Mountains and Islands

Last week, 60 Minutes aired a segment on child farm labor. Yes, it still exists in America and it's still legal. Kids do it to help their families. They're strong, these kids, resilient. They work hard and make the best of those long, hot days. But ask any of them, as the 60 Minutes reporter did, and they'll tell you they don't want to do it forever. They plan to graduate high school, go to college, make a better life for themselves and their children. When I was a kid, I worked as a farm laborer, too. No one forced me and I did not do it to help my family. I did it because many of my classmates were doing it, and because my parents had done it as children, and their parents before them.  I did it for cash, for a pair of Levis and a Nishiki 12 speed bicycle. It was tedious, dirty work, but like today's farm worker kids, we made the best of it, picking to the rhythm of transistor radios tuned to the same, top 40 station. Backaches and sunburns aside, I have fond mem...

My friend Kathy and I were lamenting the other day how expensive it is to exist these days, let alone stay healthy, especially as a middle-aged human, with or without medical insurance. She has been nursing an injured, worn-out shoulder, diligent with ice, stretching and rotator cuff exercises, but  knows it will need surgery to fix properly, something she can't afford. She was with me when I broke my tooth. "Shit. There's another two grand, just like that! What's next?" I said. "I know what you mean. It's like you're afraid to move because something might break and you can't afford to fix it," she said. I laughed, but truer words were never spoken. I recently had minor surgery, a nether-regionectomy and gynecological spelunking as I like to call it. The medical staff at North Hawaii Community Hospital liked my description of the procedure and seemed amenable to changing its official name to exactly that, an NRGS for short. Prior to the ...

The coffee trees, dolloped with white flower clusters that look like snow from a distance, are showing promise for a fruitful winter. We've learned this week that a voracious beetle called the coffee berry borer has invaded our islands, one that drills into the cherry to feed, then further into the seed, or bean as it's known, to lay its slimy little eggs. These are not the same beetles previously featured in this blog. Rather, they are tiny, the size of a sesame seed, and much more destructive. These bitty beasts are a scourge, accounting for crop losses of 20 percent worldwide, and should never have become a problem in isolated Hawaii but for the state's stupid policy of allowing imported, green coffee beans. They're almost impossible to eradicate, since the larvae develop inside the bean. Who knows how many of these we've all brewed up in our Mr. Coffees over the years. Hawaii allows other plant importation too, and with lax inspection, we've acquired ...

A few of our trees were bursting with coffee cherry yesterday, so I impulsively began to pick them until the bottom of my t-shirt resembled a kangaroo pouch.  I pulped them by hand, a sticky, messy task, then soaked them over night to ferment them.  The soaking removed what's called the mucilage, the  slimy goo that remains around the seed, otherwise known as the coffee bean.  In a few hours I'll take them out of the water and dry them by spreading them out on a cookie sheet and putting them in Ron's office with the dehumidifier cranked.  I can finish the drying tomorrow morning in the oven, set on a low warm temp.  Eventually we'll get a dehydrator.  We'll need one, since we live in a climate too damp for air or sun drying.  For now, however, it's low tech all the way.  Once dry, I'll rub the parchment off the beans, then roast 'em, also in the oven since I don't have roaster.  I predict I'll have enough for just a pot or two of coffee, but it...

I took the munchkins, aka kittens to their first veterinary appointment today.  There, I learned that we have two boys and a girl. My assumption that the little shy one was female turned out to be bunk.  She is a he.  So I can't call her Pippi as in Pippi Longstocking , so I'll call him Pip as in Pip Sqeak .  Pip Squeak Todd- Niederpruem .  What do you think of that?   They are also younger than I guessed, six-eight weeks according to the vet.  They got poked, prodded and fondled today, most of which they tolerated well (though that fecal test makes me squirm just to watch).  Anyway, they are healthy, with the small one on the skinny side but otherwise OK.  To give you an idea of their sizes, the biggest weighed in at 1.6 lbs.  Next, #2, tipped the scales at 1.3 lbs.  The bitty Pipster barely registered at half a pound! None of them would have made it at the local humane society.  Any cats admitted there under two pounds are immediately axed.  Did I mention that before?  Now...