The Island Project

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Ed ducked under a few overgrown palm trees as he walked along the narrow pathway leading out to his fields. An old fence lined the path, bending in and out, straining to hold back the dense bamboo forest behind it. It was early morning and a white mist blanket covered the valley below, stretching from end to end. A few tall trees poked their branches through the fog canopy, sticking out like ancient figures along the horizon. The sun was beginning to rise. It slowly crept over the hillside and set the valley aglow.

The island had awakened.

The walk from Ed’s house to his pineapple fields was about a quarter mile. He faithfully made the walk every morning. The land he managed had been in his family for hundreds of years, and he had tended to it for the past sixty. He enjoyed greeting his crops as soon as morning broke. His ritualistic inspection had become second nature. He enjoyed watching the crops grow, and he took it upon himself to make sure everything was properly nurtured and cultivated. Ed relied on his crops to provide for him. He sold pineapples, papaya, bananas and mangos at the local market. Like other local farmers on the Big Island, he was content on keeping things small and manageable.

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