers (the son who dies before the turn of the century), and Rosina Georgiette K. Ayers. Namo‘olau subsequently either marries or lives with Alama Pelio and they have another four children. These latter children, including my grandmother Julia Maile Ayers, were not allowed to bear the Pelio name but carried the more acceptable western name of their half siblings.

The plot thickens when Namo‘olau’s daughter Rosina (from the Thomas Eugene Ayers children) a beautiful Hawaiian/Caucasian mix, meets and marries a newly arrived medical doctor from New York, Dr. Robert Henry Dinegar. Little did the family know what an impact he would have on their future.

It appears that Dr. Robert Henry Dinegar arrived in Hawai‘i at the end of the 19^th century and was originally from Albany, New York. Various stories swirl around the reasons for his coming to the islands, but it has to be said that he and his medical colleagues worked diligently to lower the death rate of plantation workers at this point in history. Dr. Dinegar is also known as the father of radiology in Hawai‘i, served in the public health service, was a regional medical officer for Maui, and according to the family was the first owner of an automobile on the island of Maui! He meets and marries Rosina (my grandmother’s half-sister) and they have a son and a daughter. So far, a great family story. Unfortunately, there’s more to come.

Dr. Dinegar in the islands

Dr. Dinegar’s car

The end of the family tragedy comes quickly. Through all this time, the land dispute has continued with Pioneer Mill and has not come to any final resolution. When Namo‘olau dies at the end of July 1907, Rosina petitions the court to have Dr. Dinegar appointed executor of Namo‘olau’s estate in April 1909. He is made executor, sells the interests in the land and the water rights to Pioneer Mill, and moves that same year with all the family to Albany, NY. He sets up a successful practice and subsequently runs away with his secretary. Rosina remains on the mainland with her son and daughter and sixty years later I get to meet “Lady” Adelaide (Rosina’s daughter) in Boston, Massachusetts. She and her grandchildren along with her brother Henry’s grandchildren have been most gracious. Slowly we are learning good lessons from our family drama.

As I look back on it, one thing stands out from my first moments in Lady’s fine house. I remember being surrounded by furniture, poi pounders, artifacts, quilts, and photos of my family’s past that I had never seen or imagined before. I was gifted with a continuing interest in where I came from, when I was least expecting it. I am grateful that the Dinegar offspring have been generous in sharing the artifacts that went to Albany. Some of the photos are included at the end of this blog thanks to cousin Alison from Plymouth, Massachusetts (cousin Alison is one of Adelaide’s grandchildren, the oldest of four children from Adelaide’s only child, a son).  The spear that the family believes was part of Captain Cook’s final minutes and the jewelry given to Namo‘olau by the Queen are in ‘Iolani Palace. The flag quilt of the Hawaiian kingdom is in the Smithsonian. Good and generous gestures from the ‘ohana.

What does this all mean? I would not dare to make pronouncements for anyone except myself and my children. The process of understanding our family is a process that continues as I write. I have been blessed to be introduced to a branch of our ‘ohana that I never knew existed. I have been blessed that they share the same interest in understanding their past as I do as a means of making sense of our present. I am also impressed by their interest in things Hawaiian! All of this tempers the heat I have experienced when I first learned of the sudden departure of Rosina and Dr. Dinegar. We all struggle to live lives that are “pono” and we all should seek lives defined by what we have given rather than received. The trouble is it is very, very difficult! Our family story is a stark reminder. I’m sure a bit of reflection on your roots will be good for you and yours!

Blessings and aloha to our newly found cousins!!

Dinegar family documents shared by cousin Alison:

Adelaide Dinegar’s geneology

Adelaide Dinegar’s background

Letter from Wm Pogue to Dr Dinegar, 1915

Letter from Alice Ayers to Mrs Dinegar, 1916

Dinegar family photos (Rosina and Adelaide may be in some of the pictures):

Kalani Kawea Kiolani, a member of Ka‘ahumanu (Manaku)

Pa Pogue, Alison’s mother’s uncle

A few years ago my children asked me to write about my life growing up in Honolulu. Over time I’ve penned a dozen or more short descriptions of what it was like to be a young Hawaiian in a relatively small town. From writing these pieces I have come to the conclusion that all of us should consider chronicling the events and individuals who have played important roles in the molding of our characters. Some might find it painful, but on the whole it can be a process that can affirm who we are and what we believe in. In the piece below you will meet one of the important influences in my life and read about how island boys actually learn things on the beach! Blessings.

I’ve paused for a bit to reflect on some of the important people who impacted me during my youth. I’ve touched on my mother’s older brother William (Uncle Bill), and his influence. Uncle Bill was the more gregarious, people-oriented, action prone of the two Chock brothers. My second maternal uncle, Alfred, also played a strong role in my growing up. Uncle Alfred was six or seven years younger than my mother and Uncle Bill and was the youngest of the surviving Chock children. A sister named Alice died as an infant and Uncle Bill left the family early to see the world, so Hattie (my mother) with the help of Rosina, the youngest girl in the family, was the sister in charge. Unlike Uncle Bill, Uncle Al remained in Hawai‘i. He went to Honolulu to attend McKinley High School, ended up working for the U.S. Postal Service and rose through the ranks to become Postmaster of the Bethel and then Waikiki stations, ultimately becoming Superintendent of Carriers in Honolulu. Uncle Al had strong opinions, but was not an open book as personalities went. At first glance, he was much more dour and serious than Uncle Bill and it was his duty, when Dad was gone, to discipline the rabble of children at 904 Lunalilo St. You didn’t fool with Uncle Al.

It is very unfortunate that as I grew older, I also grew more aware of the huge tensions between Uncle Alfred and his wife, Aunty Beatrice. Aunty Bea was a smart, very active woman from Hawai‘i Island. Her father, Old Man Araki, was the “Taro Baron” of Waipio Valley. He was a hard working entrepreneur who had farmed taro, built the Waipio Lodge, trudged from sugar camp to sugar camp showing Japanese movies, and later in life got the Peace Corps to hire his place in Waipio as the training site for the Pacific. My cousin Michael and I used to visit him at his house at the bottom of the road down into the valley and still in his nineties he would work the two of us into the ground! In any case, Aunty Bea came from strong stock and was a very capable and good looking lady. She came to Honolulu as a teenager to become a nurse and it wasn’t until just before she died that I learned she was Mrs. Massey’s nurse during the infamous Massey incident.

When I returned to Honolulu after spending fifth grade in Spring City, Pennsylvania, I saw how Uncle Alfred and Aunty Bea’s disenchantment with each other hung over the house they shared, which was across the fence from the small cottage we lived in. They literally would be in the same room but refused to speak to one another, essentially living completely separate lives. I watched them and my older cousins without really understanding much more than that there were major issues my aunt and uncle had decided not to address. Looking back on the five of them living in their small two bedroom, one bath cottage near ‘Iolani school, it is amazing that they stayed together for such a long time under those conditions. By then, Aunty Bea was working at Howard’s Jewelry Store on Fort St. and ultimately divorced Uncle Al and married C.Ching, one of the owners of the Howard’s Jewelry establishment. Uncle rarely smiled during those years and it wasn’t until he was remarried to Mable Liu Thompson that he came fully back to life.

In his solitary life, Uncle was immersed in his Lions Club activities, his work at the Post Office, his Federal Government Workers Union, and regular weekends playing trumps on the beach in front of what was the Queens Surf showroom across from Kapiolani Park. It was during these excursions to the beach with Uncle Al in the years after we had returned from the mainland, that I got to know and appreciate him and he got to share with me his perspectives on life. Uncle Alfred had been quite an athlete when he was growing up. He had played all the sports, but he was particularly noted for his handball achievements at the YMCA. He had the sturdy physique of the Hawaiian-Chinese mix and the hours spent on the beach playing cards left him a deep rich brown color. With his long dark hair swept back he was a handsome sight.

It seemed like almost every Saturday afternoon Uncle Al and I would make our way down to Public Baths, a large city bathhouse on the beach Ewa side of the Aquarium and the Natatorium. “Publics,” as it was known, was a popular local gathering place. It had large locker rooms for men and women, an active food concession, a large open and covered concrete area on the beach side, and a very loud jukebox. It was there that I first heard Bill Haley and the Comets during the early days of Rock and Roll’s birth. From Publics, after we had locked our clothes and valuables away, Uncle and I had to walk Ewa and navigate a narrow concrete ledge around an abandoned pool on the ocean and make our way down concrete steps onto the beach fronting the Queen’s Surf showroom. Each Saturday under the landmark Kiawe tree on the beach, gathered an interesting collection of local males intent on playing cards until the sun went down. Uncle Al was one of the major members of this group that included bus drivers, lawyers, doctors, unemployed Hawaiian laborers and other representatives of the general spectrum of characters that inhabited the local Waikiki scene. One of my favorites was an older “niho‘ole” (toothless) Hawaiian man named Tommy who was the resident fishing expert in the group. From time to time Tommy would throw me a pair of wooden goggles and motion me to be his bag man. He would straighten a wire hanger and off we’d go to the reef. In wonder I would watch him find and spear he‘e (octopus) from what I thought was barren rock. Tommy was a true he‘e master and we consistently returned with enough for most of the group to take home in the evening.

Since I wasn’t invited to join the card games, my hours on Queen’s Surf Beach was filled with endless explorations of the rocks and reef surrounding the beach. It was primarily coral all around the beach with narrow channels out to deeper water and it never ceased to fascinate my young curiosity. It would seem that we had just arrived when Uncle would yell and gesture from the beach that it was time to get a shower, change, and begin the long walk home. We would pack up and work our way back to Publics, shower, and change into our street clothes. One thing I remember to this day about the lockers
was the strong smell of Three Flowers Brilliantine, the heavily scented hair grooming gel that all the adult men used to work into their scalps before running their combs through to get just the right wave into place in their hair. It was quite a ritual and there must have been pounds and pounds of the stuff put on each day at Publics! I imagine much of the stuff ended up smeared on pillowcases throughout Honolulu.

In later life, Uncle Alfred found happiness in his marriage to Aunty Mabel and opened up considerably from the person he was during our days on the beach. Despite his often gloomy persona during those days, he always showed up to take me to the beach. He always provided clear insights when asked a question, and he always urged me to think outside of the box when I questioned him on what path I might take. Both Uncle Alfred and Uncle Bill had different brands of deep and warm aloha for their nephew and I was privileged to have them both as rich points of reference as I began my years of struggling to adulthood. I was truly blessed by their presence.

Pictured above is our family team during their visit to Kalaupapa. Top row, left to right: Brian Dillon, his wife and my cousin Millie, her brother Stanley Chong, Stanley’s cousin Reggie Fung, and Reggie’s daughter Jennifer. Bottom row, left to right: my mo‘opuna Hayden Butler, son Matt Dill, daughter Katie Johnson, and nephew Thomas Chock.

At the risk of drawing the story too far out, I return to our family’s unfolding discovery about our kūpuna who were sent to Kalaupapa during the latter years of the 19^th century. In previous blogs, I gave short accounts of discovering that our kūpuna were buried in Kalaupapa and that their presence at the site was during a “spike” in admissions, subsequent to the passage of the Bayonet Constitution of 1887 and concurrent with the flurry of land decisions in Hawai‘i supporting the development of the plantation economy at the end of that century. The latter process of land acquisition probably resonates with most Hawaiian families, for they suffered the most loss in this “consolidation” process. The courts were used to acquire land from people who did not understand the slippery slope of western land tenure.

During the two day visit this May, our family team identified the graves of relatives who had previously been unknown to the family. Though we believe we know the location of the grave of Hana Pelio Kapakahi Kukailani (my grandmother’s aunt), we have not been able to verify it due to the ravages of weather and waves. In any case, it has opened up a large window into the lives of our kūpuna, the struggles they faced, and the courage they modeled. It has sparked a long simmering desire to finally document the family’s genealogy and then sort out in detail the amazing adventures our kūpuna took during their lives.

Below are some thoughts and drawings of family team members that emerged from their two day visit to the past. Enjoy and reflect. Blessings.

Katie

The sacred silence of sorrow greeted each of us as we walked among the graves. Graves, a faint remembrance of the suffering, the life of someone’s brother, someone’s mother, someone’s someone. As we tentatively searched and moved around over crumbled headstones, our connection to the land and to the buried, began to come alive. There, in the midst of the dead a story, our story, came alive.

It began months ago as emails flew back and forth filled with ideas, thoughts, plans and the beginning of a story. Thoughtful planning and endless hours of work brought a ragtag group of misfits together on a hot day in May, searching for more of the story of us.

As we walked together through the graveyards of so many forgotten, we began to find what we never knew was lost. The lives of those we never knew were part of the fabric of us all.

One by one the graves of Umi, Kapoli, and Tommy were found. Hands touched, leis were laid, prayers and thanks were spoken and all were blessed. The silence, sacred and beautiful in its simplicity, carried the words that could not be formed. Unspoken but understood was the primal language of connection. In the past, Kalaupapa may have taken loved ones, but on this day, it gently gave them back.

The profound impact of Kalaupapa is truly beyond words. It can only be found in the story of each life buried on this peninsula of Moloka‘i. We may have found the beginning of our story, but in the depths and crevices of this land lies more. By finding these stories, we, as people of Hawai‘i, discover our connection to the past, our connection to each other, and our way forward together.

Hayden

I thought it was incredible to get insight into the lives and immense pain the people of Kalaupapa faced. Being there to see all the history of the place and see how people coped with their struggle and somehow managed to create a life in bleak circumstances, was really moving.  I was really humbled to have the opportunity to be in the places they lived and learn about such amazing people.

Thomas

For much of my life, Kalaupapa was just a story I heard about but never considered to be a part of my story. I had gone as far as I could with my mo‘okū‘auhau (geneology) on both my father’s and mother’s sides of the family and well, I just assumed that I had hit the brick wall. But when I moved back to Hawai‘i after 20 years away and reconnected with ‘ohana (Uncle Jan), it opened up the floodgates of information for me. It was a tremendous surprise to hear from Uncle Jan that I do have ‘ohana ties to Kalaupapa.

How have I never heard this or known this? Finding out I had one ancestor there was a surprise. So you can imagine how it felt to find out as I was preparing to go on a huaka‘i to Kalaupapa (mahalo Uncle Jan for including me), and with help from new friends associated with Ka ‘Ohana O Kalapuapa, that I actually have at least THREE ancestors there: two from my father’s side, one from my mother’s side.

The moment I set my eyes on the peninsula from the plane, I felt something special about what I was seeing. I choose to believe that the land itself, along with the spirits of my ancestors and the mana and aloha that dwells there, was reaching out to me. Maybe not necessarily to welcome me, but certainly to let me know that this wasn’t just another “field trip.” Stepping off the plane and setting my feet on the ground there only magnified the feeling.

For some reason I was given the responsibility/opportunity to both read a pule (ma ka ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i) and lead the group in singing Ho‘onani (the doxology in Hawaiian) at the various graves we visited as well as at the site of the memorial. Humbling. Made me feel my inadequacy in Hawaiian ‘oli and protocols.

Twice, during our time there, I took the opportunity to walk around Kalaupapa by myself. It’s so quiet there. It’s beautiful. It’s also a place that you just know has so many stories to share. I wish I could have spent more time there and just “talk story” with people. I only got to meet and shake hands with one patient. I should’ve been more courageous and since I brought my ukulele, gone to kanikapila with someone, anyone there.

It’s clear that Kalaupapa is a special place. Will it remain so? There are 10 patients remaining. When the last one passes, what will happen to the peninsula? Will Kalaupapa end up being another battleground like Kaho‘olawe or Mauna Kea have been for the lāhui? I don’t know. I hope we all get the chance to know this place before another piece of Hawai‘i’s history fades and becomes another entry in a history book.

Words really can’t capture what my first experience in Kalaupapa was like nor what it means to me. I’m still processing it now, over a month later. What I can say is that I want to go back. Soon. I want my wife, who is not Hawaiian and did not grow up in Hawai‘i, to experience this place. I want my hapa kids who also didn’t grow up in Hawai‘i to have a chance to spend a night (or more) there to feel of the mana of the place. To reconnect with our ‘ohana, our kūpuna, and gain understanding of who we are and where we come from.

Matt

The first feeling I had, which hit me hard and heavy and remained with me throughout my stay at Kalaupapa, is that I AM HAWAIIAN.  I AM KANAKA MAOLI.  I am the ocean waves, hitting the coastline relentlessly.  I am the rugged cliffs that stand proudly over Kalaupapa, protecting and always watching over her.  I am the wai of the rivers trickling out of the valleys and crevices, nurturing the land and its people.  I am the bright, hot kala that shines down with life giving energy.  I am the strong and never ceasing makani, which sweeps through the land and sea as it cleanses, strengthens, cools everything it touches.  I am the kalo and the naupaka, feeding, nourishing, and healing anyone in need.  I am the strong ‘opihi, forever clinging to and washing the shoreline of any impurities.  I am ALL of these things, and ALL of these things are me.  I am Hawaiian.  This is my home.  This is my kuleana.  This is my life.  This is my purpose.

In this world and society we live in today, these thoughts rarely, if ever, even brush the outer edges of my consciousness.  Daily life makes us focus on problems, responsibilities, frivolous endeavors and aspirations.  Kalaupapa readjusted my whole spirit and being’s focus and awareness in an instant, like the snapping of Akua’s fingers.

As we spent time exploring, adventuring, and learning during the trip, we heard just a handful of the patients’ life stories and journeys, of before they came to Kalaupapa and after they were established and permanent residents.  One thing that I noticed and became aware of, is how amazing and unique each of the individuals were and are.  With only so many people living in such an isolated place, these patients despite their differences, were forced to live, interact, and get along with one another for the rest of their lives.  In any given day how many people do we have the chance to interact with? Hundreds? Thousands?  We are programmed to pick and choose our interactions.  If someone looks strange, or is dressed in a way that automatically classifies them as someone we probably won’t like or connect with, we avert our gaze, look straight ahead, and walk on by.  That person(s) will likely never be seen again and will not have any impact whatsoever on our lives.  The people in Kalaupapa didn’t have the choice we have, to approve or deny anyone.  They were in it together, for good or for bad.  These patients were actually blessed in that regard.  I guess the lesson I am trying to illustrate is that humans are beautiful.  We all have a spirit.  We all have stories.  And we all have a wealth of unique knowledge.  I read a quote before this trip, I am not sure who said it but it went something like this:  “Every single person you meet, every single day of your life, knows something that you don’t.”  Life is a learning process, every single day.  That’s one of the beautiful blessings in our lives.  We are so quick to shut out, discount, and exclude people from our lives.  Who knows what positive blessings and valuable knowledge we are missing out on by just walking on by?  So think about it…  How well do you know your neighbor?  Aside from a few words of greeting, what have you learned from the people you work with every day?  What are you missing out on?  What do they know or have experienced that could change your life?  I learned not to prejudge anyone, and to keep an open mind.

I am extremely sensitive to the feelings of certain places I explore throughout this world.  Whether it’s a spiritual sixth sense to the history of places, or just an awareness of the overriding energy, I am not sure.  I have explored many remote and historical areas, especially all over Hawai‘i island, where I call home.  Be it the great valley of Waipi‘o, or the long, arduous hike in the Volcanoes National Park for a three day adventure to Halapē, each place has a rich history and distinct feel.  As I have heard said many times by the old timers and historians, our islands are a graveyard and the spirits of our kūpuna and ancestors are everywhere.  Not all of these places have a positive or bright historical tale connected to them.  There are ancient scenes of atrocities, wars, genocides, cannibalism, basically everything bad you can think of, along with all of the triumphs and stories of prosperity.  As good as the human spirit and history can be, it can be also very, very bad.  While on my sojourn to Halapē especially, there were areas I traversed through where the hairs on the back of my neck literally stood on its very ends.  I had an overwhelming feeling of fear, anger, and unexplained discomfort.  With no living being or thing within thirty miles that could possibly cause these feelings of negativity, I knew the energy and spirits residing there were the cause.  I was expecting (but hoping for the contrary) something similar at Kalaupapa.  There are graves EVERYWHERE on that peninsula, many of them unmarked and disturbed after years of weather and tsunami events.  I felt a very powerful spiritual feeling.  The mana was thick in the air, at times almost taking my breath.  To my surprise, as strong as the energy of the spirits were everywhere we went on Kalaupapa, it was an overwhelming feeling of peace, love, and joy- especially when we found the tombstones of our ‘ohana.  The feeling was incredibly uplifting and positive.  The spirit of the patients who were sent there, lived there, and died there, were and are pure and pono. Aloha reigned through all of their bodily illnesses and struggles.  Their spirits were happy and content.

The last lesson I would like to discuss is that of Aloha ‘Āina.  I have been to many isolated places in my life throughout the island chain, but Kalaupapa is a place that was used to exclude and intentionally cut off and remove a disease from our population.  It is still remote and cut off from the rest of the world.  The workers and residents can fly or hike in and out, but the barge with necessary provisions for the people there comes ONCE a YEAR.  What that creates is a heightened sense of awareness regarding what you really need to live.  Everywhere else, if we are in need of anything, we drive or stroll down the road and find a store to buy it.  We punch some buttons on our computer or phone, hit up Amazon or something similar to get anything our heart desires.  So we don’t worry.  We don’t look around us and see what’s important.  We don’t value our environment.  Throw your rubbish wherever you like, let the weeds grow over land that could be cultivated and harvested.  Build skyscrapers that leach poisons and toxins into the soil and the ocean.  Why worry?  Your food is coming from thousands of miles away.  No problem…  But what if?  O‘ahu, the island of my birth and upbringing, is BLOWN.  I read somewhere that the whole of the island’s population would starve if the barges ceased to arrive for just four days.  What if you had to grow, cultivate, and catch your dinner.  What if your waste and garbage poisoned your Christmas feast?  That would create a different way of looking at things.  That would change your frame of mind.  This land and the oceans surrounding us provided sustenance for all of the people for generations upon generations before us.  That required awareness, good stewardship, hard work, and responsibility on every level.  Nothing was wasted.  That’s what the residents of Kalaupapa had to do and still do to this day.  We live in a society of wastefulness and disregard for our lands.  It’s so sad.  I know that my stewardship and respect for the ‘āina has gone up exponentially after this trip.  For that I am forever grateful, and I will never take my home for granted.  I am the land and the sea.  The land and sea is me.  I am Hawaii.  I am HAWAIIAN.  Mahalo Kalaupapa for your mana‘o and perseverance against all odds.

Aloha Kalaupapa.