Gifts of the new moon: dialing back, raking in the dead presidents and other imagery

Contrary to popular imagination, even though I live on a tropical island, I do not live at the oceanside (though I can see it from the end of my road) or spend a lot of time on white sand, palm fringed beaches. New earth born of lava is pretty black and the shoreline in my region is often steep, jagged, inaccessible and wild in many places.

I do however like to ʻauʻau kai, bathe in salt water, a couple of times a week.

My favourite place for doing this is about 12 miles from the little moonflower house at a geothermally heated tidepool.

I especially like making the pilgrimage on new moon - to lay down the intentions for the coming cycle, plant seeds of hope, make my to-do lists and plain old fashioned relax.

November new moon ʻau ʻau kai had me receiving some very tangible, material signs.

Walking through the park to the waterʻs edge, a silver sparkle in the path caught my magpie eye. A dime. (10 US cents).

I pocketed it because one doesnʻt turn down gifts of the dawn, no matter how insignificant seeming. Coins and their iconography have always fascinated me. I thought to look up the symbolism on this particular one later. On this side they are: an olive branch (peace), torch (of liberty) and oak branch (strength and independence). This comes with the Latin inscription (incidentally, who but a coin collector reads Latin anymore?): "E pluribus unum" - "Out of many, one". Apparently a nod to the polyglot, immigrant nature of the original nation which went into the making of the United States of America.

I was the only person in the pool in the beautiful liminal dawn light that morning. I forgot about the American dime and working for the Yankee dollar and all that,  did some lengths then floated a while on my back.

After a bit it came to me that one of the leaves floating at my chin, nudging my skin repeatedly in an irritating manner, in spite of my brushing it away, was winking at me in a decidely George Washington kind of way.

Then I started seeing pyramids and eyes and all kinds of esoteric symbols.

No shit! Amazing what a bit of geothermally heated salt water can do for oneʻs vision.

Wait! That IS George Washington. As in the dead president.

Lie around in lava warmed salt water and money will come to you? Maybe not the best interpretation of this particular Signs and Omens: New Moon edition. But interesting for the implications it offers for the symbolic life.

Just for the record: currently (the internet tells me) US$1.10 is about 65 Indian Rupees or ZAR (South African Rands)12.20. In India that could buy at least two kg of potatoes, with some change for chai (of course this depends on where you shop). In South Africa it *might* buy a loaf of bread.

On the flip side of the dime is the bust of Franklin D Roosevelt, I believe. Another dead president come back to haunt. Or with a message for me. Liberty it is then.

Strong shit this early morning meditation stuff.

Harvesting peanuts

Yes, I knew I was planting the peanuts late and there would be a fair chance of crop failure. The plants are mostly still there,  struggling stalwarts, in spite of looking less than healthy.

One specimen seemed to be dead. Withered and dried up. I pulled it out to find that there was a live section and one peanut in a shell. Maybe another forming but too immature for eating.

I let it the whole shebang dry a few days on the porch, but given the extremely wet drippy conditions (the wet season has begun with a vengeance) it seemed to be better to cut my losses (cue theme song). Peanuts are known to mould easily.

I ate my first homegrown peanut standing there on the front porch, sheltered from the rain, contemplating a vista of very wet banana trees through a shield of flowers and foliage.

It tasted kinda raw.

November harvest: living off the land, cutting my losses and celebrating canoe plants.

I do not feel that I made much forward progress in the garden during November, but on review I have done a bit of harvesting and living off the land. I am nowhere near the ideal of food independence, but after 18 months of guardianship of this little piece of lava rock in a rainforest, I am getting a fair proportion of my weekly fresh food requirements direct from the garden.

Lilikoi were written up in an earlier post. The errant goose of a vine continues to lay two or three golden eggs daily. Enough to share occasionally with a friend.

The Hawaiian hot pepper yielded a good harvest. These red lovelies were dried in the dehydrator then ground and bottled for storage should the production cease. Stands to reason it must sometime, though this bush looks pretty perennial at this stage. This is one area of the garden where there is certainly enough for me and the birds.

The next main harvest has been another big bunch of bananas. For optimum flavour, I tried to eat them ripe from the tree as long as possible, but there comes a time when the weight of the bunch and the weakening stem begins to make it advisable to cut my losses. Literally.

I have yet to solve the problem of weight. Every time I cut down one of these big bunches, the dead weight is too much for me to support with one arm. The whole bunch smashes to the ground, making a forced sacrificial offering to the compost gods. I am thinking that I need to rig up a hammock or acquire a wheelbarrow (which could serve other useful purposes). Otherwise I need to provide a soft landing of cushions or something. I could hashtag this problems of being well hung. But hey, I am too polite to do that, arenʻt I?

The stalwart, somewhat hurricane Iselle battered papaya tree has been leaning down to the ground lately, in spite of my providing support with a black garbage bin. I wanted to try for the breakfast sweetness of a tree ripened papaya. This involved playing a game of dare with the birds. I managed to get there just when they thought it was ripe enough to begin feasting. Sorry! birds! I will put out the seeds on a rock and share the leftovers in the skin, but no, you are not getting the whole fruit. Not this time. I am all about tough love and boundaries (this month)

I had hoped to do my first taro (Colocasia esculenta) harvest at the time of hosting a visitor in late October. The vision, in my imagination, was to celebrate this iconic and significant harvest with meaningful company. This didnʻt happen (see previous posts about setting myself up for disappointment) but I did go ahead and do the harvest alone.

Both the leaves and the corm of the taro plant are good food sources, providing an array of nutrients. Much of contemporary taro production goes into poi - the cooked, pounded porridge-like purple grey (depending on your taro variety) slightly fermented mush which was the staple carbohydrate food source in old Hawaii. I have not yet mastered the art and science of poi pounding (traditionally done by men anyway). Therefore I sliced and steamed my taro corms. They made beautiful rich stews with coconut milk, taking the place of potato. Some has also been frozen, after steaming, for quicker meals.

Starchy and filling, taro goes a long way in the feeding department and, according to some minor research, seems to be hypoallergenic and good for intestinal health as well. For someone who suffers from chronic intestinal discomfort, bloating and pain this is good news. Too early to tell if it is a cure though.

The lovely heart shaped leaves were also sliced and chopped, then steamed or stir fried for greens in the stews.

I tried my hand at making kulolo too - a sweet pudding made with taro corm, coconut milk and brown sugar. It was absolutely delicious, if a little sticky (needed to be cooked longer, or slightly different proportions of starch to liquid?) and yes I ate it all myself! Thanksgiving feasting for one.

Note: all my research and local lore seems to indicate that one must cook both taro corm and leaves well to prevent itchy mouth from the irritating needle-like oxalic acid crystals which most edible taros contain. I did get slightly itchy hands when peeling the corms, but my cooking must have been adequate. It could also be that this first harvest of mine is a mysterious Chinese taro variety - and is less harsh than some heritage Hawaiian varieties. I have been told that it is grown mainly for its leaves - also known as laulau.

I have also noted cautions in some literature as to overconsumption of taro causing liver damage and constipation. Variety, not a mono diet is the key to healthy nutrition. Balance in all things. Oh yes, remember that one.

One thing which had me pondering while doing this taro harvest is how this plant reproduces itself vegetatively. This process ensures continuity, not exhaustion and thus is a truly sustainable food source.

I planted one tiny corm. As it swelled and grew over the months, it made more tiny taro plants at the side. I could have pulled these off and planted or given to friends. While I was harvesting I also needed to be replanting the immature side plants cut from the corms and known as huli.

How incredibly sensible and visionary to bring this plant as a staple carbohydrate food source across the waters, on the canoe.

Paddle panacea

October/November saw a lot of drama and distraction in my life. Living on a live volcano will do that.

Nevertheless I did still find time and space for the full moonset paddle at the foot of magnificent Mauna Kea,  on Hilo bay. The dawn was dark and stormy.

 Though I glimpsed the lovely mahina (moon) on this māhealani (night of the full moon) between clouds, on the drive to the launch, once there, she played real coy.

The light was superb though, just the right mix of dark and soft. The fresh early morning air down there at wavetop level was easy on the lungs, providing some relief from the smoky sulphurous tinged Madame Pele breath.

Moored alongside the pirate ship, I found a vessel not seen before.

Possibly a fishing outrigger,  this little handcrafted waʻa seemed to fly the colours of native spirit.

I have yet to arrive at a satisfactory understanding of the layers of meaning in the name.

Another new-to-my-experience resident of the bay, however, left no doubts about the message. Loud and clear. The panacea paddle. This helped to offset the disappointment I had set myself up for. This paddle, this moonset was intended to be shared. The timing was perfect, it seemed.

That coconut. Feeds so sublimly. The tree provides such romantic beauty, such holy wisdom swaying in the breeze, redolent of camels, far horizons and tracks through the desert and on and on reaching back into ancient memory, dream and reflection.

But bare truth is there is also so often disappointment: a failure to deliver on the promise of expectation. Moral of the story: live without expectations. Easy said, but hope is such a human thing. That fragile human heart bleeding again.

Oh well.

Vegetative ponderings: October garden notes part 2

I was somewhat distracted the second part of October and thus have fallen a little behind. Much of the garden report for October has to do with failure.

Mid to lateish October sees the season changes from hot to wet in our two season tropical rainforest climate zone. The distinction is a little blurred and not exactly a line drawn in sand. Or molten lava. Nonetheless we are now a degree or so cooler, with a greater likelihood of low grey skies and many variations of rain: pouring, drizzling, dripping-tap, hanging-out-for-the-day rain. Any which way you like it, we have rain on the menu for about the next six months.

After germinating strongly, the green beans I planted early October have mostly disappeared. Perhaps they rotted? I am still pondering the reasons for this crop failure. They were planted late in teh season when days were shortening somewhat and the angle of sun changing. There has been a lot of jungle fowl activity surrounding those little plants. The medium in which they germinated was rather young, one month-old mulch, chicken manure and (fresh) horse/stable manure mix. It could have been too rich and hot. This was an experiment to see whether I could use nitrogen fixing green beans as a pioneer crop in my earth creation project.

The peanuts were planted really late in the season and are struggling now, looking decidedly unhappy, possibly not going to yield much harvest after all. Peanuts, to have a fighting chance, should ideally be planted at the beginning of the hot season.

The mystery volunteer pumpkin/squash/watermelon has been colonizing wildly and flowering abundantly, but setting no fruit. The damp or something else is making them fall off. Perhaps I should investigate recipes for squash blossom soup and give up any hope of any other harvest from this quarter.

The eggplant yielded some great fruits which served well for several meals in late October. Again the second planting was really late, after my original plant was destroyed by tree. Currently the eggplant leaves seemed to be suffering from lack of sunshine - possibly a fungus invasion.

Bananas are ripening well. I predict another round of drying will take place in mid November. Bananas are my success story - and I didnʻt even plant this grove, just mulched and fed it lovingly.

Spikey pineapples are also doing their no fuss thriving thing around the property. While I mourn the ending of that all too brief, sweet, white, local pineapple season,  I have put down the roots for a dream of an abundant homegrown harvest some years hence.

The Malabar spinach ( basella alba )seems to be thriving. Perhaps I need to create a structure for it to climb? Is it a vine? The pictures I find online seem to indicate so. I am not really sure about this beastie,  but loving the slightly fleshy (some call them slimy) leaves in my stews. Yes I gave it some marigolds for company. Marigolds are also not at their best in the wet season, I suspect.

The canoe plants: black piko kalo (taro),  olena (turmeric), ʻuala (sweet potato - whose leaves I am using right now for greens) and purple Peleʻs Smoke kō - sugar cane - are all thriving. Surprised?

Increasingly I am letting go of trying to grow ʻtraditional" backyard food garden plants - those brassicas various, pumpkins, corn and beans of the new world country garden. I am moving towards establishing the food plants which thrive in this two season hot, always wet tropical climate. The plants which the first Hawaiians brought with them, the canoe plants, have proven to be the most successful.

Interestingly, and maybe more on this line of thought later, these canoe plants are all vegetatively reproduced so grow true, unlike seeded plants which can undergo genetic modification whether naturally or by human intervention. Hmmm.

In the beginning was the word and in Hawaiian we say...

It has been remarked that I am print addicted. I read signs, notice words.

In my first month of residence, in a discussion about security precautions with a neighbour, he advised me to put up No Trespassing signs. Thatʻs it. Security 101.

For someone who comes from a background of security bars, gates, razor wire and electronically monitored armed response alarm systems, this was refreshing. A sign, mere words,

Then I started looking around. The power of the word is sometimes creatively applied.

It seems that folks in my ʻhood assume a certain degree of literacy, or fluency in the local creole (pidgin) on the part of those with bad intent.

Then again, the current molten lava activities in the village have spawned some interesting attempts to capitalize on the Andy Warhol 15 minutes. We have a number of variations of "Going with the flow" Tshirts. None of which are covetable, in my opinion.

 On a recent trip to the hardware store, I spotted these examples at the next door establishment.

 Kamapuaʻa appears to have competition. In the mist and vog.

Golden eggs and the failure of imagination

Since about mid-October, the invisible goose of the garden has been leaving me golden eggs daily. Sometimes three or four. Every morning I go out looking for thegoose egg sized gifts which have fallen in the night. Karmaless eating: ripe fruit fallen from the vine.

I currently have a kitchen counter loaded with beautiful golden globes filled with black seeds encased in a tart and lovely pulp. I suspect some of this abundance is going to have to be frozen. I am having difficulty keeping up right now. Daily breakfasts and between meal snacks of yoghurt (to cut the acidity) and lilikoi are keeping me ahead of the game on some valuable nutritional requirements, not the least being lowering risk of high blood pressure, which condition is a genetically programmed into my personal wiring.

Some other benefits of the fruit of passiflora edulis seem to be beta carotene (vit A), vitamin c, potassium, fibre, iron.

An acquaintance swears by the anti-depressant powers of Lilikoi, but since she takes her medicine in the form of lilikoi margarita or martini, I have not tried this particular cure.

I grew up with the purple skinned cultivar of passiflora edulus which we called granadilla. They seemed a bit sweeter, in my memory. My current harvest is quite acidic and tart, but none the less has the inimitable passion fruit flavour.

The Halemahina Lilikoi vine (passiflora edulis) was planted about a year ago. Though I planted two - a yellow skinned and a dark purple skinned variety, I am only seeing evidence of the yellow one bearing fruit at the moment.

This Lilikoi placement is another one of my failure-to-think-like-the-plant-in hand moments, aka "failure of imagination".

When I arrived at the property there was a nice, slightly rotten, white picket fence out front. "Ah! good place for a Lilikoi I thought". I painted it yellow and planted a Lilikoi or two.

Since then it has been an interesting process of plant husbandry.

Firstly Lilikoi put out tendrils to curl and grasp around things. The flat pickets of my fence were not very attractive to these essential components of Lilikoi support system. The angles and planes of the wood did not provide the necessary shape for grasping and pulling which Lilikoi tendrils required.

Seeing this, I devised an intervention. I attached string across the front fence and tied some of the wandering vines to the string, wound the same through the fence. "There! You WILL be supported" I commanded.

Evolved jungle Lilikoi, however,  had other ideas.

In the jungle, competition for light drives the action much of the time. Vines climb. Lilikoi is a vine. Having given the vine a leg up onto the fence, my intrepid Lilikoi found its way, via Hapuʻu fern, hibiscus and moonflower to the electric wires.

Yes you guessed: I planted a climbing jungle vine directly under the Helco wires both running along the street and the point where it branches off to supply the house. Opportunistic Lilikoi, obedient to the imperative embedded in its deep jungle survival code, set its sights on the highest support structure and made for it. With great success.

I have always maintained that we have selective vision: the eye edits out powerlines and other human-made junk in a landscape. This just goes to show that I failed to fully map the environment before I planted a climbing jungle vine.

In this case the secret, and my plant siting failure, is in the reconnaissance. Not the sauce.