Singing with the forest birds
I am here in Maui, Hawaii with part of my family to celebrate my Momâs 70th birthday. Two of my siblings have lived out here in part or in full over the years, but it has been nearly 20 years since I have visited the islands. Hawaii is remarkably remote. And yet here I am out in the middle of the ocean one week before my new album is set to come out, feeling a mixture of guilt and bliss that I get to be here while Derek is home holding down the fort.
The other day we met for lunch with my brotherâs friend Philip. I asked him about his work and how he ended up living on Maui. As it turns out, Philip has lived and worked in conservation on the island for 20 years. Since this is a topic Iâm pretty enthralled with, I asked him questions about the successes and heartbreaks of his work here. He looked around the lush vegetation where we were sitting at the lunch table in Kihei eating gyroâs and said, âWell, for starters, when you look around right now you will not see a single native plant growing anywhere.â I looked at the palm trees, fragrant blooms, birds chirping around us on the patio, and wondered how NONE of this had been growing or living here before it was suddenly brought here by humans? I couldnât believe it. He then explained the term âendemicâ to us. Endemic is the name given to an organism that is native to a place and is also not found in any other place in the world. Hawaii has more endemic species per square mile than just about any where in the world. But you wouldnât see most of it from your average vacation visit. The Hawaii we know of from postcards and resort windows is really more of a transplanted microcosm of California. The grass. The pineapples. The coconuts. Even the fragrant plumeria. These were imported in the last few hundred years.
In hearing all this, I said offhandedly, âI wish there was some way we could see what the native Hawaii actually looked like before all this was brought here.â So, Philip told us about the protected forests in the East Mountains and offered to take us up to see the Waikamoi Nature Preserve. There is a National Park and private land where the forest birds and plants have been protected on a secluded landscape in a high elevation on the slopes of Mt. Haleakala. We made a call to arrange to go on a small guided tour of the âBird Loop Trailâ early the next morning.
(They offer this tour for visitors a few times a week if you happen to be here you can find out more at the Haleakala National Park website.)
The next morning, we brought every layer we had with us for warmth and sturdy shoes and made our way up about 7500 ft of the volcano under the curve of a stunning double rainbow (I couldnât even make this stuff up).
On our way into the Haleakala National Park we saw Nene geese and a Ringneck Pheasant and I was already feeling giddy about new sights and birds. And as we began the tour, the heavy, mountain rain welcomed us as we gathered up in a small group of about 8 visitors. We were all pretty soaked at the start, but still eager.
Only a relatively small number of species have survived the challenges of modern life on the islands, and the Nature Conservatory has been present here on this mountain forest pulling in every effort to sustain and nurture the native plants and birds who call this cloud forest home. There are 12 native, endemic bird species, and 63 rare plants, many of these may not still be here in 20 years, even with our best efforts. Imported birds, farm animals and plants (along with mosquitos) that have been brought to the islands have altered habitats and brought in diseases to the native forest birds at a rapid rate.Â
But here we were, walking into this lush sanctuary, that very much looked like another place entirely. Early on the hike, I saw an Iiwi bird, with brilliant scarlet color and a complex song. Then soon followed a pair of Apapauiâs, then along the way we saw 3 other rare Hawaiian birds. Itâs not really possible to capture or explain it all with photographs or descriptions, but I began to heard these unfamiliar bird harmonies, Koa trees hanging with lichen, foliage with no thorns or harsh edges that you can walk right through the narrow path with ease. Â This is a place where the created order is different than anything I had ever seen. The rock, the colors, the sounds. Â There are no predators for these birds except the occasional Pueo (short eared, day-time owl) so they were pretty easy to view throughout the walk, even curious at times.
Here is my sister and our guide, Keith on the trail with an picture in hand of one of the birds we had just met. Â (See some amazing photos of these birds here.)
Watching the Iiwi through my sister's binoculars, singing on the top of a flowering tree was so stunning. It made me think of the way we are filled with joy doing the thing we are made to do, in the place we were made to live. We echo back that joy to our creator, whether we do it with words, or with songs, or with photosynthesis. âAll things their Creator blessâ goes the old hymn. It is a mercy that the birds have no concern over what will happen to them tomorrow or the day after that. And it stirs my spirit to remember that for the one who calls out to God for the protection of such beauty, I am reminded that prayer is surely the abiding lifeblood of conservation efforts. That we would love what God loves. And that we would seek forgiveness when we fail and seek the wisdom to care well. And after or in between prayer, when we stand up from our kneeling posture of lament, we can be strengthened to consider how to best steward and balance our ecosystems, often beginning with the exercise of our own personal restraint.
I am trying to take in all that I have seen here at this place, because it surely feels like something I have not seen before and I will not see again. I want to absorb the lessons that it teaches. But it doesnât mean you have to visit Maui, or some remote place to grasp the spirit of this. In a sense, wherever you live, there is a natural history to that place. A history that is rich and meaningful. And it is more meaningful but often less obvious than whatever might be our latest distraction.
Last night, when I got back to the room, I started reading through a list of native Tennessee trees, shrubs and flowers and considering my own garden at home. I wonder if there are more ways I can embrace the place where I live? How can we make our lives harmonize with the soil, to balance the systems and cycles of the land in seeking out small ways to invite the native and migratory birds to visit each season? I donât want to have some repackaged experience of California while I visit Hawaii. And I donât want an imported view of someone elseâs version of âthe good lifeâ living in Tennessee. Â I want the real thing.
What moves my heart toward this cannot be sustained by the fear of what I will lose if I donât, nor by guilt over what we have already lost. But I can posture myself like that scarlet Iiwi bird up high on the branch and sing with my whole being a song back to the Maker, trusting him for the future, and for my next meal. Joy and fullness in each moment, in each day I have been given.
The efficient, canoe shaped leaves of the Koa tree that thrives here in the mountain forest.
