Hail liquid sunshine. Formerly a small portion of a pineapple plantation the farm sits on a gradually sloping hill. The property climbs in altitude from 600 feet to 690 feet above sea level. The dormant volcano Haleakala, the island of Molokai, the West Maui mountains and a view of the ocean that goes on forever is offered at the top of the property. What was once a a rectangle of California grass is now a grid work of wili-wili tree hedges enclosing a standing room only audience of tropical flowers heliconias, gingers, bromeliads, and orchids.
Some people mistake it for a banana farm.
In the field examining the tropical flowers I walk through the rows in knee high rubber boots, known by locals as 'Haiku slippers. I note the chewed leaves and think of my tiny enemies of the night,the bugs-Japanese rose beetles,and grasshoppers and the the slugs. The ground brown ants scale blades of grass, crossing it as a bridge to gain access to the water drip line which in turn becomes like a black freeway allowing armies of ants to cover the ground unimpeded. Closer to the ground a slug crawls along leaving a slime trail. Bobbing behind me are the chickens that watch and follow in hopes of wayward grasshopper that I catch and throw their way.