Where the Wild Orchids Grow

by Cathy Chen

This article appeared in AsianReader in San Diego.

I have never visited the Big Island, Hawaii, and when my daughter, Christine, traveled to the observatory at Mauna Kea to scan the night skies with infrared telescopes, my curiosity was aroused. She spoke of seeing lava from Mt. Kilauea slowly oozing down to the Pacific. Once the night air confronted the glowing red lava, the lava transforms into colors of silver and gold only a foot away from Christine’s hiking boots. I was hooked. I had to go to Hawaii to see for myself the many wondrous sights.

The first few days in Hawaii, I sample the luxury of being a tourist: getting up in the morning when I felt like it and not having to worry about cooking or cleaning. At dawn when a faint light appeared in the eastern sky, I dig my bare toes into the sugar like sand along the Kohala Coast that disappears into the crystalline waves crested by white foam. At dusk, I languidly sway in a hammock, caressed by the gentle zephyrs while watching the sun sinking into the Pacific.

The next few days are just as magical as I travel through the high country to the north underneath a rainbow across the heavens, a gift of the Goddess Anuenue. Calves dot the wind swept grasslands or inquisitively peer through a barb wired fence at me, a strange two-legged creature peering back.

Driving down the coast towards Hilo on Route 19, the landscape abruptly changes into lush jungle growth with some foliage larger than the size of a man and orchards heavily laden with Macadamia nuts and bananas.

While ascending the heights on Volcano Road, the landscapes dramatically transforms into anemic trees interspersed with scrub. As the car speeds along the highway, the air has become thinner. On Mt. Kilauea is the great Caldera, a desolate sunken wasteland where there is no life of any kind. Looking into its depth, the craters are still in the silence of this eerie landscape. However, whenever the enraged Goddess Pele emerges, the earth trembles as molten rocks spew from the bowers of the earth and the sky rains fire. Even the fissures nearby give off steam while the acrid smell of sulfur fills the air. A five hundred feet lava tube not far away hidden from the light of day with tropical ferns and trees growing above also validate the awesome power of Pele. As the sun beats down on my back, the wind sweeps through as if ghostly fingers are pushing me closer to the rim of this great abyss.

And yet, as far as the eyes can see on the flatland above the Caldera, tall grass grow on decomposing lava. Atop of these reed like plants, swaying and bending in the soughing wind, are clusters of perfectly formed white flowers with purple lips. They are miniature orchids.

As I bend down to get a closer look at these blooms, I ask myself, how can anything grow on this windswept wasteland. A certain number of seeds survive and flourish whatever the condition may be, but why so many and as far as the eyes can see? Perhaps, what appears to be a harsh environment is exactly what is needed to produce these delicate beauties.

As I gaze at the expansive sky, I see clouds slowly drifting above and I think of the unsung heroes I have known, born into troubled times, heirs of neglect and want, reaching out beyond a hostile land that was to be their lot. They are like the wild orchids of Kilauea clinging steadfastly. And as time passes, with the help of the wind and the rain, their roots crush the lava, turning it into a more fertile soil. While their flowers face the sun, these unsung heroes change the environment to make a better life for themselves, those around them, and those to come.