E `imi i ka na`auao...

noreply@blogger.com (Ipo / SigZaneOhana) — Fri, 23 Feb 2007 03:05:00 +0000

A Change of Pace

Hilo. Depending on where you're from, or what you're familiar with, the word could mean many things. For most Hilo is a place, a district and city on the island of Hawai'i. I'd be inclined to agree considering it's my hometown. To others, hilo means to twist or braid. A third meaning refers to the first, or the new moon of every month. Sunday was one of those rare days when all three meanings came together in one for me.

This past Saturday as part of the Downtown Hilo Chinese New Year celebration, the lions visited our shop and brought blessings for a new year.

We rang in the year of the Fire Boar with great fanfare, the sound of firecrackers and drums echoing in the street, and crowds of people with their lisee, all trying to get their own little bit of luck for the year. The Fire Boar, of course, arrived on February 18, 2007. How does this tie into Hilo, you ask? Simple.

Sunday was a Hilo moon. It was a beginning of a new month and a new year. With portents such as these, could there be any better time to perform a Moku ka Piko ceremony for our renovated flagship store? At noon, the most sacred time of day, we called on our ancestors and guardians, our 'aumakua, asking for guidance and insight to bless our company, our store and each and every one of us. Reciting these powerful words together with my Sig Zane 'ohana was humbling and sent shivers along my spine as our voices carried away on the slight breeze to the ears of those we invoked.

Moku Ka Piko

I ola i ka noho hale.
That the house dweller may prosper.

The ceremony performed to bless our new home, our new child, was adapted from one described in David Malo's Hawaiian Antiquities. Ka 'oki 'ana o ka piko o ka hale, or the cutting of the navel string of the house was only performed after the house was complete and ready for habitation. Since we no longer thatch our homes and need to cut a door out, instead, we had a symbolic piko tied above the door. Within it were eight plants, each of them there for a reason.

'Ohe (Bamboo) knives were used in the past to cut the piko that bound mother and child. Its presence in the piko is a reminder of that.

Koa is one of the words for warrior. It is associated with strength, so its inclusion was to lend that aspect to our ceremony. They are also long lived trees, something we want to ensure our new store with.

Liko is the word for new growth. It symbolizes the child that our new store is, and encourages it to flourish.

Kupu means to sprout. By using Kupukupu in our piko, we help our company's growth and expansion.

Maile is one of the kinolau of the deities associated with hula, an integral part of our company's beginnings. Because of his involvement in hula, Sig's knowledge and dedication to promoting and educating everyone about our culture was born. We used maile here in its binding form.

Pili was one of the most commonly known plants used for thatching a new hale. The word itself means close and suggests a binding relationship. Its dual symbolism here made it an important part of our piko.

Kukui is a word for light. It is also one of those plants associated with enlightenment. By including this plant in our piko, we ask for guidance and to be shown the way in all that we do.

The La'i used in our piko was that of the Kahuna variety, the one with the wavy edges used in blessings. It symbolizes blessing and good health.

All of these important plants were tied together by a Hau rope. The plant itself is a relative of the hibiscus and likes growing along the banks where there is brackish water. The picture you see here is of the leaves mainly because I couldn't find one of the winding branches. The wood is lightweight and was used in firebrands and to start fires. A rope can be made from the inner bark, but it is a tedious and time consuming task that can take weeks to complete. The resulting product is beautiful.

Hau is a derivative of the word hahau, which means to offer a prayer or blessing. It was an appropriate choice, therefore, to use to bind everything in our piko together. Oh yes, and the third hilo comes in here since the rope was of course, braided.

Our new child is born, ready to embrace the world and for it to embrace her as well.

A moku ka piko i ele ua i eleao
I ka wai o Ha'akulamanu la
E moku
A moku ka piko o kou hale la
E Mauliola
I ola i ka noho hale
I ola i ke kanaka kipa mai
I ola i ka haku 'aina
I ola i na li'i
Oia ke ola o kau hale e Mauliola
Ola a kolo pupu a haumaka iole
A pala lauhala a ka i koko
A mama
Ua noa

Severed is the piko of the house, the thatch that sheds the rain, that wards off the evil influences of the heavens,
The waterspout of Ha'akulamanu, oh!
Cut now!
Cut the piko of your house, O Mauliola!
That the house dweller may prosper,
That the guest who enters it may have health,
That the lord of the land may have health,
That the chiefs may have long long.
Grant these blessings to your house, O Mauliola.
To live till one crawls hunched up, till one becomes blear-eyed,
Till ones lies on the mat, till one has to be carried about in a net.
Amen.
It is free.

noreply@blogger.com (Ipo / SigZaneOhana) — Thu, 01 Feb 2007 02:53:00 +0000

Cordyline fruticosa

Ki

Ti or Ki, also known as La'i (a contraction of the words lau + ki), was brought here to Hawai`i by the earliest Polynesian settlers. It's considered sacred to Lono and to Laka, goddess of the hula. It is also an emblem of high rank and divine power. Some say that our feathered kahili were inspired by this plant and the way it grows. It should come as no surprise then, that we have a variety called the Kahili Ki.

In ancient times, the kahuna wore la'i in lei form when they conducted ancient ceremonial rituals. Ti leaves are still used often today in religious ceremonies, especially at opening ceremonies to bless new buildings and projects. It's a practice that has transcended boundaries since people of all ethnic backgrounds seem to have adapted to this aspect of Hawaiian culture.

There were many uses for the ki plant in old Hawai'i. The boiled roots were brewed into a potent liquor known as 'okolehao. The large, sweet starchy roots were baked and eaten as a dessert. This versatile plant also had many medicinal uses, either alone or as a wrapping for other herbs needing to be steamed or boiled. The la'i were wrapped around warm stones to serve as hot packs, used in poultices and applied to fevered brows. A drink from boiled green ti leaves were used to aid nerve and muscle relaxation. Steam from boiled young shoots and leaves made an effective decongestant. The pleasantly fragrant flowers were also used for asthma. Besides its use in healing practices, the large ti leaves became roof thatching, wrappings for cooking food, plates, cups, fishing lures on hukilau nets, woven into sandals, hula skirts, leis and rain capes.

Ki

'O ka lau la'i ko'u kapa ia.
My border of ti leaf plants.

When I graduated from high school, my parents threw me a party. Compared to those of my classmates and acquaintances from other schools, the celebration for my achievement was a rather modest affair, consisting of less than thirty people, and most of them my age. The sort of gifts you gave one another back then was either a card with the same ten dollars in it that your friend had given to you earlier or would be handing over at your party later, or a lei. Imagine, then, my surprise -- and delight -- when my friend Paulo gave me a ti leaf plant.

Ti leaves have been a part of my life since I was an infant. My godmother used them on my fevered skin to help bring down fever. I learned to make lei with them from a teacher when I was in elementary school. One of the first costumes I learned to make for hula was a ti leaf skirt. I was taught to put lei in a puolo made of ... ti leaves. I grew up hearing and reading legends about how ti planted at the corners and along the perimeter of your home would help bring protection. It was always one of those plants that just was there ... and its importance to the life I've lived taken for granted.

I grew up knowing that the leaves are used for protection to ward off evil and to call in good. Some people say that when you have centipedes in your house, they are bearers of evil. Many years ago we had a rash of the creatures in our house and they kept biting just one person -- my sister. It didn't matter where she slept in the house, either, because they seemed to hone in on her for some reason. When my grandfather suggested we pule (pray) and put ti leaves under all of the mattresses and cushions on the sofas, their appearances and the bites stopped.

These trees are all descendants of that first plant from Paulo. It's been fifteen years since I left high school, and we have more than a hundred ti plants in our yard these days. They're my father's favorite to plant because they always grow. All he does is cut bits of the trunk and sticks them in the ground where he wants new ones to come up. Within months we have new ti plants! Some of them have been in the ground for years, and their roots are huge.

We have several varieties growing in our yard, too. There are variegated ones with rounded and blunt leaf ends, others that ripple on the edges, some that are orangey-red, others that are more yellow than green. I used to take that for granted too until a conversation with an online friend sent me to Google to find out just what he was talking about. These varieties have names! And they grow in pots and in offices on the mainland!

In retrospect I feel rather foolish for not even considering that, but they've all just been ti leaves to me for years. You always take for granted the things you have – for me, evidently, the flora around my house is one of them. Don't ask me what their names are because I honestly don't know. It's on the long list of things for me to learn, though. Someday….

I did learn that there is a way to create your own variety, though. When I was Googling, I found this little tidbit from an article by Heidi Bornhorst:

Sometimes ti will flower, and you can admire the flower stalk filled with tiny six-petaled lily-like blossoms. Plant breeders and ti fanciers cross-pollinate the flowers, wait for the berries to form and then plant the tiny seeds. This is how we get all those nice new varieties.

I have the worst green thumb in history so I'm not going to mess around with what we have out there. However, if you're interested, give it a whirl!

The ki's flower stalk is supposed to emerge in winter, and a branching, drooping cluster of flowers should come into bloom at the start of spring. I'm not sure if our plants are just confused, or if it's proof that the weather is messed up since these photos were taken a couple of weeks ago. At any rate, this one is growing right outside our laundry room.

And in the following picture, on another plant not far from my sister's bedroom window. Note the flowers and berries on the two plants, and how different they are in shape and color.

The ki plant is common – we see and recognize it everywhere throughout Hawai'i. And yet despite how commonly it grows it is very special. It speaks to us of strength and survival, and the abundance of blessings we receive daily here in Hawai'i.

noreply@blogger.com (Ipo / SigZaneOhana) — Tue, 21 Nov 2006 02:44:00 +0000

'Ane Halapohe: Endangered

He Hawai'i au. He 'ane halapohe no ho'i au.
I am Hawaiian. I am endangered.

'Ane Halapohe. Endangered. It's hard to fathom just what endangered means until you're staring at the proof. Even though it was four months ago, our visit to Keauhou Mauka still lingers with me. I recently vacationed in the mountains of North Carolina and I had several experiences that brought home to me just what it means to be endangered.

I felt like something of an oddity or an attraction of sorts by virtue of where I come from. The few people I met were fascinated by the fact that I'm Hawaiian, and that made me simultaneously proud and depressed. It's hard to represent your people when you're on your own, without another person there who just 'gets' it when you want to say something. There were several instances when I'd experience something, and there wasn't anyone else there to share that moment with me.

I wore my Pualeilikolehua hooded sweatshirt on the plane over, my Keahihanakahi scarf when I went to the Mount Pisgah Inn, I had my Le'ie Hualalai blouse to wear to dinner one night.... I made it a point to educate people to just what these designs meant, not only to our culture, but to me personally. It was carrying a piece of home around with me everywhere I went.

Asheville is a beautiful place, and I was there during what they call "leaf season", what we'd think of as autumn or fall. We don't get to experience the changing of the seasons in such a dramatic fashion, and I think they're very lucky that they get to see these sorts of things every year. While I was there, my friend took me to a nature conservancy center, and it reminded me strongly of home.

We walked around and looked at animals that are native to her home: river otters, golden eagles, raccoons, white wolves, red foxes. It was fun, and I took lots of pictures. And then the surreal moments began to hit. There we were, looking at these animals in (for lack of a better word) a zoo-like setting. And in the trees, in the parking lot, everywhere around us were crows. They're a bit of a nuisance, evidently. They travel in flocks, the noise they make toward twilight as they gather in trees can only be described as a cacophony. And yet they were crows.

That 'eha (hurt) I felt the day we saw the 'alala at the Keauhou Bird Conservation Center had nothing on what I felt when I first came across the American crows. There they were flying wild and free, while at home, the few survivors we have left are forced to dwell behind cages. This is for their safety, too, to protect them from predators and disease. I followed the birds with my eyes everywhere I went, and each day, the sadness grew.

These are pictures of what the 'alala's existence is like today, and for the foreseeable future. Are we going to let their future, let the future of other endangered species end up the same way?

One of the habitats the birds live in. It's not much more than forty feet long -- hardly room enough for them to really stretch their wings and exercise.

These two 'alala were kept in adjoining, but separate cages because they were strangers and there was the fear that they might attack one another if allowed to mingle. The one on the left was a male and the one on the right a female. The hope is that they will eventually relax enough to perhaps become a breeding pair.

You can see that the wall is painted with a bit of a forest scene here, perhaps to make the habitat more friendly.

These birds' day to day existence goes on behind these caged walls. This is for their safety, too. The fanciful part of me thinks that they probably grow depressed after a time. The 'alala is a gregarious, social animal by nature, and its days are spent in solitary most of the time. Very sad.

Their lives are observed from behind one-sided glass. This is the room we got to see them from.

Even their reproductive behavior is monitored. Some of the birds don't know how to behave with their eggs or hatchlings, so they are closely monitored to try and ensure the best survival rate among new birds.

The hatchling below was a three-day old Puaiohi, a native Kaua'i Thrush, and one of the Conservation Center's ongoing projects. They too are critically endangered, though they've had some success in being reintroduced in the wild. The 'alala doesn't even have that.

Another moment came when I was visiting the glass conservatory at the Biltmore estate. This hothouse was home to plants that made me think of home. There were tree ferns, orchids, plumeria, pineapple -- all the sorts of plants we take for granted as just being part of our landscape here in the islands. And then I saw a plant being lovingly tended and it made me ill: miconia.

Miconia is a fast-growing weedy tree from South and Central America and it has been invading Hawai'i's forests for years now. They grow in both sunlight and full shade, and block out native forest plants and species. It's done the same in Tahiti, where it is estimated a full 25% of their natives are endangered because of the miconia's influence. And there it was in all its glory in that hot house. I wanted to kill it!

Why? That's the question I continually come back to. Why do we do this to nature, to our brothers and sisters, our ancestors as taught to us by the Kumulipo? Why? Our ancestors lived in harmony with the 'aina, respected that which was there, and learned to conserve, to malama, so that we all could live together. Why did we let that way of life fall by the wayside? And what are we going to do about it?

noreply@blogger.com (Ipo / SigZaneOhana) — Tue, 17 Oct 2006 00:31:00 +0000

Maile

Alyxia oliviformis

Maile is an endemic Hawaiian plant, but listed as a member of the Apocynacea or dogbane family. Among the 1500 species, which are divided into 424 genres, feature other plants like the periwinkle, oleander and plumeria. A typical characteristic is found in the leaves, which are simple and usually opposite or whorled. While maile appears vine-like, the majority of its 'relatives' are shrubs or trees. The name comes from Alyxia for chain, oliviformis meaning resembling olive. Coincidentally enough, a thick lei maile does look like a chain of olive leaves, but the name stems from the fact that the fruit resembles olives.

As with other members of the Apocynacea family, a milky, slightly sticky sap is associated with the plant, more specifically to the fruit, which are initially green, and then turn a deep purple or even black when ripe. Fruiting generally occurs in the fall and winter, though the photo with the green fruit shown earlier was taken in June of this year. A large football shaped seed can be found within the fruit's pulp. Seeds sprout readily within two to four weeks, starting with a white root and followed by a long, thin shoot. When it reaches approximately two inches high, the first tiny leaves appear. Growth can be initially slow, but it accelerates after a couple of months and can even reach up to three feet in height within six months.

Maile grows in most mesic forests, but is also found in wet and dry forests, as well as shrub land, from elevations as low as 150 feet, and as far up to 7,000 feet. It grows on all islands except Ni'ihau and Kaho'olawe. Hawaiians have a long tradition of assembling the fragrant maile into lei. It was used to scent kapa, either with leaves, or with the tiny flowers, which carry a faint vanilla scent in their small clusters.

Maile

Eia la he 'ala, he' ala anuanu, he ala hu'ihu'i, eia la i ka houpo
Here is a fragrance, a cool fragrance, a chilling fragrance that goes to my heart.

My earliest concrete memory of the maile can be traced to a funeral – my grandmother's to be specific. I wasn't quite two years old at the time, but I knew that fragrance already. It had preceded every visit from my great-grandmother as an infant as her spirit watched over me in sleep. Or so say my parents…. For years I associated the scent of maile with death, and no wonder considering all of my ancestors tend to carry that smell with them when they visit! Even now, thirty years later, when I can smell maile and there is none nearby, I know my 'ohana (family) is there with me.

Maile – if you've grown up around it – is one of those scents that is immediately recognizable. An informal survey conducted among some of my acquaintances left me scratching my head before giving up and going to Google for help. The question was simple: what does maile smell like? Invariably, the reply was, "Maile." The closest I could come up with was laua'e, personally, and even then, it doesn't exactly help a person who has never experienced maile understand what I'm talking about, does it?

My favorite reply came from Dan, who said, "Marzipan." Almond scented … yeah, I can almost see his point there. A search through Google came up with licorice, another scent I think might come close, but only in a very faint dose. Most descriptions I've come across leave it as, "sweet fragrance," or, "distinctive odor." Not even remotely satisfying for me as a writer, but I can't seem to put that scent into words for you, either!

At any rate, maile is ... well, maile. In culture, it features in many different arenas. When my husband and I were married, his uncle 'tied' our hands with maile to symbolically join us. The lei are used at formal grand opening ceremonies for businesses. In place of cutting the ribbon, there is the untying of the maile. The lei feature prominently at all special events, from graduation to weddings to hula. To have a lei maile is to be wearing a symbol that tells other people that it's your special day.

Lei are fashioned in the hipu'u style, where leafy vines are loosely arranged on one plane, with each vine length tied in. In weaving lei maile, the leaves and bark of young vines are first stripped from the central wood of the twig, and then several of the supple plaits are twisted together as lei 'a'i (neck lei) or lei po'o (head lei).

Historically, maile was a peace emblem in times of battle and a symbol of courtship and love. It was used to scent kapa cloth, or lau hala sleeping mats. The plant also was part of a medicinal treatment exclusively for chiefs. It was used in a puholoholo (steam bath) to sweat out an illness called kilikilioe.

In mythology, maile figures prominently in ka'ao. One of the more well-known stories is the one of La'iekawai, a beautiful princess. She and her twin were secreted away when their father threatened to have them killed for not being male. La'iekawai was taken to Paliuli by her grandmother, Waka, and raised as a supernatural being, cared for by birds that carry her upon their wings. She is wooed by 'Aiwohikupua, who, upon realizing her higher rank as an ali'i herself, returns to Kaua'i and fetches his sisters (commonly known as the Maile sisters) to help him win her hand.

Each of them is sent in turn, sending out their fragrance. Maileha'iwale as the eldest of the girls goes first, followed by Mailekaluhea, Mailelauli'i and finally Mailepakaha. La'iekawai rejects them all and in a rage at their failure, 'Aiwohikupua abandons his sisters to their own fates. Remaining with them is Kahalaomapuana – sometimes referred to as Mailelaunui. She is the youngest, and the only sister 'Aiwohikupua did not give a chance to try and woo La'iekawai to him.

She succeeds where her older sisters did not and the five declare themselves to be La'iekawai's constant companions and sisters until such time as she dismisses them. They become associated with her, and later when another supernatural woman, Mali'o, tricks La'iekawai out of the chiefly husband Waka has chosen for her and replaces the man with her own brother, Kahalaomapuana saves the day and wins favor for her 'sister' by arranging for her to marry Ka'onohiokala and to live as a goddess. Her story ends when La'iekawai becomes The Woman of the Twilight and joins her twin, La'ielohelohe, to rule over the islands until their deaths.

The Maile sisters appear elsewhere in myth and legend and are considered important to hula as well. Different halau (schools) place more items on their kuahu (altar) than others, but the five plants they all seem to agree upon are halapepe, 'ie'ie, maile, 'ohi'a and palapalai, for the different gods and goddesses who are patrons of the dance.

Wherever maile is found in the mountains and forests of the Hawaiian Islands, is believed to be where the sisters wandered. The sisters' names are those given to the five varieties of maile based on leaf size and shape. Maile-lau-li'i has narrow pointed leaves and means, literally, small leaf maile. Maile-ha'i-wale, has small rounded leaves, and means brittle maile. Maile-lau-nui has large leaves and means big-leafed maile. Maile-pa-kaha has blunt rounded leaves and is thought to mean proud maile, and Maile-kaluhea is the most fragrant of them all, reflected in the meaning sweet scented maile.

It is said that the subtle pervasive scent of maile precedes the arrival of any of the sisters, and lingers long after they have gone. Of course, I also mentioned that it does the same thing for my 'ohana. Makes me wonder….

Today, with loss of habitat and numerous other factors, maile is drastically reduced in Hawai'i. Much of the maile purchased, especially on O'ahu, comes from the Cook Islands. Tutu Puku'i had an 'olelo no'eau in her famous book: "Maile lau li'i o Ko'iahi (Fine-leaf maile of Ko'iahi)." Often used in chants. The fine-leaved maile of Ko'iahi in Wai'anae was considered the best on O'ahu for beauty and fragrance. After the introduction of goats, this beautiful and much-liked vine vanished.

It doesn't have to be like that. When we went to Keauhou in June, the sheer amount of maile we saw was almost overwhelming. It was also the most beautiful sight as well. If we all do our part to help conserve and preserve our 'aina, sights like the picture above will still be there for our children's children's children. Think about it, and then help malama ka 'aina!

A special mahalo to Dan and Keana for the beautiful photos! This post wouldn't be the same without your contributions. The picture of the maile flower is from the public domain. Also, the 'olelo at the beginning of this section is attributed to La'iekawai and adapted to my purposes.

noreply@blogger.com (Ipo / SigZaneOhana) — Thu, 21 Sep 2006 04:13:00 +0000

'Ahinahina

Argyroxiphium sandwicense

Argyroxiphium is endemic to Hawai'i, with a genus of five species limited to the islands of Maui and Hawai'i. The category includes greenswords and silverswords:

1. Argyroxiphium caliginis - The 'Eke Silversword is a tiny variety endemic to the Mount 'Eke and Pu'u Kukui bogs in West Maui.

2. Argyroxiphium grayanum - This is a greensword species occurring mostly in and on the perimeter of bogs in the 4,000 to 7,000 foot level in Maui.

3. Argyroxiphium kauense - The Mauna Loa Silversword is endemic to the slopes of Mauna Loa on Hawai'i island and carries the name of the district in which it was discovered, Ka'u. The Kupaianaha design we have is based on Sig's studies of the Mauna Loa variety at the Hawai'i Volcanoes National Park nursery.

4. Argyroxiphium sandwicense - There are two subspecies of this silversword: subspecies sanwicense, the Mauna Kea Silversword, and subspecies macrocephalum, the Haleakala Silversword. Differences between the Mauna Kea and Haleakala silverswords have to do with the color of the flowers and the shape of the leaves. The Mauna Kea variety is thinner, and the leaves sharper and longer than those of its Maui counterpart.

5. Argyroxiphium virescens - This was an East Maui greensword which occurred on Pu'u Alaea in East Maui and is now presumed extinct. However, its legacy continues in this hybrid between the now extinct plant and the Haleakala silversword.

The silversword is a descendant of the North American tarweed. It is an endangered species, endemic to the areas it grows in. The silversword found on Haleakala on Maui differs from the one on Mauna Kea on Hawai'i island, and from the one on Mauna Loa, also on Hawai'i island. Each variety adapted to its environment, developing characteristics that allows it to stand alone from the others. The plant on Maui, for instance blooms from June to September and the flowers are generally purple to a deep wine color, while the Mauna Loa variety has yellow flowers.

'Ahinahina

Kaka'ikahi ka 'ahinahina, he pua laha 'ole kona.
The rare silversword, with a flower unlike any other.

When people talk about the silversword, for most, the Haleakala species comes to mind. It's robust, full, and aesthetically pleasant to look at. It's also much easier to gain access to, as opposed to the other species. Revitalization of the plant over the last ninety years has also helped the endangered Maui species to make a strong comeback.

In the past, the 'ahinahina was so plentiful on Haleakala that people would go there for the simple sport of rolling the plants down cinder cones. Others would bring plants down to prove they'd crested the summit, and after the introduction of feral goats and domestic cattle, the species' decline continued in numbers alarming enough for the Maui Chamber of Commerce to send a plea to Washington D.C. to help save it.

Because of the management of the Haleakala National Park, the most serious former threats to the 'ahinahina (human vandalism and grazing by animals) has been virtually eliminated. The greatest threat these days appears to be a decline in the endemic pollinators because of an invasion of the Argentine ant. Thankfully the queen ants cannot fly, so this helps to slow the spread of the species and gives conservationists a chance to try and eliminate colonies.

Individual plants of the Mauna Kea silversword can live from three to upwards of fifty years. A plant lives until it flowers, and then it dies. There are five populations of the very rare plant (only about 500 plants left), and only one is naturally occurring, outside the Waipahoehoe gulch. Like the Haleakala species, the part of the decline of the Mauna Kea silversword has been attributed to browsing by animals, specifically mouflon sheep and goats.

Between 1973 and 1982, the state outplanted greenhouse-grown silverswords in three enclosures within the Mauna Kea forest reserve near Pu'u Nanaha around the 9,000 foot level, near the Skyline jeep trail almost two hundred feet higher in elevation, and at Waipahoehoe gulch. There is hope that its recovery may someday reach the same success levels of the Haleakala silversword

Hope is a beautiful thing to have, and with the hard work and tireless efforts of conservationists, our children's children may someday see these incredibly amazing plants growing in their natural habitats.

Photos come from the public domain.

noreply@blogger.com (Ipo / SigZaneOhana) — Sat, 26 Aug 2006 00:48:00 +0000

'Ohi'a Lehua

Metrosideros polymorpha

The Metrosideros genus is native to the Pacific, from the Philippines to New Zealand, throughout Polynesia and Melanesia. The name comes from the Greek metra for heartwood, and sideron for iron. There are fifty species in two subgenera, Mearnsia (24 species) and Metrosideros (26 species).

Of these twenty-six, there are five recognized species of Metrosideros in Hawai'i, with the polymorpha variety being the most common:

1. Metrosideros waialeale (collina?) - A variety endemic to Kaua'i island, named for the mountain where it grows, Mount Wai'ale'ale.

2. Metrosideros tremuloides - Lehua 'ahihi A variety endemic to O'ahu, famous in song and found on the peaks of Nu'uanu and Mount Ka'ala.

3. Metrosideros rugosa - Lehua papa Also endemic to O'ahu, found in the Ko'olau mountains or on summits of windward pali.

4. Metrosideros polymorpha - 'Ohi'a lehua:

a. Var. dieteri Endemic to Kaua'i, found on the Pihea Trail on the way to the Alaka'i swamp.

b. Var. glaberrima A variety with smooth, shiny leaves found on Kaua'i, O'ahu, Moloka'i, Lana'i, Maui and Hawai'i.

c. Var. incana found on all major islands: Kaua'i, O'ahu, Moloka'i, Lana'i, Maui and Hawai'i.

d. Var. macrophylla – A variety endemic to Maui and Hawai'i islands only.

e. Var. newelli – A variety endemic to Hawai'i island. Selections found in the Pi'ihonua gulch, back of Rainbow Falls.

f. Var. polymorpha - A variety with hairy leaves found on O'ahu, Moloka'i, Lana'i, Maui and Hawai'i.

g. Var. pseudorugosa – A variety found only on West Maui, in the Pu'u Kukui summit bog.

h. Var. pumila - Found only on Kaua'i, in and near bog at head of the Wahiawa River, as well as on Maui and Moloka'i.

5. Metrosideros macropus - Also called 'ohi'a lehua, but endemic to island of O'ahu only. Samples found on the 'Aiea Ridge, Poamoho Trail.

Lehua

Ku'u wahi pua lehua, kau i ka wekiu.
My dear lehua blossom perched on the topmost branch.

Most commonly known as the flower for Hawai'i island, the 'ohi'a lehua is an endemic plant believed to have arrived in the Hawaiian islands by way of the Marquesas, and before that from New Zealand. The flower and plant there is known as the raka or the pohutukawa, and as you can see, it is very strikingly similar to our 'ohi'a lehua! Go here to learn more about the Metrosideros excelsa, aka the New Zealand Christmas tree.

And back to Hawai'i….

Young shoots of the lehua are called liko. Depending on the variety of lehua, the liko may be fuzzy, have red tips, be green or white and everything in between. Liko means to bud or to put forth new leaves. Sometimes the word is used to describe a child or a descendant, especially of an ali'i.

When we went up to Keauhou in June (I mentioned this trip in my blog on the alala), we were treated to the sight of pristine 'ohi'a and koa forests. There were huge trees easily seventy feet tall, and the lehua came in a multitude of colors, including red, orange, yellow and even striated pink varieties. Some trees bore flowers of more than one color. In the last picture here, there are three trees in different colors: red on the left, yellow in the back and orange on the right. Some of them grew in close proximity to one another, while others stood alone in the middle of an open area. It was all beautiful and breathtaking to behold.

Some colors have names to distinguish them, like the yellow lehua mamo. These two were taken by Kuha'o or Kauila and you can see here the variation in shades of the yellows as well:

I captured this orange beauty on the trip up to Keauhou. I'd never seen so many orange pua in all my life, and the trees were magnificent.

You can find 'ohi'a lehua growing anywhere from sea level to about the 7,500 foot level. In ancient times, lehua groves grew all the way down to the ocean, where their petals would fall onto the water, staining the water red. It is a hardy forest plant, growing closely with many other plants including the 'ie'ie and in higher elevations, the koa. The 'ohi'a can grow as a dwarf (as in bonsai) or a shrub variety all the way up to trees 100 feet tall.

Lehua blossoms are a key source of nectar and bugs for honeycreepers like the 'i'iwi and the 'apapane, who can easily camouflage themselves among flowers the same shade of red as they are. 'Ohi'a is a kinolau for the god Ku and its hard reddish wood was used in the creation of idols for the heiau. The wood was also used in fences around temples, and sometimes as posts and rafters for hale, as well as firewood or even canoes. The flowers are considered sacred to the volcano goddess Pele. The plant is one of the nine placed on the kuahu hula. From different parts of the plant, kapa makers derived dyes in hues of red, yellow, pink, orange, green and purplish or reddish tones.

Of all the Hawaiian flowers, lehua has always been my favorite. I used it extensively in my wedding, from centerpieces to lei to bouquets to even the print on our clothing. And yes, it was all designed by Sig Zane Designs! The print is Kalehuaokeola and you can find it here, featured on our umbrellas.

That's about all for now. You know, when I started this project a WEEK ago, I never thought I'd learn as much as I did. Just goes to show, you learn something new every single day. A hui hou kakou!

Mahalo to Keana, Kauila and Kuha'o for their photographic contributions.

noreply@blogger.com (Ipo / SigZaneOhana) — Mon, 14 Aug 2006 23:18:00 +0000

Kalo (Taro)

Colocasia esculenta

'O ke kuleana o ka 'ohana ka malama i ka mea nui a me ka mea iki.
The responsibility of family is to take care of everyone.

Kalo, more commonly known by the Tahitian word, taro, was the mainstay of the ancient Hawaiian diet. The first settlers to these islands likely brought no more than a dozen varieties with them on their initial ocean voyages, but from those first few, they cultivated more than 300 varieties over the years!

Where to begin with the uses, or even with the cultural significance of kalo to the Hawaiian people? I had this entire informative entry going about kalo when I stumbled across this article, and the beauty in the writing quickly put me in my place. Catherine Lo tells the story at its bare roots level far better than I can, the creation myth of Haloanakalaukapalili and Haloa, our first brothers. She touches on the importance of poi in the past, present and future. And for me, it's made me think a bit differently about how I want to present kalo to you.

The plant itself has been the focus of the media quite a bit these last months due to a controversy between the University of Hawai'i and native activists. At the heart of the problem laid the fact that the UH patented three varieties of taro generated in labs to be leaf blight resistant. What they failed to take into account was the Hawaiian viewpoint, mainly being that they were patenting Haloa, and as such, it was as heinous a move as them patenting you or me. There were many other discussions, including what could be deemed intellectual property and where the line between science and culture can (and possibly should) be blurred.

There were, in my opinion, legitimate arguments on both sides, but then again, I'm not a taro farmer. My dad's not a farmer, and I wasn't brought up to be one, either. This doesn't mean I can't honor and relate to the call for people to be culturally sensitive, however. There are traditions surrounding the kalo, and poi specifically that I grew up with, and that is what I'm going to write about here.

I know some of you are familiar with the Wai'anae Diet. Well, it worked. Our ancestors had a healthy diet, and they prospered, but at the heart of it was the food that truly was a staple: kalo. Whether steamed, baked or mashed, kalo is not only good, but good for you. These days, they use it to make chips, bread, cookies, and all sorts of other treats, but honestly, give me the kalo plain and simple over that other junk, any day.

One-finger, two-finger, three-finger? In our house, it was almost always two-finger thick. If it got to three, 'auwe no ho'i – that was more water than anything and Mom was really trying to stretch it out. The poi rarely lasts long enough to go sour, but when it does, that's when Dad has a field day. He likes his about a week old. Me, I can go until about four days, when the skin on the top is turning white and the poi itself is more pink than purplish. It's all a matter of preference, there, I think, and upbringing.

My favorite is fresh poi because it's so sweet. If I had my way, it'd be pa'i'ai or one-finger, too. My first solid food growing up was poi and to this day, I love the stuff. Some of my friends have tried it and they make faces, but it's an acquired taste and very cultural. I'm sure I'd react similarly to some of the things they've grown up with, after all.

Poi palaoa is a cheat, something I know there some poi manufacturers employed to make it stretch. Palaoa is flour, and sometimes people put it in the poi and then add water to the mix to make it seem like there is more than there really is. Believe me, you can taste the difference!

The Poi Bowl. And no, I'm not talking about those tapa print paper or Styrofoam ones they use at lu'au, either, or the restaurant at the Makai Market at Ala Moana. There's a protocol around the poi bowl and I think it's one that many of us know, even if we don't consciously acknowledge the reason behind it. We don't talk negative around the poi. When that bowl is uncovered at the table, conversation stays pleasant, and if it gets ugly, someone covers the bowl.

When we were done eating, and if there was poi left, someone always would scrape or kahi the bowl. You don't leave a mess behind, and when you're done, that finger full of poi had better be going to your 'opu, too.

I grew up doing these things and I never understood why until I was in my late teens at a conference, and a kupuna explained it to me. We honor our ancestor by not being 'naughty' in front of them. It's the same sort of concept where you don't act up in front of your grandparents. At least, that's the way it was in our hale. The thing is, it wasn't a 'cultural teaching' either, but just a way of life, passed down from Dad, who learned from his parents, and they from theirs, likely dating back to the time of Haloa himself.

Another thing about the poi bowl was that we all shared from the same one. There was no taking so much for just yourself, not when you could sit together and share. We just dipped our fingers (or our forks) in as we ate. Cultural? Very. I can remember doing this, too, until my aunt introduced Mom to the 'delights' of shoyu and poi mixed together. *insert delicate shudder of distaste* But we're not going there….

So where does that leave us today? Can we still find a connection to our heritage through this simple, yet complex food? In this day and age of iPods, Playstations and plasma screen televisions, it's all in the mindset, and perhaps a bit of getting off our 'elemu and touching the 'aina again, listening to the stories that are our birthright, and living to honor Haloa.

Mahalo to Marcia and Keana for the photographs!

noreply@blogger.com (Ipo / SigZaneOhana) — Fri, 04 Aug 2006 21:45:00 +0000

'Alala: Corvus hawaiiensis

He 'alala, he manu leo nui.
The 'alala is a noisy bird.

We were given the opportunity to visit the Keauhou Bird Conservation Center earlier this summer, and we came face to face with this beauty in the aviary attached to the education center. She was busy grubbing for insects here, and thrilled us all to no end when she flew so close to the observation window. There was another 'alala in the adjacent cage, a male, but they were being kept separated by a steel screen for fear of an attack. I have always been interested in native species, but never have I felt such a profound sadness and awe as I did when I watched this bird in her cage.

The 'alala is the Hawaiian crow, an endemic bird whose population is critically endangered. There are none left in the wild. There is a captive flock (and I use that word loosely since they are not able to fly about at will) at the Maui Bird Conservation Center, and one where we visited in Keauhou, ma uka of the Hawai'i Volcanoes National Park. The grand total? Fifty. Just fifty of these magnificent birds left in all the world.

As with other crows, the 'alala are vocal, gregarious and generally social creatures. They are omnivorous, their diet consisting of native ('ohelo) and introduced fruits, bugs, hatchlings or eggs of other birds and sometimes flowers ('ie'ie and 'ohi'a) or their nectar. Their feathers are more of a matte black than glossy, and sometimes even brown at the edges. The birds are a bit larger than your average crow, and studies have shown that their vocabulary is more complex than that of others of the species as well.

The conservation centers have many partners in their efforts to stave off the extinction of these very endangered animals, headed up by the San Diego Zoo, the Peregrine Foundation, the Department of Land and Natural Resources, as well as private land owners. There are several troubling factors facing them in their efforts to rebuild flocks of these birds, starting with a very small gene pool. 'Alala are monogamous as well which adds to the difficulty of forming nesting pairs whose genes are further apart in order to increase the possibility of survival past fledgling age.

'Alala means to cry or caw, and the bird's name comes from the fact that its cry sounds like that of a wailing child. At one time, like regular crows, the 'alala flew together in actual flocks, but they were hunted because they became a nuisance to ranchers and farmers. Populations dwindled so alarmingly that the birds were protected by the state from the early 1900's, and then by the federal government in the 1960s.

I hope the 'alala will survive. The odds are stacked against them, but I truly do hope they will be the exception to the rule, and not quietly fade into the past. Aside from the tireless efforts of those trying to bring them back from the edge of extinction, what we can do to help is to educate ourselves and others. On that note, for more information, check here.

'Eha ka na'au ke no'ono'o i keia mau manu kuikawa, a he mana'olana ko'u e ho'ola lahui ana lakou. It hurts thinking about their plight, and I fervently hope they will someday be fruitful and multiply again.

Mahalo to Dan for the photograph!

noreply@blogger.com (Ipo / SigZaneOhana) — Fri, 21 Jul 2006 01:14:00 +0000

`Ulu (Breadfruit)

E ulu pono, e ku`u hoa hanai `ai
Grow and prosper, my dear caretaker.

The plant: `Ulu, or breadfruit, is a distinctive food-bearing tree which produces abundantly from late summer into winter. The fruit grows on a smooth gray-barked tree that may attain heights of 40 to 60 feet. `Ulu trees are easily recognized by their bright dark-green leathery or ruffled leaves. They are can grow up to three feet in length. The branches reach out to a span of 30 to 60 feet. Trees are usually found at elevations lower than 1000 feet.

A grove of these large trees usually signified an area of ancient settlement and cultivation here in Hawai`i. `Ulu was one of the plants considered important enough to the life of the culture for the early settlers to these islands to have brought it in their wa`a. The plant is not indigenous to Hawai`i; it is widespread throughout Asia and the South Pacific.

`Ulu trees grow an extensive root system, so it is best to plant them where they will have plenty of room to stretch out and up! It does not transplant easily. Trees begin to bear fruit five to seven years after planting the root shoot.

The male flowers grow in an upright yellowish-green cylinder at branch tips, while female flowers form a large ball just below the male flowers. It is this female flower that develops into a spherical or, depending on the variety, elongated green ball, rough on the surface. It grows to about eight inches in diameter and may weigh up to 10 pounds. Its ripe fruit is yellowish or brownish. `Ulu fruit is usually picked while still firm and will soften in a few days. If not picked before it softens on the tree, it often falls and smashes. Branches are brittle and can break easily, so retrieving the fruit by using a picker is a good idea.

Uses: Breadfruit, the name for which `ulu is well-known, is a high carbohydrate vegetable, not a fruit as we generally use the term. It is a good source of calcium, a wholesome food high in vitamins A and B, with some ascorbic acid and thiamine. In green breadfruit, the carbohydrates are in the form of starch, turning to sugar as the fruit ripens. This food contains no fat. It may be steamed, baked, boiled, marinated or stir-fried. It is also mashed into an `ulu poi.

The breadfruit tree has many uses other than just for food. All parts of the plant give off a milky, sticky sap. Medicinally, the sap was used either alone, or mixed with other native plants to treat scratches, some skin diseases and even some of the more serious knife cuts. It was also used as a moisturizer for wind-cracked or scaly skin. Mouth sores can be treated with the sap and the leaf buds.

The sap can also be used as a chewing gum, and more importantly was used in ancient days as a glue and caulking material, for such as canoe building. Po`e hahai manu (bird catchers) used the sap to catch nectar-feeding birds for their brightly-colored feathers. Once the valuable treasures were taken from the bird's bodies, their feet were cleaned and they were released back into the wild where they would regrow their feathers, perhaps for another catcher to take them some other time.

The wood of the tree's trunk is light in weight. Craftsmen used it for making canoes, woodwork for homes, drums, surfboards and for papa kui`ai or poi boards. A low grade kapa cloth was made from the inner bark of young branches. The rough sheath, maloulu, was used as a dry abrasive in the final polishing of bowls and utensils. It was also used to sand kukui nuts before they were strung into lei.

Cultural Significance: Traditionally, `ulu is planted to provide a lifetime of food at the birth of a keiki. Symbolically, an `ulu represents growth; the word ulu means the same. Because of this, `ulu is an appropriate gift for a child, whether in plant form, or in symbol, like in a blanket or kapa kuiki.

Mahalo to Kauila for being the photographer!