Kipahulu Ohana helps bring culture to visitors

'The drum is calling people to this farm'

The Maui News
July 21, 2002

By VALERIE MONSON
Staff Writer

KIPAHULU – After falling silent for too long, the beat of the taro drum has returned to Kipahulu.

"The drum is calling people to this farm, to feel this place again," says John Lind, standing in the middle of the drum where he's up to his calves - and elbows - in mud as smooth as poi.

The farm is called Kapahu, which means the drum in Hawaiian, and the name couldn't be more appropriate - both in sight and sound. From a bird's eye view, the 15 ancient taro fields that have been painstakingly restored appear to be arranged in a clearing that has taken on the shape of a traditional drum. Back on Earth, the pahu pounds from time to time, thanks to a waterfall hidden behind a bank of trees where it turns into a timpani that provides music to pull taro by.

"Sometimes, when we're pau work, we just sit here and listen," says Tweetie Lind, John's wife and fellow farmer. "We listen to the water and we listen to the leaves."

The Maui News/VALERIE MONSON photo

Members of the Kipahulu Ohana (and two of their children) take a break from tending their taro fields. They are (from left) Mike Minn, president; Wahine Holani Lind; John Lind; Tweetie Lind; and Kane Holani Lind. Wahine and Kane are the children of John and Tweetie, who started the ohana with Minn. In the background is a hale the group is building.

There's another good sound to this project. Concerned that Hawaiians and their culture were not being included in Haleakala National Park, the Linds and Hana resident Mike Minn formed the Kipahulu Ohana with the intent of creating a living history program to share with park visitors. Part of the ohana's mission was to bring back the historic loi (taro fields) located just on the Hana side of Oheo gulch. A goal just as big was to create opportunities in the park for Kipahulu residents, who often don't qualify for Park Service jobs because of the federal government's mandated hiring practices that often favor those already in the system, usually employees from the Mainland.

"If we work together, it only makes the park stronger," says John Lind. "We're the ones who know all the names of the places, the stories of the places. We just don't want to be treated like volunteers."

Although the ohana has been giving school groups "working tours" of the farm for some time (the kids get in the mud and work the fields while hearing the history), the official dedication will take place Saturday. Because the farm can only accommodate a certain number of guests, the event is by invitation only, but anyone interested will have plenty of other chances. On Aug. 6, the first monthly hikes for the public will begin, and special tours can also be scheduled by contacting the ohana (see box on Page A5).

It's doubtful that you'll fall asleep during the lecture.

"We don't just want to talk, blah, blah, blah," says Lind. "We want people to get involved. They can pull taro, they can hike in the forest and see the damage the invasive plants are doing."

The ohana says it had a hard time convincing previous park superintendents that the Hawaiian residents of the area could make a worthy contribution to the park. Not until Don Reeser took over the helm in the late 1980s did things begin to change. Where others before him couldn't see the point of formally including the local community, Reeser was on board from the start.

"We were doing our general plan back in 1994 and were having public meetings at various places around the island," said Reeser. "The Linds and other members of the community came out at the Kipahulu meeting and basically said, 'Hey, we've been interested in being involved with the park and bringing the Hawaiian influence to the land.'

"Well, I heard that and said 'I'm all for it,' so we found out a way to develop this cooperative agreement."

Mike Minn, president of the ohana, praises Reeser.

"If it wasn't for Don, this wouldn't be happening," says Minn. "Don put us on paper."

That paper authorizes the ohana to restore the native plants and trees, conduct tours of Kapahu Farm, build hale, bring in cultural specialists to provide onsite demonstrations in the main part of the park at Kipahulu, and market products of those demonstrations. All activities will reflect life in Hawaii before 1848, the year of the Great Mahele, and will add an important aspect that too many tourists miss.

"If you take out the culture, the park is just another swimming pool," says Minn. "It's just 'seven pools,' come swim and sun. Now, it's come to Kipahulu and learn about the culture."

Reeser said such a contract isn't all that rare; he said similar pacts have been formed with local groups where parks interpret Native American life. The agreements allow visitors to be immersed in the culture while bringing the park closer to the community.

Tweetie Lind hopes the joint effort will allow residents from Kipahulu to earn a paycheck in their own backyard while using the talents they already have.

"If not something like this, where are many of us going to work?" she says.

The agreement has already improved relations with the park, which owns the land on which the farm is located.

"They get to know us and we get to know them," says Tweetie.

There were initial problems with some in the rural community who saw the Linds and Minn as only being concerned for themselves or selling out to a federal government that many Hawaiians - and non-Hawaiians - resent. After more sit-down sessions, Tweetie Lind thinks the mission of the ohana, and the intent to include as many as possible, has gotten across.

The idea of unearthing the ancient loi that had been filled in and overgrown for generations didn't originate with the ohana. Back in 1973, the late Tevi Kahaleauahi - known simply as Uncle Tevi - began the difficult undertaking with a grant from the Park Service that was funneled through the Hana Cultural Center. It was through Uncle Tevi that the Linds and Minn first saw the buried taro patches emerge.

Kahaleauahi did a remarkable job, but after his death, the restoration gradually stopped. When the Linds and Minn decided to pick up the ball and carry on his legacy around 1980, they were back to ground zero, with many of those restored loi already reclaimed by the invasive forest. That was when they learned the most taxing part of being a taro farmer.

"Maintaining the loi is the hardest," says Tweetie. "Compared to maintenance, it's easy to clear, clean and get it growing."

Lucky for them, John Lind turned out to be something of a divining rod when it comes to spotting swallowed-up loi. After the three had taken out the Christmas berry, guava trees and thick brush, they would mow and till the cleared area, then watch John figure out where they should dig to find the old field.

"He would just walk around and give it the eye," says Tweetie, tilting her head and squinting like her husband did. "And he'd go 'That's it.' Then we'd pull back the turf and see the wetlands and build the bank."

In some cases, even the ancient rock walls that form the boundaries materialized seemingly out of nowhere.

The Maui News/VALERIE MONSON photo

Kipahulu Farm John Lind holds some freshly harvested taro while standing next to a stone that was posted hundreds of years ago by ancient warriors before they went off to war. Lind is part of the Kipahulu Ohana, a nonprofit organization that has a cooperative agreement with the National Park Service to help preserve the cultural sites at the Kipahulu section of Haleakala Nation Park.

Of course, the taro patches are only part of the loi. You need water to keep those corms thriving. So Lind cut a series of auwai, freshwater channels fed from above by Palikea and Pipiwai streams. He even used a flat rock to fashion a tiny bridge that serves as the perfect seat to sit down and wash your feet and hands after a hard day in the mud.

From the start, the Linds and Minn have made education a priority. Nearly 20 years ago, they recruited a University of Hawaii class to help them clear and plant. They've hosted so many school groups over the years that they're no longer surprised to see the changes in attitude that can happen to children simply by spending a day in the mud, close to their roots.

"When the (city) kids come, all the nonsense leaves them," says John. "The teachers say the kids love coming up here."

The newest addition to the farm is the resetting of a stone that once stood sentinel over the land in ancient times. At one time, goes the story, the women were left behind to tend the fields when the men went off to war. In their place, the warriors left a large stone to remember them by. The stone remained there for generations, but after the loi had been abandoned, there was an attempt to steal it. Because of its great weight, the thieves didn't make it far and dumped it in the brush.

After a ceremony earlier this year, nine men carried the stone back and planted it in the ground to resume its duties at its watchful post over the patchwork of plots that glitter in green and brown.

With 15 loi uncovered and producing, the ohana still has half of the original fields left to dig out and restore. The taro takes about a year to reach maturity. Plantings are done every other moon.

Eventually, the group hopes to expand its work and farm a variety of traditional crops all over the ahupuaa while increasing opportunities for those residents whose future lies in the ways of the old.

"By fencing off places and making it hard to use the land, you create adversaries," says Minn. "With this cooperative agreement, we're working together with the same goals by using traditional methods. If you want to preserve a place, you have to preserve the culture."

With the taro flourishing in the heart of the drum and the waterfalls pounding from behind, the beat of Kipahulu goes on.