Ka Wae

Exactly a year from my last post, here's my 173rd attempt at kick starting this blog.  I've finally changed the name (and the URL) to something a bit more inclusive.  Ka Wae was actually one of the alternatives that we were deciding on when we chose the name of our company (settled on Kamanu).  For me and this blog, the root is similar to Kamanu; because the way that I look at the world has been so influenced by the lifetime I've spent in and around outrigger canoes, I wanted a name that would root me to that. The wae on a canoe is where the 'iako get lashed on. It's the strongest part of the wa'a and it allows the ama to connect to the canoe, therefore keeping it upright.  Though relatively small, it's a fundamental and defining piece of the outrigger canoe.  So, in a metaphorical stretch (for a very literal person), it's a good reminder for me regarding strength and interconnectedness.  According to wehewehe.org, wae also means meditation. So there it is, the new name.  In a pre- New Year's Resolution (since I always fail at resolutions, I figured I'd try and do it early this year), here's to updating at least a few times per week. 

As a refresher (for myself and anyone who happens upon this blog) I'm writing about our (my wife and I) experience trying to explore life by living within our means.  If you're new to this blog, read this post as a good starting point as to what this is about.  We live "off-grid," meaning we don't have any physical connection to the outside world.  Our water comes from our roof and our electricity comes from the sun (converted to AC electricity by our PV panels and an inverter).  Most of our calories still come from Costco, but we're working on it. We're not trying to save the world or prove a point, we're just doing our best to remove ourselves from an unsustainable system by living within our means to produce.  There is no end goal, just a long and slow learning curve on what it means to step away from consumption.  And we're writing about it primarily to document the process and learn from our mistakes.

For better or worse, this is our story.

Below you can see some recent pictures.

Our current animal total is at: 16 ducks, 9 chickens, one mysterious goose, three dogs, two and a half cats, two koi, 12 Tilapia, and some catfish. 

We have somewhere around 50 fruit trees growing one our acre: banana, papaya, kumquat, lime, fig, brazillian cherry, noni, lychee, breadfruit, mango, tangerine, orange, acerola, rambutan, longan, ice cream bean, coconut, avocado, white sapote, jackfruit, durian, black sapote, mamey apple, tamarind, acai, coffee, cacao, chico, soursop, and haitan star apple.  Plus an uncountable number of koa, pigeon pea, hapu'u, hala, bamboo, and gardenia. On adjacent State land I've planted about 60 koa trees that we started from seed from the koa forest in the mountains behind us and a number of other native trees that we get from the annual Arbor Day Native Tree Giveaway (a'ali'i, alahe'e, 'ohia, hala, munroidendrom, etc).  

We made a gravel path, to minimize our mud wallowing, and began the never-ending process of mulching away our grass.  The goal is to put 90% of our land into some type of food production, while leaving a small yard (visible in the first picture) for when Sokchea and I are in need of a quick game of freeze tag or dodge-ball with the dogs. 

We've probably gone a bit overboard with the tree planting, but I can't help it.  There is something evolutionarily very satisfying about planting a tree.  In the same way that a long dormant gene in my chicken's awoke when they began brooding, something in me clicks into place with every seed that I sprout in my shade-house.