Honoring Hamakua

The air is fresh from the early morning showers and the cane fields dance as the wind whips through their long, graceful leaves. The same plantation houses, some now abandoned, stand as if frozen in time from the 1930s.

Aimlessly wandering through these overgrown fields of green, I become completely overwhelmed by my surroundings. The scene before me, while venturing out into the clearing, takes my breath away. Several shades of deep blue merge where the ocean melts into the sky.

Life is much quieter these days on the Big Island of Hawaii’s Hamakua Coast. Like so many others, this sugar mill whistle no longer sounds, while the machinery lies rusted and partially hidden in the tall grass. The road remains unattended to and portions have merely become a dusty path.

Once my family’s home, where my grandfather had worked as the sugar mill’s chemical engineer, large companies had since then bought out these smaller plantations. Entire communities had relocated to find employment elsewhere.

The family house, where three generations of the Montgomery family had resided for years, still stands proud and erect here in Paauhau. The vast sea of green foliage cascades down to the old general store below.

Gone are those magical days when the streets were alive, children’s playful laugher echoed, and smoke billowed from Paauhau’s nearby mill. Trucks no longer rolled by the general store as field workers were picked up out in front each morning at 7:00 a.m. sharp.

School busses would stop off several times a day to unload junior and senior high school kids. Mail was delivered and picked up here each afternoon and at one time, there was a gas pump on the premises.

The plantation manager, J.C. Carter, a former butcher in the British army, taught the store’s butcher how to properly cut meat. Paauhau’s beef was aged, making it especially flavorful. The plantation’s own herds and nearby Parker Ranch were the primary sources for this highly sought-after commodity. Grandmother Montgomery placed an order almost every morning.

A large wheel of cheddar cheese was always found under a glass dome upon entering the general store. Additionally, a showcase with ham, bacon and Portuguese sausage was always beckoning. Scrumptious baked goods also filled the store with tantalizing aromas.

Sometimes when a salaried worker was ready to leave the plantation, bits of jewelry would appear in the glass showcases, to finance the trip back to the mainland. Several pieces remain in the Montgomery family today. Additional showcases were packed full of Oriental figurines, watches, fountain pens, cosmetics and brush and comb sets.

Women often sewed their own dresses and a dry-goods section, filled with bolts of fabrics strewn about, took up another corner. The workers’ palaka cloth, yukata cloth and silks from the Orient were all available. Just days after the war began, denim was purchased at alarming rates, to be used for black-out curtains, required for every household.

Japanese pickled plums, hats, workers' clothes and boots, candy, rice, canned goods, cooking utensils and rain gear were all available for the workers. A voucher system was generally used for paying their bills. Many, not owning cars of their own to venture to the nearest village (Honokaa), relied solely on the store’s current inventory.

Life was undeniably good back then. It was a world filled with gala celebrations, hard working ethics, and a good wholesome environment in which to raise children. Hawaii’s plantation families thrived and graciously shared their affluence within these closely-knit communities here in this mid-Pacific paradise.

Forty years later, while slowly wandering down that same dirt road leading to Paauhau, it’s apparent that the weeds are stubbornly winning the battle. Old family stories replay in my mind over and over again.

While continuing to wander down to the old boat landing down below, the lonely wind whistles as if to say, “Don’t forget the way life used to be!”