Upon arriving at a fruit farm in Wai‘anae, the author was introduced to its proprietor, Kris, a remarkable woman originally from China. Kris led a tour of her three-acre property, revealing the diverse array of plants, some native and others introduced by various communities, each telling a distinct story of the island's rich history. This initial immersion involved learning to discern ripeness by touch and smell, and tasting exotic fruits like soursop, sparking a moment of self-reflection about the author's Hawaiian identity.
A momentary disconnect arose when presented with an 'ulu, or breadfruit, a fruit central to Hawaiian cuisine, yet unfamiliar to the author. This incident underscored a deeper theme of cultural displacement, as the author's mother, like many Native Hawaiians, had been uprooted from the 'āina (land) and raised in a different cultural context. This historical displacement, stemming from the illegal overthrow and annexation of the islands, meant generations, including the author's mother, were prohibited from speaking 'ōlelo Hawai‘i, the native language, leading to a profound yearning for cultural reconnection.
The opportunity to work at the University of Hawai‘i Mānoa offered a path back to the 'āina, specifically near the Lualualei Hawaiian Homestead, where the author's family once resided. This return, however, brought a stark realization of the socio-economic challenges faced by many Native Hawaiians. In an effort to deepen their connection, the author immersed themselves in historical archives, meticulously examining family documents and learning traditional food preservation techniques from Kris, transforming daily life into an ongoing exploration of heritage.
The high cost of living in Wai‘anae meant embracing the farm's natural bounty and Kris's generosity, leading to a resourceful culinary approach. Each meal became more than just sustenance; it was an attempt to absorb the essence of the land, to feel an ancestral resonance through the flavors and textures. This period marked a shift from intellectual pursuit to a more embodied understanding of Hawaiian identity, realizing that authentic connection came not from external validation, but from direct engagement with the land and its traditions.
True Hawaiian identity, the author discovered, was found not in bureaucratic affirmations but in profound, lived experiences: communing with the ocean, learning to chant, speaking with native speakers, and participating in taro patch restoration. These activities, coupled with learning the 'ōlelo Hawai‘i language, allowed for a deeper understanding of ancestral documents. The pivotal moment arrived with purple sweet potatoes, cooked over charcoal, their vibrant color and taste providing an almost spiritual connection to the land and a clear answer to the long-held question of identity.
The journey culminated in a visit to Waipi‘o Valley on Moku o Keawe, the ancestral land of the author's family. Despite changes to the physical landscape, the essence of their heritage remained. Understanding that Hawaiian identity is tied to the land's elements—waters, mountains, winds, and sustaining foods—the author re-read family letters. A simple, yet profound, revelation emerged: the sweet potato, 'uala, was the very food that sustained their 'ohana for generations. This humble root became a powerful symbol of their enduring connection to their past and their identity as Hawaiians.