Postcard from Pahala

I want to tell you some things about what it’s like to be in this part of Hawaii. I want to tell you about how there’s a big hole in the lawn out in front of this big old plantation house and how there’s a chicken wire wrapped pig lying on its back, trotters up, full of hot, hot stone. I want to tell you about the lei I made on the porch this afternoon and how it’s pretty good, actually, I did a decent job for an amateur. I’d like to tell you about how choir practice is crazy making and wonderful, and how yeah, I’ve taken ukulele lessons almost every day and who knows if I’ve learned anything.

I want to tell you about the island kids here, how one of them is big as a house and funny and sweet and wow, you should hear this kid sing, and there’s also a little tiny guy who’s so cute you want to put him in your pocket. There’s a lovely teenage girl in braces and I sent her out around the grounds with my camera, the big fancy one, and she just lit up and shot some very pretty pictures and some of the pig being, uh, dispatched. Those aren’t so pretty, but she did a nice job and I kind of can’t wait to show them to you.

I want to some how transport you to this house full of music where there are a handful of funny Japanese guys with beautifully dry humor and great laughs, and some slow moving aunties who are bursting with emotion, and oh, I want to tell you about that one guy, but probably, I should let that settle for a little bit first and choose my words more carefully.

For now, I’ll tell you that there’s a really big hole in the front lawn. It’s full of blazing hot stones, they’re red from the fire, and there’s a enormous pig wrapped in chicken wire and there’s smoke coming out of the empty body cavity where the pigs guts used to be. There are a dozen or so people standing around and a bunch of kids making funny comments — “How’d you like to be that pig?”

It rains in the afternoons, just a little, and the wind rattles the single pane windows in the cottage something fierce. The coffee is good and the air is clear and I spend most of my time barefoot and carrying around a ukulele. I listen with mad focus during lessons and I try to sing along and I laugh at the jokes the kids make and I think, well, maybe I’m going to have to try some of that pig.

There’s a big hole in the lawn and a pig is going into it, along with some turkeys and some sweet potatoes and I don’t know what else. I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to attend a resort luau ever again. I’m okay with that.

My Hawaii travels were sponsored by the Hawaii Tourism. And I was truly honored to be a guest at Keoki’s Pahala camp.