The Achilles Heel of Cultural Hegemony
After purchasing land on the Big Island, our progress was painstakingly slow, as we took on every aspect of construction ourselves. When our funds eventually dried up, all that stood was a large shed—humble, yet it became our cherished retreat.
Friends, family, and my wife would often ask, "What on earth are you doing?" I rarely had a satisfying answer. Only in hindsight did I realize I was rewilding—much like Buck in Jack London’s tale. Even if I’d recognized it then, I doubt I would have voiced it aloud until years later.
This experience bridged theory and reality for me. It provided a tangible space where my abstract ideas could finally take root. Life in the Kau Desert became my answer.
My approach to building, once seemingly timeless, has now faded into ruin. In the beginning, I could leave a hammer on the ground for months and reliably find it untouched. But the landscape shifted: drug addiction and poverty spread, property crime and theft became widespread, and development in unsupervised areas ground to a halt.
Working on the site felt magical — like stumbling upon the end of a rainbow. Yet soon, everything will be dismantled except for the footings and columns. These remnants will stand as quiet reminders of the gifts Pele bestowed on me during a solitary day on that land.
