There is something seriously wrong with me for wanting to leave this place

Jeanie and I spent most of Sunday with Mary. Every so often, the irrigation ditch at her family’s farm stops running smoothly, whether because of areas clogged by fallen trees or because the dam that channels the water is broken. Members of the family get called up to hike to “The Source,” cleaning up the ditch and fixing the dam if necessary. Mary was planning to go, and she invited me. It was pretty sweet…manual labor/farm chore, maybe, but a unique experience. Really, I can’t believe this life belongs to me. At times I get jealous of Isaac for the experiences and family he grew up with, but then I realize (in addition to remembering that I would never trade my own experiences and family for the world) that I get to share in it all through him. Cool, huh? Anyway, here’s the story of the adventure:

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We drive a short distance from the Pfleegor’s home in Wailuku into a new posh residential area, through a gate, and onto a dirt road winding through macadamia nut fields. Half a dozen mismatched dogs and a massive pig named Penelope meet us at the farm house, where Mary takes us into the shower/old clothing storage room. I dig through bins and soon find myself swimming in a pair of men’s pants, a stained denim button-down shirt, two pairs of socks, and Isaac’s old shoes. Tuck the pants into the socks, spray bug repellent everywhere, and add gloves, a utility belt, and a machete, and I am ready.

Isaac’s cousin Angelo leads the way, with Jeanie, Mary, and me close behind. We walk into the jungle, following beside the narrow irrigation ditch, its water slower and shallower than usual. On one side, a steep drop-off and the river far below. On all sides, ferns, banana plants, palms, lilikoi, more trees I could never name. Eventually, the path is so overgrown that we plunge shin-deep into the ditch, digging out clogged leaves and cutting away branches and tangled plants with our machetes. Mosquitoes follow in swarms and find their way to the patches of skin untouched by repellent. Mary points out the edible plants, picks baby ferns, shows us a plant Hawaiians used to use as candles, keeps saying we’re almost there and not to hate her for bringing us along.

After a couple miles of sloshing, climbing, chopping, and threading, we reach the dam. A few rocks have been pushed aside by rain, and we pile them back up to block the river’s flow into the pool that fuels the irrigation channel. And then, back down, through the water, under the banana plants, along the muddy paths, finally surfacing onto the open dirt road.

Back at the farm house, Mary, Jeanie, and I strip off the wet clothes and shower in the long shower room. Huge, unscreened windows leave one wall open to the outside, where a brief vivid tangle of jungle quickly ascends to the looming West Maui Mountains, lush on this side. Mary, practiced from growing up with nine siblings in a family that knows and loves good food, literally throws together dinner for us and the other family members who are there. Into a wok go onions, olive oil, some greens collected on the trek, and tuna. The meal is completed with whatever else can be found in the kitchen: fresh pineapple, chicken, quinoa salad, and rice. Evening wraps purple shadows around the old wooden buildings and down courtyard steps, and I feel entirely inadequate to appreciate the beauty.

*

So that’s that. We watched a movie back at the Pfleegor’s house afterwards and I borrowed Isaac’s guitar so Jeanie and I can keep practicing. It’s been cool getting to know Isaac in a new way, through his family. I almost feel like he’s here.

Though the last couple of days have been really fun, I’m still struggling with feeling depressed. Don’t really know why, and trying to figure out why only makes me exhausted from overthinking. It is not cool.