The Garden and Cultural Connections

      Yesterday I came home and found that my whole garden had been flattened.  The tiny arugula leaves were butchered.  The snow peas; decimated. The mint; pulverized. The squash, gone. I had planted each seed and with each bit of soil that embedded itself into my fingernails, I grew. The little plants were fragile and so was I.  And each time I went outside, I knew it was going to be okay. The plants grew and I grew here and we were connected; Here.

What Happened?

Please raise your hand if you know what haolie is.  What about pakalolo? Okay, how about pinche? Or, saranghaeyo?

Haole is a Hawaiian word that refers to anybody that is not a native.

Pakalolo is the Hawaiian word for pot.

Pinche is spanish for the "f" word.

Saranghaeyo is "I love you" in Korean.

Lo tso is the Navajo word for shark.


I have heard that when the American Natives were moved from their homes that their language was so embedded in the landscape and weather patterns, that they lost a good portion of their language and how they communicated.  If anybody has a story about this, I'd really love to hear and learn more.

When I heard that story, I realized that my cultural ques are missing.  Perhaps the yardman who chopped down the garden has lost his connection.  Why should I think that the mint is valuable, maybe he doesn't and was preforming a loving act in my benefit.

Sometimes it works the other way around.  We take our language and cultural ques and impose them.  I'm teaching a young Japanese woman how to speak English.  We've become comfortable with each other, enough so that she cried when she told me that the name they put on her passport isn't her name.  She asked me if she should change her name. She tried to show me how to pronounce her name and I had difficulty.

Yesterday at my writers group, I noticed that many writers use words such as "haole" and other Hawaiian terms that no one else would know if they didn't live here.  They took it for granted that their language was every one's language.


My yardman is in a lot of trouble.  I loved that garden and my heart if broken, but I also know that he, in his heart, was doing his job.  Now we just need to communicate.