A Million Little Pieces Of My Mind

When I first arrived on the property, I was surprised to find a herd of cows on it. At first, I thought they had come with the land. But it turned out they were being ranched here by a native Hawaiian and his family, under an agreement made a decade earlier with the previous owner.

At first, my daughter Jenny (who is the current owner) wanted the cows gone. However, without them we would soon find ourselves buried under tons of uneaten grass. As it is, the cows that are here can't keep up. But this jungle will quickly swallow up any sign of human habitation if not continuously cut back; and the cows are an important part of this. So, even though we are not paid for the cows to be here, it is nevertheless to our benefit to retain them.

But they've also been a liability. They aren't graceful creatures, especially when being annoyed by our dogs, and have pushed our satellite dish out of alignment and bent it; have knocked over pretty much every fence my grandson Zach has tried to build, and are a potential danger to my grandbabies when they are here.

Zach's first attempt at a fence to keep the cows from drinking the water from our cowbooy tub (intended for soaking, not drinking) worked about a week. But the posts weren't buried and the cows started knocking it down almost immediately. The picture above was taken in July; by October, nothing was left standing.

Also in July, just before he flew back to Arizona, Zach but a more serious fence (with metal posts driven into the ground) near his container, to protect a number of banana plants he transplanted there. But by September, the fence had been breached and most of the plants trampled. (Once the cows get in and turn ground into mud, the feral pigs come in a finish the job.)

And so, Jenny felt the cows would have to go. So we contacted the Hawaiian, a man named Kamana (pronounced kah ma NAH). That wasn't hard. After all, he is onsite almost every day, monitoring the cows and calves and moving them from one pasture to another.

Actually, when I first met him months ago, I was a little embarrassed. After all, this land belonged to his ancestors—or,m rather, they lived on it since Hawaiians had no concept of private property until Europeans showed up and started dividing up the islands amongst themselves. And I said as much to him, but he brushed off my concerns.

"That's all in the past," he said. "Now we all just have to live together. Cooperation is how we can all make the most of what the aina [Earth] gives us. I've been working this land for ten years. I hope you will take advantage of the knowledge I've accumulated through this time."

Plus, he pointed out, he has skills (such as fencing) that we could make use of; and a network of friends and family with all kinds of helpful professions (such as engine repair) and for whom he could vouch.

Well, as it happened, the quad was in need of repair. We relied on it for getting around the property up until September, when it stopped working. We had located a local man (I'll call him Lars) who is a mechanic. He and his wife came out to examine the quad and propose a price, which I accepted. He promised to come by the following Friday at 9 AM, and I agreed to meet him at our gate at that time to let him in. I also texted him the night before to confirm, and he replied in the affirmative.

But I waited an hour and a half the next morning, and he never showed up. He also, to this day, has not responded to the texts I sent.

Keith overheard people in the general store talking about a week later, how Lars had taken ill and was in and out of the hospital. Somehow thinking that Lars was sick seemed better to me than that Lars was rude and/or unprofessional. But, either way, he was obviously never going to repair our quad. So I asked Kamana about it.

"I have a cousin who is a mechanic," Kamana said. "If I can bring the ATV to him, I know he can fix it."

"Sure!" I said. "It's not doing us any good just sitting here."

So he towed the quad behind his own ATV, and, two days later, it was back, fixed…and for $10 less than Lars had quoted us!

We knew that Jenny and the babies were coming for Thanksgiving, and I was concerned that the toddlers might encounter a bull or sow, either of which could be fatal. So Kamana offered to put up a sturdy, cow-and-pig-proof fence around any areas we wanted to declare bovine-free for just the cost of materials.

I asked for the first fence to be put around Jenny's cabin before she got here. After a day's work, this was the result:

Then, yesterday, we had a water disaster. Our neighbor Chris, who sometimes mows the grass on the access road to his property, forgot to raise his blades and sliced our water pipe, which is above ground. (Against my advice, but the pipe guys swore it would be okay.) Water gushed everywhere. I was Doordashing on the other side of the island at the time; Keith called me, frantic, wondering what to do. Chris obtained a pipe connector from the hardware store and installed it; but as soon as the pressure was turned back on, the connector (which turned out to be the wrong kind) blew off and the water had to be turned off again.

(As a reminder, our water comes from a tank at the top of the property, at least 500 feet higher in elevation than our shed.)

Well, Kamana came to the rescue. He had another cousin who is a plumber (or perhaps Kamana himself is a plumber, I might be confused) and came back after a short while with a proper fitting that actually allowed us to have water flowing again.

Now we've sent the riding lawn mower off to the mechanic cousin to fix. And next will be the spare generators.

Rather than thinking of Kamana as a squatter here, we've come to realize that he is an invaluable asset to the property and to us, as much so as the grass and trees. I'm looking forward to learning from Kamana's experience as we continue our adventure on Maui.