On the Big

On Thursday, November 1^st, Claire Fahrner and I hugged a bunch of wonderful farm misfits and caught a flight with Pacific Wings to the Big Island of Hawaii. Our plane was of the “commuter variety” which meant that the pilots checked us in, loaded our luggage, and then walked us across the asphalt to seat passengers individually. All 10 of us. They had to seat us very specifically so as the tiny flight contraption would be balanced. The plane was equal in size to a large SUV, and Claire and I scored the seats directly behind the pilots so we got to watch the little lights and fear for our lives every time something beeped. But it was beautiful. The sun had gone down and the island was lit up, with the horizon still warm. The plane was tiny, the farmily wonderful, and the Big Island a complete mystery and gamble, but sitting behind the pilots was one of those moments that reaffirms how extraordinary being independent can feel.

            For those adults who’ve been adults for a long time, you’ve probably kind of forgotten this exact feeling. And for anyone under 18, you may think you’re there, but you haven’t quite felt it yet. Its not pessimism or optimism, its simply an affirmation that you’re alive. We planned our trip one way and it went another. So we connected with our friends back home, made a phone call, used our savings from summer jobs and bought plane tickets to an island we know nothing about to live and work with a woman we’d never met. And it’s not that we really needed to get off the farm, it’s that we could. We could be headed straight for disaster, but it didn’t scare us because in that moment, no matter what happened, we had ourselves there, gotten that far, saved that money, and made that decision. When you first start growing up it’s like being a little again. You make something, and it could be the worst, ugliest, stupidest, most utterly useless thing ever, but you don’t care one bit. Because you made it. And you did it all by yourself.

            Lucky for us, our big kid decisions and plane tickets did not lead us into disaster. They just led us to awesome. Our unknown woman on the Big Island was Barbara Dalton: aunt to Jack Bastian, representative for the Governor of Hawaii, Neil Abercrombie, self-aware intellectual, and last but not least, our gracious, hilarious, and extremely generous host. At the beginning of our trip, when Claire and I were debating the best way to flee from the Dragon Fruit farm and salvage our trip, we put out a plea on Facebook for friends and family in Hawaii that we might be able to collect as contacts. Jack Bastian came through with an aunt and an email on the Big Island. We did a little networking after getting to the new farm, and worked out a little arrangement with Barbara, bought some tickets and now here we are.

            So, the Big Island. In a nice change of pace from farming, Claire and I are volunteering in the Office of the Governor in West Hawaii during the week. Amongst other things, we are involved in helping with the application and processing of state IDs for the citizens of Hawaii. This may sound boring but I’ve loved it. It means we get to meet with every kind of person you can imagine, hear their stories, hope they have their documents and help them get their ID card. I like the pace of the office, I’m enjoying having clean feet again, and I like the idea that I leave each day having helped someone in one way or another. The time we don’t spend in the office, we’re exploring Kona or basking in Barbara’s hospitality. Claire and I share a room in Barbara’s little house in town, for which we don’t pay rent or do slave labor. It’s just outside of town, just across the street from the ocean, and just what we want. We’ve been really, really lucky. One of the best things about travel is that sometimes you meet someone, and they let you put your life into theirs, and you’re reminded that people are good.