Larry Feinstein and Kui Kauai
In 2011, on a flight from Portland back home to Kauaʻi, you could say I officially started writing. Aside from always being told I should be a writer throughout my past professional lives, I had only tried it once—in my early thirties. I bought a typewriter—yes, a typewriter. I set it up on my bed, typed less than a sentence, then started crying.
I think I cried because there was something painful about having no idea what to say or how to say it. Back then, I never thought about my voice. Who did I want to sound like? This time around, nearly thirty years later, I really labored hard over that question and decided to sound just like myself. Who I am is how I was going to write. If you wanted to go literary on me, you could call it stream of consciousness. I thought long and hard about what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it, even before typing the first word.
The story begins when my grandson was all of two years old and I decided to have a makau (Hawaiian fishhook) crafted for him. If he kept it, it clearly would have ended up as a weaponized gift, inflicting serious damage to his little self. I asked his parents to send it back, and that is where this story actually begins.
A dear friend suggested I safely frame it and tuck a little story, hidden in the frame. I started thinking, “what can I tell this boy in a couple of pages, folded away until some future time?” I lost my dad when I was very young and had no real connection with my grandparents, since one pair was gone long before I arrived. Clearly, my job was to tell this little guy my life story—something he could read after I was gone; an insurance policy of sorts.
Why am I telling you all this now? Well, somehow, I started a book that night on the plane. Each day I sat down, picking up from the day before. A year and a half later, the first 68 years of my life were all out there. In the process, two things happened: I fell in love writing and my voice became my own. Uniquely mine.
My word addiction continues to this day. I have written hundreds of stories on my blog, Mind and the Motorcycle, over the past nine years. Honestly, I have no idea how many people read them, but that is not why I do it. I write because I love it. I am as truthful as I know how to be, and if I feel inclined to make a fool of someone, it is always myself.
I’ll bet that what I’m about to start doing has never been done before—not only here on Kauaʻi, but anywhere else either. I have been hired by the Office of Economic Development as a storyteller—not as a journalist nor a mouthpiece to blindly endorse policy. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. I will only write what I believe in. There will be no lipstick on a pig for Larry!
Listen. You will either like how I write or you won’t. That is out of my control. What I want to make very clear is that I love this place more than I can say. I wouldn’t even attempt to corral my heart with words.
I was sitting in a window seat on the left side of the aisle as my plane approached Kauaʻi on my very first visit here. I looked down at this beauty and knew at that precise moment we were going to get along just fine. I moved here a few months later. She has been very, very good to me, and I have always wondered how I could repay her for her generosity.
I know enough about this place to know there is so much that is simply none of my business. I don’t want to be misconstrued as another one of those instant experts about all things Kauaʻi. At the same time, after over 20 years here, I’ve got a pretty good history that began with joining the Kauaʻi County Farm Bureau within months of arriving.
I came up with this idea called Grow Kauaʻi. It was about growing island self-sufficiency, way before sustainability and climate change became part of the everyday vernacular. Somehow, I got the OK to write a monthly news article titled “Grower of the Month,” which lasted around a year. I remember sitting amongst others in the dining room of the Kaneshiro home as they talked about the history of their pig farm.
I spent a couple years working to create Paniolo Feed, a cubed cattle and horse feed product. It had a complicated history and didn’t work out. However, I got to meet with many of the cattle ranchers as we put in efforts to promote more locally grown beef. I’ve even had the opportunity to work in local politics with former Mayor Carvalho and current Mayor Kawakami.
Every Sunday, I am one of those guys on a motorcycle. Within months of getting here, I met up with a bunch of bikers, who made me feel very nervous until I got to experience their aloha firsthand. I loved it and still do.
We all have stories, whether we share them or not. We tend to think of the government is filled with bureaucrats keeping their heads down, watching the clock and collecting a check. The truth is, they’re all just people with their own unique stories. I am going to tell the stories of who they are and why they’re committed to doing what they do. For me, it’s an honor and I am grateful for the opportunity.
I’ve provided this introduction so that when you start reading their stories, you will already have a good idea of my own.
– Larry Feinstein
