Community Wisdom

Four weeks have passed since we arrived on the island, which has gradually become a landscape empty of people and social activity.

Due to the shut down of tourism, Hawaii is now in recession, according to a University of Hawaii economist. Unemployment on Kauai is at 17-percent, Maui 18-percent and Oahu 9-percent.

Many friends have advised that we remain on Kauai, a great location to shelter in place. And it is. It's so beautiful and the vibe remains low-key and seemingly relaxed.

The best way to describe the local media, from Honolulu network news to local Kauai radio, is "community."

I cannot imagine any news network today projecting more smiles and laughter amid the frightening reports. Somehow the men and women on the TV screen -- some from their own homes; most attired in flora prints -- are able to balance negativity with aloha.

It's as though we are sitting on the porch together talking story and chuckling.

Our electronic connection seems more important than ever.

The PBS Hawaii station exudes aloha through many local programs devoted to Hawaiian music, family stories and the inter-connectedness of island life.

Yesterday I was talking with one of the landscaping crew, a young man, thin-limbed with a long wispy beard flowing like a waterfall from his chin. It reminded me of the beard of an ancient Chinese sage.

I asked him for his name.

"I'm Kimo," he said, giving me a quick one-handed Shaka. He's part of a crew still employed.

"It's a good thing you're here now," he said. "The mainland, whew... We're more laidback."

"For sure," I said.

We chatted at social distance, he trimming yellow leaves from ti plants (known to ward off evil spirits) with a small machete. Me pulling weeds sprouting through ground cloth with bare fingers.

"We need to get rid of ground covering," he said. "Bugs and centipedes hide underneath. The cloth suffocates the plants."

I pulled a leafy weed lifting the cloth with it. A small centipede wriggled out like an angry tiger near my foot.

"The little ones will clamp their fangs into you," he said, shaking his hand as though it had been stung. "They're young, lots of energy. Sting lasts for days."

"The big ones," he said, spreading apart his long index finger and thumb to show me size, will only wrap onto you. They don't want to sting."

Good to know.