A Hui Hou, Zaggy!
Well, friends and readers, as itʼs said, the only constant in life is change. Sometimes good, sometimes bad, oftentimes—and in this case—a bit of both. That bittersweet taste is the occasion for this post: a major note of celebration paired with the minor note of a fare-thee-well. This month we bid adieu to Zach, a farmer at Lapaʼau for the past nearly three years. He was hired on a few months before I sweet-talked my own way onto the farm, and so for me, I donʼt exactly know what Lapaʼau is without him, or what it will become in his absence.
Itʼll be quieter though, thatʼs for sure. As a native Texan, I donʼt think Iʼve ever been friends with someone from New England—a place that felt as alien to my childhood as Mongolia—and then lo and behold, here at a farm on Maui I stumbled upon two of them! Zach and April, my Massachusetts homies, who Iʼm pretty sure have a true familial affection for each other but to this Texas boy seem to be vehemently arguing and/or trash-talking approximately 85% of the time. My heart rate is lowered considerably when they are not working together, but they assure me itʼs all just that New Englandy way of relating. Iʼll have to take them at their word.
Zach is not always so brash and argumentative though. He is also endlessly curious about the world and all the people in it, genuine in his reflections, and self-deprecating in his humor. In all sorts of environments he is comfortable in his own skin; it would not be the least bit surprising to find him rolling up in either (hypothetically) a beat up old Maui minivan—you know the kind—or a sleek Tesla (again, hypothetically). He is quietly generous, buying you a drink or giving a gift in the uncommon way of someone who is less interested in your gratitude than in your simple enjoyment of life.
And of course Zachʼs a good farmer. Happy to be outside, happy to be laboring, standing or stooping or kneeling between the sun and the earth, usually wearing a ratty t-shirt that once upon a time had a color other than “dirt.” He is attentive and a good teacher. I cannot recall a time I needed a hand that he did not provide one. Zach and I came to farming separately but both searching for ...something; meaning or purpose or simplicity or any of those words we all know, those beautiful but worn words that can never quite capture the ghosts that haunt them (and us). We both lived that West Coast city life for a while, and we both got out while the getting was good. My wife and I made our escape to the islands three years ago, Zach nearly four. He got to Maui, in fact, through a WWOOFing-type program at a neighbor farm, Pono Grown, and then through Pono was able to get connected to Lapaʼau.
And now, well now heʼs taking the next step, the big leap of faith: heʼs got his own farm! Or, at least, the man has secured the land and is beginning to start the endeavor. Zach and Bree (another former Lapaʼau farmer in fact!) are in the beginning stages of an agroforestry effort, and I cannot wait to see the shape it will take. Everywhere and always there is the need for more small farms and the dedicated men and women to steward them, and so I am glad that another farm is popping up out of the ground, as it were, making ready to feed the people. It will be a transition for us here though; there is so much to learn when working on a small, intensive farm like Lapaʼau. And since we are still such a young farm, Zach not only has learned but also contributed to the body of knowledge that is the spirit of the farm. He has added to the wisdom of the place, as it were, and that wisdom and accumulated knowledge is not easily passed on to a new member of the team. It takes time, it takes mistakes made and plenty of small victories, and lots of repetition.
Zachʼs hands know the earth as it is at Lapaʼau, and the earth here knows his hands. Farming—doing it well—at his new place too will take time, will take mistakes and small victories, and lots of repetition. But the earth there will grow to know his hands, and he will grow to know his land. Of that I have no doubts. So pour him a nice tequila, spin some old vinyl with all those lovely clicks and pops, see where his opinions and curiosity take the conversation. Perhaps you, like me, will grow to love his inclination to play devilʼs advocate, his affection for early Kanye and his unsettling Bostonian fanaticism for Tom Brady, and his principled stand on farming barefoot.
A hui hou, sir. I know weʼll see you around—it is a small island after all—but Lapaʼau wonʼt be the same without you.
