Calvin’s Mamaki Tree

I stood at the ocean’s edge with a large group of people. We had come together to say aloha and a hui hou (until we meet again) to a gentleman whose life had ended much too soon.

Those of us there had worked with Calvin at two different workplaces for a succession of four different owners. Throughout all that change, we were the same; we were his ‘ohana, adopted work family. I was among a smaller group within the whole who had not seen many of the others for several years, and many more never at all: Still, the new-to-me faces were as comfortable and family-familiar as the others I did know, for the days of Calvin’s life strung us together in lōkahi ke ‘ike, a harmony of shared knowing. Conversation flowed easily as we waited for the service to begin. Hugs were freely given, and voices joyful, with the ocean’s brisk breezes doing their part to keep us respectfully quiet in comparison to the sounds of her bigger majesty.

Mamaki is native to no other place in the world but Hawai‘i, and is best known for its refreshing herbal tea and medicinal uses. Leaves can be eaten raw or cooked, and the mamaki bark was used by the Hawaiians of old to make Kapa (cloth).
[Photo credit: “Forest & Kim Starr (USGS)” via Wikimedia Commons copyright free]

After his “real” family was introduced to us, Kahu Billy Mitchell started the talk story of our gathering by saying what we all seemed to know about Calvin; “I have to be honest here gang; Calvin could really irritate me. He was just too smart, and had an answer for everything.” We all smiled or chuckled with a memory of our own.

For me it was how Calvin would stop me on one of the pathways at Hualalai as he did his spraying, confident that whatever that moment, my being able to learn from him about his pesticides was crucially important and connected to every other order of important business I might have for the resort while wearing my VP’s suit. Somehow, Calvin always connected everything in his analogy to his plants. Somehow, he was always right.

There was more speaking, more memories shared, and then Max explained about a hundred seedlings he had brought for us to take home, one by anyone with space to plant them, for they would indeed become trees. He explained the difference between four different types, each for a different climate and elevation, each with a story of how the Hawaiians had used them and honored them. These were facts we were all certain Calvin would have known of too— and then some. It would be a legacy that Calvin would have wanted, to simply have trees that will continue to grow with his belief that they are good for us.

I was awestruck in that moment.

“To just have trees continue to grow.”

Legacy enough for a man who within all his justifiably proud knowledge had remained as humble as a man can get. Though man can sometimes help, trees grow because of God and because of Mother Nature, and because of the life stored within them. Ultimately that is what Calvin really knew, and he was fine with that. Calvin lived serving them all; God, Mother Nature, and that plant, and through them, all of us.

Calvin lived within a degree of humility that I may never be able to achieve. I know that about myself, and have to learn to be okay with the greater ego I have. I am every bit of that author who imagines her book will live forever in another bookstore, in a home-town library alcove, or at the very least in my great, great grandchildren’s attic, but hopefully in the heart of every reader that opens it. 

I am quite sure that Calvin on the other hand, is perfectly fine with the legacy of trees growing because of God, because of Mother Nature, and not because of him. His name is not etched in each tree’s bark the way mine is embossed on each book’s cover. He may be looking down from the heavens feeling he could have lived longer quite happily among us, but not with an ounce of regret for any legacy not left behind.

This afternoon, I planted the mamaki tree seedling I brought home, perfect for the mountain elevation at which I live. It will grow tall, sure and strong, it will give back to me as Calvin knew, giving my family healthy mamaki tea, thriving in the beauty of its dark red veined leaves, and I will know that it is Calvin’s legacy. I will know.

~ Rosa

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Humility is our value study for May. Read more about Ha‘aha‘a, the Hawaiian value of humility in my Day One Essay: Ha‘aha‘a means Humility Laughing.

Comments

[amypalko]

I'm sorry to hear of the passing of your friend, Rosa. What a wonderful legacy to leave though: a tree in the gardens of all your friends.

Trees just fascinate me as they live on an entirely different timescale from people; they transcend human history. Recently, when I was walking with my family through a very old forest where the native Scots pines stand strong and true, we wandered off the beaten track and came across an abandoned tumbled down hamlet of around 10 abodes. The forest had made a good start at reclaiming its own: doorways opened to tangled bramble patch, window lintels were covered in soft, thick moss, rusted tools lay unused on the forest floor. Exploring these ruins was most definitely an exercise in humility. Here we are, making our way in life the best way we know how, until one day we cease to be. And throughout it all, the trees watch over us; benign giants that gently remind us to remain humble whilst still inspiring us to strive towards our place in the sun.

If you would like to see some of the photos from that walk, you can see them here:
http://liveslessordinary.wordpress.com/2008/02/17/long-walk-big-thoughts/

I'm sure with your loving care and attention, Rosa, Calvin's Mamaki tree will grow tall, strong and true.

[Rosa Say]

Amy, your photos from that walk are so very powerful! You continue to dazzle me with your discerning eye with photography, and your choice in publishing them in black and white was so befitting ~ so respectful of the timeliness of what you were experiencing that day.

I have often found myself thinking about the stillness and immobility of the trees that I see, especially when I pass a few which stand out so majestically in the afternoon runs I take. Yet your observations both here and in your posting, so stunningly reminded me that for all the freedom we have to move through this world our time is much more temporary and fleeting: As long as they are spared by fire or other calamity, trees can span our lives by many generations. It is quite humbling, but also beautifully just and right in a way... hard to describe it.

Mahalo for sharing this with me Amy, and for adding your mana‘o as you have; your comment was quite a gift this evening, and I will be visiting your photo set again. I am so pleased you so generously shared the link for us.