There is a mystery in my mind, something in my bones, in my core, that draws me to a shovel and to dig. In my youth, my father had introduced me to earth moving tools. There was the shovel, which of course was the tool one would want to wield, but it was not aways capable at first dig. There was the bar, the steel bar that was used to loosen the earth, and leverage force below the ground. There was the battle axe, as he so named it (the pickaxe), used to loosen, dig and drag the earth. When building fences, the post hole digger would be called upon along with a plethora of carpentry tools, but for this story, it remained in the shed.

On the Island of Maui in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, lived a tree. It was what they refer to as an invasive species and had found itself in the wrong place, on the property. The owner wanted to plant an Avocado tree in its location, and the project at hand was to remove the tree, roots and all, and plant the young Avocado Tree. “No problem”, as my father would say, and I welcomed the dig, knowing the deep satisfaction my body and heart would receive during the effort. There would be sweat, lots of it.

The scraggly tree was only about ten or so feet tall, never fully positioned to thrive. I thought it would be an easy dig, and gladly accepted the challenge. This; however, was not the case, and as I removed the soil from the perimeter of the tree, exposing the root system, I discovered the full intention of this scraggly tree, was to stay put and planted regardless of owner or this man with the shovel.

As the dig progressed, what I thought would be a half hour effort turned into a little over two and when the root ball was ready to be lifted out and away, I discovered it weighed more than I did and it stubbornly refused to leave the hole. I was alone that afternoon, no rope or winches, or another helping hand. This was often the case, and the thought of not being able to succeed, never really came to mind; the mystery of my attraction kindled thoughts and experiences from the past and beyond.

My father and I had tackled bigger problems and I recall a four hundred pound rock that needed to be excavated before building a deck. My father had tried to remove it on a weekend, but ran out of time, Monday at the office calling him away. It was summer and I was home from school, so that Monday morning, decided to continue the dig. It would take me three to four hours to remove it and place it under a small pine tree ten feet from where we found it. It had also started to rain during my effort, but that did not stop me. The water cooled me and I employed it to help as it pooled in the massive hole. It was then, I was hooked and felt deep in my being that I had been made for this kind of work in a distant past life or lives, I did not know. I was drawn to dig.

The small Avocado tree waited patiently, and had no thoughts of what I was doing, only knowing that it longed for the new home, a place to stretch its toes, grow and bear children one day here on the Island. I had paused and rested a moment. I drank the remains of my water as the 80˚F air temperature and humidity had demanded. My father would have thought as well, surveyed the problem, and choose a path to succeed. There were the tools, the bar, the shovel, the battle axe. There were rocks and dirt and desire. There was an iPhone to record the finale, and I knew nothing was impossible.

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Hawaii • August 2018