BLOG STORY • MAKING POI AT WAIPA // TRAVEL, FOOD, MEMOIR

Painted sign at Waipā, Kauai, 2011. Photo by Heather Heagney.

The painting above is of the taro root plant, or "kalo", which is its official Hawaiian name. It grows all over Kauai and is steeped in history. The root vegetable that grows underneath this beautiful green plant is like a starchy, purplish-white potato. After it is boiled and peeled, it is ground up, mixed with water and made into smooth, silky poi.

Poi is the Hawaiian name for this staple food made from taro/kalo. Water is added to it to make the consistency smooth and the result is an almost paste-like substance. "The creation story tells of the Earth Mother and the Sky Father which produced a still-born son. Once he was buried, the taro plant grew out of his body"(Oakes). Kalo means "everlasting breath", and Hawaiians see the plant as their brother, thus creating a spiritual meaning and connection when it is eaten(Oakes). 

The Waipā Foundation is a grassroots non-profit "whose mission is to restore the health and abundance of the 1,600 acre Waipā watershed, through the creation of a Hawaiian community center and learning center on the island of Kauai, Hawaii. Waipā is a place where the indigenous Hawaiian community can renew ties to the 'aina (land and resources), the culture, and a more traditional lifestyle. It is a place to create assets and opportunities for more culturally relevant teaching, sharing, learning, and living; and a place to work towards bringing health, vibrance, and pono (goodness/righteousness) to the land, resources, and the community(waipafoundation.org).

My experience making poi at Waipā in August 2011 truly defined connecting through food -- everywhere I turned there was a lively conversation, a hardworking soul cleaning up, and a group of helping hands cooking, cleaning, and sharing.

I was led to Waipā by a friend who grew up on the island and we were welcomed by a slew of his "Aunties" and "Uncles" who have known him since he was a small child. It was such a beautiful display of love and community to see this friend sharing hugs, smiles, memories and even back rubs with his Aunties and Uncles. It is very common to call many people your "Auntie" or "Uncle" on Kauai -- it is a respectful, affectionate way to refer to anyone who is your elder in the greater Hawaiian community.

Making Poi:

The process begins with a mass boiling of all of the taro root that has been harvested. Once it is cooked and softened, the small boulder-like root vegetables in all shapes, sizes, and shades of purple and white are put into large bins filled with water and placed in front of small groups of community volunteers, armed with dull knives ready to shave, shape and carve.

I pulled up a chair and learned the proper technique from some Aunties and Uncles who had been shaving down kalo for years. Every Thursday morning bright and early this process begins again, and by noon the poi is bagged and ready to distribute, sell and give away. I was playfully warned by my friend not to worry if Auntie Cathy loudly proclaims that I might be carving the poi incorrectly: "If she yells at you, it means she likes you", he said, so I was happy a little later on when I heard her stern voice directed towards my carving technique.

Each time I put my hand into the huge bucket of water and taro root, I didn't know what shape would emerge or how many slimy bits of the outer skin I would touch. I was careful not to shave too much off in order to preserve as much of this starchy vegetable as possible. Once each one was cleaned and peeled to the locals' liking, it was put into another bin, and sent on its way to the grinder. After some time I finally got the hang of this inexact science, and I quite enjoyed the meditative quality of the exercise. Huddled around the poi buckets, it was a pure moment of energy and connection around this little purplish-white root vegetable.

Probably one of the happiest-looking individuals I've ever met was the man in charge of pushing the taro root through the grinder. The result definitely did not look pretty or appetizing in any way, but I did get a feeling of visual satisfaction seeing the tubs fill up with the literal "fruit" of our labour.

Once the greyish-purple pudding-like mixture filled a bin or bucket, it was rolled over to where Auntie Cathy held court, at the weighing, bagging, twisting, and tying station. My friend was called over to do the twisting honours, a privilege not to be taken lightly. Considering the high station of poi-bagger, I was shocked and delighted when I was called over to tie off the bags, a role not often offered to a first-time visitor. Apparently, there was a proper way of doing this task as well, and I took in every little bit of instruction from the Aunties with care and respect.

After a long session of Auntie Cathy dipping her gloved hand into the vats of poi, weighing different-sized bags, and others twisting those bags just so and tying them off tightly and properly, the poi-making process was finally complete. By the time the last bag was tied, the floor had been swept, the tables prepared for lunch, and the meal was prepared by loving hands. It was a true vision of community in action, all hands, feet, and hearts working together to make and serve Kauai's bounty.

Before we sat down to eat, a blessing was said and hands were held in a circle. The buffet was a gorgeous display of local Kauai food including kale, papaya, avocado, pork, citrus fruits, bread, fresh pesto, rice, and of course, a healthy portion of poi. As we sat down at the row of picnic tables joined together, we shared jokes, stories, memories, and conversation, all while enjoying our delicious lunch. To be honest, there wasn't much of a taste to the poi, but it punctuated the meal in the perfect way, and really, for me, it wasn't about the taste.

What made this whole morning and meal amazing for me was the beautiful joining of hearts and hands over a fresh, local plate of food, and the community connection between locals, visitors, and men and women of all ages in the poi-making process itself. Over lunch, I joked with an Uncle who asked me questions about Canada, shared smiles and hugs with the friends I was visiting, and enjoyed pleasant conversation with a local Doctor who does charitable work in the community.

So you see, friends, to me, this day of making poi was not really about the actual food itself, the magic was all in the connecting.

Aloha, sweet friends :)

After the Harvest, August 2011.