Monday, January 21, 2019. Tis a brisk one...

Brrrr.  When I awaken in the morning and Iʻm feeling chilly, I look at the windows.  Theyʻre single-paned.  The amount of condensation on the glass indicates how cold it is outside.  Today, early, the glass was covered.  No wonder:

Yesterday, at sunset time on Maunakea, Māhealani (the full moon), in partial eclipse, rose behind Makanaka, and just over the tip of the shadow cast by our beloved mountain.  Thanks hf for sharing, again.

And 43 years ago this morning, I awoke on the sand at Maniniʻōwali, on the shore of Kua bay.  Friends and I had backpacked in from Queen Kaʻahumanu Highway, it having been opened on March 21, 1975.  We wanted to be at a favorite place to observe Māhealani.  As it turned out, the Full Moon of January 1976, has become a milestone in our lives.  Tōb and I met HK and Naiʻa.  And our friendships endure.  And for that I am grateful.

And this briskchill morning up here is clear...no clouds to hold in the heat...but we get to see and enjoy, albeit remotely, Māhealani on its way down behind Maunaloa.

Weʻll wait for the day (and creaky joints) to warm a bit before heading out for our walk.

I was at Pohoiki yesterday.  For the first time since I canʻt remember when.  My mental files needed an update after The Three Months, and so I ventured down to Puna ma kai.  The lush green vegetation, the narrow roads, the heavy air...all were familiar.  But there was a bit of confusion and perplexments.  Where was that place?  Where was that view?  How come the wind is different?  But the billowing ʻehu kai (sea spray) wafted by the considerable shorebreak was there, a phenomenon seen when large swells pound our shores.

The new sand is coarse, and the topography of the shore is constantly changing as surfs roll in on tides high and low.  You can see the sorting action of the waves above:  heavier bigger pōhaku are closer to the ocean, while the fines are a little ma uka.  When the shore break rolls in, aside from the crashing sound of the waves, if you listen, there is a low rumble...a series of ocean sighs...as boulders and smaller cobbles roll up then down the steep underwater slope.  At Kahanu Garden on Maui, the site of Piʻilanihale, an adjacent shore is blanketed with ʻiliʻili, waterworn pebbles.  They too sigh, but at a higher pitch than the boulders of Pohoiki.

The scene above, as idyllic as it may seem, was quite a bit different than reality.  The breeze, the full parking lot, the many people coming and going, and the tumultuous crashing shore break are all there, but out of sight of the lens.  A different view of reality.  And if you look closely the pele can be seen through the gap in the trees.  

With that, Iʻll leave you today...

As always, with aloha,

BobbyC
maniniowali@gmail.com

Friday, January 18, 2019. Roads and flows...

Testing, testing...

I think this works for me:  Go sleep early, wake up early, and while the neighborhood is still quiet and mostly asleep, and itʻs dark outside, I write.  That was the pattern developed during The Three Months, when prolonged sound sleeping wasnʻt an option for me.  Too much disconcerting shaking, the subconscious waiting for the next lūʻōniu, those 5.3 equivalent magnitude no tsunami generated events that guided our lives.  We waited, they happened, then for a half day or more, all was quiet.  Till it wasnʻt.

And now, in the quiet, I still wonder...when???  And mostly I marvel, that after all that, itʻs so very quiet.  So quiet that ears ring.  You know that quiet?  And on our walks recently, the winds have been still and the air chill.  And absent the racket of helicopters, and when we go early enough that weʻre The First on the scene, and we pause, and listen, our ears hear only the hum of the universe. 

Then in these times of changeable weathers, sometimes the wind comes from the southeast.  And while in summer that wind is warm and humid, these days itʻs jacket-brisk.  Itʻs ka makani kapalili lau ʻōlapa.  A wind that flutters ʻōlapa leaves.  We enjoy that sight along Crater Rim Drive where ʻōlapa are becoming more and more common.  Itʻs an understory tree, sometimes, in wet forest, an epiphyte growing in the crotches of ʻōhiʻa.  Clusters of the darkest purple fruit make a purple dye, and the leaves have a strong, unique ʻōlapa scent.  Dye samples below are from friend lr, an inveterate experimenter with all things having to do with kapa.

The colors above came from the fruits below:

And lau ʻōlapa quiver and quake because leaflets have long thin stems:

The scent comes from a...a stickyish shiny juice (donʻt know how else to describe it) produced by the plant.  And maybe when stems and leaves are crushed and mixed with the dye solution they "varnish" kapa making it shiny.  

Oh.  And hula dancers are ʻōlapa, the motion of their hands and arms recalling kapalili, the fluttering of leaflets.

And OH too:  The butterscotch brilliance of pua māmane, also now making an appearance in the forest along Crater Rim Drive, this by eb.  Itʻs her favorite.

I had the intensely memorable pleasure one day decades ago, with Tōb and HK (I think), of tasting māmane honey.  It tasted exactly like...butterscotch candy.  An amazement.

And another amazement:  I donʻt quite understand the apparent lack of urgency to reopen rudimentary access over the pele in Puna ma kai.  Maybe discussions are being had, but all Iʻve heard about in media is "Six Months".  Gotta wait Six Months.  I was talking with an acquaintance at the County Building several weeks ago, and Mayor Kim happened by.  I asked why the wait, and he said that in 1990, HVO staff said to wait Six Months before attempting to reopen roads.  Before I could suggest an explanation, he went upstairs.

My Explanation.  And no, I wasnʻt present during the conversation(s) in 1990, but I WAS working at the park, and 1990 was the year that Pele slowly inundated the Kalapana area.  

Christina Helicker, a geologist with HVO, and other staff spent a LOT of time documenting the change.  Note that the pele is pāhoehoe.  Smooth, thin, silvery.  Thus was the relatively gentle nature of the flows in those days.  They issued from Kupaianaha, a vent downrift of Puʻu'ōʻō, and traveled through insulating lava tubes, seven, eight, nine, and more miles to their destination on the coast.  Those flows were very very different in character than the recent pele in Keahialaka, Kapoho, Pohoiki, and surrounding areas. 

In 1990, Pelehonuamea was of course very active, moving there and here and there again.  She had first reached the highway, then the ocean, in late 1986, having traveled ma kai from Kupaianaha.  Short buried sections of road were reopened when she took a break or went elsewhere, but eventually it became a pointless (and expensive) exercise to maintain road access.  So Iʻll guess that HVO said JustWait.  Maybe wait Six Months.

And of course Pele continued her work for decades, inexorably exploring and visiting beloved places in Puna ma kai.  And then, The Three Months.  And then, She stopped.  For now.  Giving us pause.  All indications are that after more than three decades (35 years or so), Pele rests.  

We have no reason to think that sheʻll start again soon without some warning, though of course She might.  The lavas erupted in Keahialaka are hard.  Theyʻll remain hot inside for years because in some places theyʻre tens of feet thick and well-insulated.  But theyʻre hard.  Bulldozers can (and have) easily traversed surfaces of the flows.  A road has been opened to Pohoiki.  The people at Puna Geothermal Venture have opened access to their property.

Owners of unburied properties in Puna ma kai must be allowed the opportunity for access. Sooner rather than later.  There is no physical, geological reason access cannot be provided now.  At least along the route of Highway 132, the road from the "Y" to Kapoho.  And no, the lava should not be "removed" from what was the road.  Make the rudimentary access On Top.  A gravel road.  Figure out how to make that happen.  Itʻs so easy to say Oh.  Cannot.  Get law.  Get Regulation.  Cannot.  That, my friends, is the easy way out:  Cannot.  "Cannot" must not be an option.  Figure out what needs to be done so Can.  NOW!

To recap something I posted awhile ago (I think).  

According to the online flow map posted by Civil Defense, Highway 132 is about 5.25 miles long.  Or so.  There are two sections buried by pele, and a kīpuka.  Section 1 (buried) = 1.5 miles.  Then a kīpuka of 1.9 miles.  Then Section 2 (buried) = 1.6 miles.

According to my basic clicking and measuring math, about 3 miles of the road is buried.  Letʻs use the work that Goodfellow Brothers did to make Chain of Craters passable in case of emergency in May and June 2018 as an example.  

KHON News: Marisa Yamane

Work started on May 31, 2018, and the road was ready for cars on June 2, 2018.  THREE DAYS.  The distance was .7 (seven-tenths) mile, itʻs 26 feet wide (two lanes), and cost $120,000.  

My maybe poor attempt at math (never my best subject):  To make a 3-mile-long gravel road on top of the flow that buried HWY 132 might take 5 days and cost $600,000.  Doesnʻt sound like a lot to me, especially when recovery figures of tens or hundreds of millions of dollars are tossed around.  And when residents are waiting and waiting and waiting...

Just Do It already!

OK.  The sun has risen, itʻs 51dF outside.  I gotta go nibble then get ready to walk.

As always, with aloha, and today, especially to LD-S and AR!!!

BobbyC

maniniowali@gmail.com

Sunday, January 13, 2019. About those denizens, and monkeypods at UHWO

Another overcast and completely still morning.  Not a breath of breeze to tremble the hāpuʻu fronds or quake lau ʻōlapa.  Thereʻs a minor bloom of ʻōhia in the area, adding bits of brightness to the forest.  In the old days, especially on Oʻahu, there were thousands of bits of brightness amongst the trees.  Those denizens I mentioned are/were kāhuli, or pūpū kani oe.  Tree snails.  Particularly those in the genus Achatinella.  Google away, please.  Nona Beamer singing "Kāhiki aku, kāhuli mai...", and any number of densely interesting scientific papers will reveal themselves too.

But a perhaps not so concise summary:  On January 1, 2019, "George", the last surviving individual (as far as is known) of Achatinella apexfulva died. It was kamaʻāina to a particular place in the Koʻolau on Oʻahu.

Hearing news of his demise while on Oʻahu last weekend I suppose was appropriate, because Oʻahu was home to hundreds of species of kāhuli, three-quarters of which are now extinct.  The news stirred memories.  Memories from decades ago.  And it stirred sadness, and appreciation, and longing for times long gone.

In the 70s and 80s (I think), Bill and Mae Mull lived in Volcano Village.  They were "retired".  Bill was, after retirement, a Research Associate for Bishop Museum, and Mae worked tirelessly with the Hawaiʻi Audubon Society.  I hadnʻt thought about them in awhile.  Bill was one of the people who inspired myself and many others, taught us, and encouraged us.  He was kind, approachable, humble, and a photographic genius.  

He worked quietly in his Volcano home photographing kāhuli he hand-carried from Oʻahu, and happy-face spiders, and, and, and... Go find a copy of "Hawaiian Insects and their Kin" by Frank Howarth and Bill Mull.  Billʻs photos are an amazement.  And go look at 

ʻuluʻulu archive

for footage of Bill and many many others back in the day.  That archive, created, I believe, by Heather Giugni is housed at...UHWO.  I forgot to remember to go look when I was there.

I can still hear Bill talking about his snails, and their names:  Achatinella apexfulva, Achatinella lila; he adored them all.  Achatinella give birth to live young, and Billʻs slide shows (remember slides?) were wonder full.  In the field on walks through Kīpukapuaulu, or the forests of ʻŌlaʻa, his easy familiarity with the plants and their unique characteristics taught me to see.  And heʻd often conduct "Root Examinations", pulling up kahili ginger or other invasive species so we could see their roots.  Of course the point was to kill weeds.

Cherished memories of a gentler time.  Sigh.......

So.  Kāhuli live(d) in trees.  LOTS of snails.  So many that there were collecting parties.  Walk into the forest with a stick, whack branches, pick up snails.  Look at the Bishop Museum species list I shared yesterday:  Terrestrial (on land) Gastropods (snails and slugs).  We have/had, as of 1994 when the list was compiled, a total of 831 species, of which 759 are/were endemic, and 50+ NIS (Non-Indigenous Species).  75% or more of them are Extinct.  Each valley, each ridge on Oʻahu had its own species.  The diversity boggles the mind.

Kāhuli lived in trees, but they didnʻt eat the leaves.  They were/are little vacuum cleaners, rasping up films and bits of fungus, limu, etc.  They kept leaves clean, mayhaps to maximize photosynthesis.  The blackness on ʻōhiʻa and kōlealaunui below is kāhuli food.

Just like the Mystery Photo I posted awhile ago:

Snail trails on the tailgate of a Volcano vehicle.  Pretty cool I think.

Hereʻs a collage used on HPR/NPR Science Friday, glorious photo by David Sischo, of Division of Forestry and Wildlife, Department of Land and Natural Resources on Oʻahu.  His title is "Snail Extinction Prevention Program Coordinator".  Mahalo piha for your works!!!

Mostly on ʻōhiʻa leaves...youʻll get an idea of scale.

And to close for Sunday...the clouds are burning off as they have been the last few days.  

Burnt by the sun.  As is the plain of ʻEwa.  Hot.  Dry.  Sere.  So unlike Mānoa, where the rain Tuahine provides ample moisture for the growth of many things, and recharges the watertable.  The McCarthy Mall on the UH campus there is iconic, as is the use of monkeypods for plantscapes on much of wet Oʻahu:

 

Note the girth of trunks, and importantly, the size of planters.  And understand that underneath is moist Mānoa soil and expansive adjacent lawn.

At UHWO, nine monkeypods in a courtyard.  Not sure, but it sure seems that someone had fun with the green color in Photoshop.

Above, the courtyard under construction with monkeypods being planted. Note size of planters. And adjacent concrete.

Installed and growing.

The trees are still very young, and planters appear to be on the small side.  The tree on the left doesnʻt appear to be too happy.  And that plastic water bottle???

So.  Just because something looks good and works in one place, doesnʻt mean itʻs transferable to other places or climates.  Plants, water use, fishing practices, forest management...they should all be place-specific.  If we

noho i waho...a maliu       be outside...pay attention

Perhaps monkeypods back in the day were a good choice for Mānoa.  Maybe these days something else wouldʻve been more appropriate for ʻEwa.  

Wiliwili?  Yes...The gall wasp problem, but itʻd be great for student research and observations.  And I donʻt know if gall wasps are on Oʻahu. 
ʻUlu?  Great source of food for cafeteria service or for students to take home.  
Loulu hiwa?  They grow slowly, but...

Always something to "hmmmmm" about.

Best to go walking... Thanks for reading.

As always, with aloha,

BobbyC
maniniowali@gmail.com

Saturday, January 12, 2019. Then there were birds, and...

I know...so soon...But I wanted to add a bit to yesterdays plant post.  And muse about other things too.

The Walk this morning was a leisurely holosolo.  Partly cloudy skies that mostly cleared during the three hours I was out, revealed most of Maunakea and Maunaloa.  In the shade it was our coolish winter chill, but in the sun it was warm enough.  

The best thing were the birds.  Had the usual chorus of ʻapapane at the Devastation Trail parking lot, then along the road in the forest were a few ʻamakihi, and those loud Japanese bush warblers, and, in their usual location near where the forest gives way to cinder land, ʻōmaʻo called to each other there and here.  A few weeks ago, there was an ʻōmaʻo calling really loudly close to the road.  eb and I paused and listened, and listened more.  Then it flew across the road, giving me my first real sighting of an ʻōmaʻo.  Iʻd glimpsed them a few times, mostly obscured by understory growth, but never clearly.  They like to play hide and seek while they rummage around the subcanopy of forest.  And with one working arm, and various muscle issues, Iʻve never been a fan of bi- or monoculars.  Too much shakiness and wobbling.  I prefer things that donʻt move.  Plants.  Rocks.  Like that.

So onward I strolled, ʻōhiʻa walking stick tapping away.  Completed the "Touch the lock on the gate" protocol, just past Keanakākoʻi, then headed back.  Because the weather was excellent, I decided to sit on the stone wall, on "my" rock - the smooth one at just the right height, and look, see, observe, as I am wont to do.  I used to do the same thing sitting on the sand or a rock at Maniniʻōwali.  Watch the ocean, feel the sun and the breeze, check out ʻūlili scurrying along the shorefoam, and just think.  Or not.  Those were the times when I was usually the only one at the beach, or perhaps one of two, three, or four others.  Those days are long gone, but memories, of course, remain.

Back to topic, Bob...

Sitting on the wall.  Watching koaʻe kea glide along palifaces.  Scanning the scene back and forth.  Then down by the gate a nēnē crosses the road, climbs the bank, then wanders around the cinder foraging.  Heard koaʻe calling there, there, there...and then kinda close that clickchirp, repeated.  I turned to look at Keanakākoʻi and figured out pretty quickly that the clickchirp was an alarm call.  There was an ʻio, a Hawaiian hawk, gliding, circling inside the rim of the crater.  Then another.  Two ʻio, one koaʻe kea.  Keeping their distances.  Pretty cool.  

That little teeny black line on the cloud just to left of center is ʻio.

Below, one in Kohala yesterday, taken by cvz.  Looks...fake?  unreal??  Too good to be true?  Taken from a car.  Up close and personal.  Pretty awesome, far or near...

And how lucky are we???  Oddly (or not), while I was sitting on the wall paying attention, none of the other visitors in my field of view as far as I could tell, saw any of the birds.  I suppose it didnʻt occur to them to look.  They were chatting and having a fine time enjoying views of the craters.

OK?

Letʻs revisit UH West Oʻahu.  I was thinking this morning...I wonder how it got that name?  Kinda clinical, but I suppose descriptive of location?  How come not UH ʻEwa?  Or UH Kapolei (Kapo = a sister of Pele.  Lei = beloved), after the New City being built out there.  Kapolei, in case you wonder, is named after a puʻu.  Kapolei is in the ahupuaʻa of Honouliuli, moku (district) of ʻEwa.  This is an older map, so new subdivisions arenʻt depicted.  

A kou addenda:  Aside from being my favorite lei flower, the wood is one of the valuable three (kou, milo, and kamani) used for bowls, implements, etc. in the old days.  Kou is the rarest today.  Note that the old name for Honolulu is Kou.  In my experience, kou likes to be well-watered.  Trees without irrigation on the west side of the Island of Hawaiʻi are stressed, and their leaves are subject to predation by an introduced caterpillar.  Those trees look sadly ragged.

I make lei by picking up freshly fallen flowers off the ground in the morning.  They fall from the tree when mature.  If you try to pick them from the tree, itʻs a challenge.  Height aside, if the flower clusters are accessible, you have to pinch the calyx (the green part at the base of the flower) one by one, really hard, to release the flower.

Then, after the flowers, come the seed pods, shown below.  These are mature and ready to fall.  The green calyx (fused sepals, if you know botany) withers and eventually falls off, leaving a corky pod that floats.  Archeological evidence from a site on Kauaʻi tells us that kou has been in Hawaiʻi at least 5,000 years.  Yes, it was a Polynesian introduction, but itʻs a native plant too.

QUICK PRIMER:

Species in Hawaiʻi: Bishop Museum

Native:  got here by itself, but found in other places.  Beach naupaka, pōhuehue (beach morning glory).

Endemic:  got here by itself, evolved, and is now/are now, different unique species found only in Hawaiʻi nei.  ʻŌhiʻa lehua, ʻapapane, hāpuʻu... 1,800+ plant species.

Polynesian introduction:  came on canoes with early settlers.  Kalo, ʻuala (sweet potato), ʻulu (breadfruit), etc.  Maybe 25 different species, total.

Alien:  anything that came here with Cook or after his arrival in 1778.  Pineapple, anthurium, macadamia nut, kiawe, etc...

Those pods above, maybe 3/4 inch in diameter, fall to the ground.  Because theyʻre corky, they donʻt disintegrate.  Then we have the pleasure, if weʻre not watchful, of skidding around on so many ball bearings, making them not a good choice for parking lots.

But their roots are not too invasive, and the trees grow really quickly, and they check both the Native and Polynesian Introduction boxes, so theyʻre commonly used in new plantscapes.  Until.  Until the groundskeepers catch on, and the pods are deemed a hazardous nuisance, and the trees are lollipopped:  pruned to look that way so pods fall onto the median planters.  Not attractive, labor intensive, and for lei makers, not productive.

Sad unintended consequences of trying to do the right thing.  Parking lot kou trees at UHWO were recently pruned way back to make the best use of limited funds.  The school apparently has an industrial street vacuum which readily sucks up the pods, thus alleviating the slip-fall hazard.  But at the Courthouse in Hilo...not pretty.

Back to my house.  

Remember the ʻopelu blooming in the yard?  All those spikes?  Well, the last errant flower opened early this week.  Most of the spikes are drying and seeds are being spread by wind, by birds landing and foraging, and by me, collecting them with the help of friends.  

A budding spike last August 7:

Full bloom:

The dry pods on January 9:

And, ta-DAH!!! The seeds.  LOTS of seeds.  Teeny tiny things!

Five months:  Bud to seed.

Nearing the end for today.  I wrote the following on Thursday, my mindseye diary of UHWO.

Tomorrow Iʻm hoping to write again, among other things, about "other denizens coolhidden under leaves".  Hmmmm.  What might they be???

Stay tuned.  Till then, as always, with aloha,

BobbyC

maniniowali@gmail.com

Friday, January 11, 2019. Of Plants and Planting

At last:  Aloha makahiki hou to all of you!  I havenʻt escaped the busyness of the season.  Trying to keep up with notes, and thoughts, and ideas, and what-la has been fun and challenging.  Kīlauea remains quiet.  Not sure whatʻs happening in and around Puna ma kai, but up here weʻve had a string of clear days and winter chill.  Itʻs 2pm now, and the temperature is 65.  Mornings have been in the very low 50ʻs and a 49 one day.  Pile those quilts high!  Today is unusual for the overcast skies, but our morning walk revealed steams and vapors rising straight up from the various strata of the lua.  While I really enjoy clear sunny weather, clouds add a certain artfulness to the scene up there.  Shadows play along palifaces, layers of color constantly change, and we continue to be amazed at it all.

Even with simple shades of grey...every day reveals something different to observe.

And while not observing here, I observe elsewhere.  A week ago I was on Oʻahu, having been invited to share thoughts at an ʻAha ʻĀina Aloha at UH West Oʻahu at Kapolei on the ʻEwa plain.  Cultural Plantscapes was my topic of interest.  And interesting too was the work being done on the campus.  

Iʻve suffered from perplexment.  How to order my thoughts and ideas so they are presented with clarity and some logic has been the task.  Itʻs become a problem of circularity...how, when, and where to jump in and get a process started.  

OBSERVATION:  There arenʻt a wide variety of native plants being planted in various projects.  We see a bit more than a handful of species, most from Oʻahu, being propagated and sold in numbers sufficient for landscaping.  Such as kou (a native: Cordia subcordata), pōhinahina (native too:  Vitex rotundifolia), kokiʻo keʻokeʻo (Hibiscus arnottianus, a hibiscus from Punaluʻu, Oʻahu with white flowers and red stamem), kokiʻo ʻulaʻula (Hibiscus kokio, a columnar hibiscus with small red flowers), ʻukiʻuki (Dianella sandwicensis, an endemic lily), an endemic sedge, (Carex wahuensis), and a few others.  

Carex wahuensis

ʻukiʻuki (Dianella sandwicensis)

kokiʻo keʻokeʻo (Hibiscus arnottianus)

kokiʻo ʻulaʻula (Hibiscus kokio)

stringing lei kou

joyful parading pāʻū riders Kuʻulani and Pixie in their finest lei kou for Kamehameha Day

pōhinahina (Vitex rotundifolia)

What do all these plants have in common (aside from being commonly-planted natives)?  Theyʻre all easy to propagate, they grow quickly, survive well, and are generally adaptable to a variety of environments, given sufficient water, fertilizer, and pesticides.  

Theyʻve all, in my opinion, become too common.  

But hereʻs The Thing:

Nurseries apparently donʻt have the wherewithal to invest in time and space needed to grow native trees in numbers sufficient for landscaping needs.  Many agree:  Wouldnʻt it be cool to have native plants become "regular", to become commonplace in our surroundings?  But we canʻt buy them because nurseries arenʻt growing enough of them.  And if they do have them theyʻre expensive because...of the time and space required to grow them.  Consider:  an ʻōhiʻa, our most common and adaptable endemic tree, in a nursery, takes maybe 5 years to reach 4 or 5 feet tall.  A plantable size.  Other native trees take longer.

But.  If we desire to have native plants in our lives, if we want them planted everywhere, if we want a diversity of species (rather than a handful of just the easy-to-grow ones), the demand by developers, institutions, and homeowners must reach critical mass so nursery owners can rely on that demand for their income.  But developers have limited lead time.  For many species, nurseries canʻt meet their needs.

Too:  Landscape architects and designers (and developers) need to increase their knowledge and understandings of native species.  So we can enjoy a wide variety of them, rather than the same handful repeated ad-infinitum.  Iʻve gotten a reputation among some, and the nickname Dr. Vitex, because I despise pōhinahina.  Despise it.  Itʻs everywhere!  Way in the back of wet Pauoa on Oʻahu, on the arid plain of ʻEwa, in Hilo, the Konas, the Kohalas...everywhere!  Why?  It grows way too easily, quickly and cost effectively.  And itʻs native.  Despite the fact that Iʻve never seen it growing wild on the Island of Hawaiʻi.  But it checks all the boxes.  And so it gets planted.

Then:  Thereʻs this law:

Law Relating to Hawaiian Plants

It was passed in 2015, and became effective in 2016.  Sponsored by the Office of Hawaiian Affairs.

O.H.A. Hawaiian Plants

And good now we have a Law.  But.  The law says "Hawaiian Plants" includes endemics (found only here), natives (naturally occurring here and elsewhere), and Polynesian Introductions.  And yes Iʻm grateful get one law, and Iʻm happy consciousness is being raised, but... including Polynesian Introductions, in my mind, does nothing to encourage the propagation and outplanting of endemics and natives - those precious and sometimes rare species needing our help the most.

So when I talked to a Landscape Architect working on a plan for the grounds of a new building for UH West Oʻahu, he was proud that almost 100% of the plants he used were "Hawaiian".  Yup.  They were within the parameters of The Law.  And in the mix get wiliwili (2ea), and ʻōhiʻa (3ea).  Iʻm grateful theyʻre on the list.  But why not more?  Why not, taking into account the nature of ʻEwa, plant species, both endemic and native, who would be comfortable there?  Wiliwili (to replace the famed grove at Kaupeʻa, bulldozed during development, where spirits dwelt), this one from Maui, again by the Starrs referenced below:

Loulu hiwa (specifically, Pritchardia martii) once an extensive palm forest on that plain but now restricted to the Koʻolau and southern Waiʻanae: 

Maiapilo (I learned it as puapilo), with lovely fragrant blooms opening at sunset that fit in a cupped hand and is an endemic, rare, caper relative.  The flowers wilt and turn mauve the next morning.  This one I found at Paniau:

And while weʻre at it, koʻoloa ʻula (Abutilon menziesii) a shrub of the hibiscus clan, very rare and lovely, and a kamaʻāina of ʻEwa, this image from Forest and Kim Starr, Starr Environmental, Bugwood.org :

Maybe a couple reasons why not: Canʻt get the plants of suitable size, and/or the designer didnʻt know of their existence.

So at University of Hawaiʻi West Oʻahu, natives were planted, but they lack diversity, and some, like Carex and ʻukiʻuki, seem out of their element in the hot arid environment.

Best to end this now.  Iʻll regroup and write more on this topic in the morning...

As always, with aloha,

BobbyC

maniniowali@gmail.com