Training Wheels are Off
Our intern status has officially expired, and Joshua and I are now leading the charge at ʻĀina Iki Ranch.
Don't worry—Val is perfectly fine. In fact, I might dare say she's loving life in a way she hasn't been able to for many years. She's officially on the mainland, enjoying a three-week vacation with family and some of her closest friends.
Before this trip, Val took a staycation about a month ago, stepping away from the daily responsibilities of life here at ʻĀina Iki Ranch. Cats, crickets, fish, turtles, parrots, chickens, goats, horses, dogs, ducks... am I missing anyone? 😂
That staycation gave Joshua and me a crash course in what it actually takes to run the ranch—not just tending to our own "sections" of the land, but caring for the entire operation.
Ever since we met Val, we've often found ourselves asking, "How does she do all of this?" After just three days of her absence, that question became even more deeply ingrained.
Needless to say, our respect for her stamina, dedication, and consistently positive mindset rose several bars higher.
The days leading up to her departure were filled with "make sure" questions.
Where's the goat medicine bin?
When do the horses get fed again?
Which goat is the one that looks like Cria? (Sugar Baby, for the record.)
Which outlet powers the Up-Duck water pump?
Where do we keep the goaties' minerals?
Where are the cotton balls for watering the crickets?
Where's the fire-ant goo?
What's the zinc and copper calculation for the goats again?
So many questions—and even more that I was worried I wasn't thinking to ask before she left.
Then suddenly Thursday arrived.
Val's bags were packed and loaded into the car, and the three of us headed to Kona. Joshua and I tackled the Costco shopping while Val remained comfortably centered in the car. The day included sushi, great conversations, and a sunset stop at the airport beach shortly before takeoff.
Of course, just seconds before we climbed back into the car to take Val to the airport, a plane flew overhead—as if offering a little preview of what was about to happen.
After dropping her off, Joshua, Billie, and I made the long drive back across the island in the dark. We crossed the rainy, fog-covered Saddle Road, passed through Hilo, and finally arrived home to a cacophony of animals.
Roosters crowing.
Ducks quacking.
Horses snorting.
Dogs wagging their tails.
Cats and kittens mewing.
Everyone seemed happy to have their humans home—and even happier that dinner service was about to begin.
Joshua unloaded the Costco haul while I worked my way through the various feeding routines. Eventually we both agreed that "good enough" was good enough, crawled into bed, and promptly passed out before our first full day of ranch duty arrived at 6 a.m.
Thankfully, we've become friends with a wonderful woman named Jammie, who happened to be available to help during Val's absence.
Joshua picked her up Friday afternoon, and together we walked her around the property, introducing her to her primary responsibilities: chickens, kitties, and the goat barn.
"This is a LOT," she exclaimed multiple times throughout the tour.
Hearing those words made me pause.
You know what?
It really is a lot.
I've become so accustomed to the rhythm of daily life here that much of it now feels natural. But watching someone new absorb even a small piece of the puzzle reminded me just how much goes into keeping this place running.
Saturday morning arrived right on schedule around 6 a.m.
"Time to feed Ruby and Frisky."
As I made my way toward the front pasture, I spotted a miserably wet Hansel, leader of our Biggie goat herd. The problem was that he wasn't with his herd.
He was standing with the horses.
Apparently, during the previous evening's animal shuffling, Hansel had somehow been left behind in the horse hallway and spent the entire rainy night separated from his friends.
"Hansel! What are you doing here? You poor boy!"
I immediately showered him with hugs and sympathy before escorting him back to his herd, where he could dry off, relax, and resume his leadership duties.
"Off to an interesting start," I thought to myself.
Then I smiled.
"Always an adventure at ʻĀina Iki."
With plenty of morning still ahead of me, I managed to wash, carton, and prepare six dozen duck eggs for our weekly customer order without the usual pressure of racing against the clock.
Early birds get the early eggs.
I was quite pleased with myself until Matiz began sounding the alarm from his hen house.
"What's going on, Matiz?"
I hurried over and quickly discovered the problem.
He was missing two chickens.
Ironically, earlier in the week Val had asked Joshua and me to move both Matiz's and Beau's hen houses closer to the main side of the property while she was away.
Their original location was in an area we've affectionately named the Mid-Zone, or Up-Duck area. It's fenced off from the other animals so Joshua can grow things that either aren't goat-approved or that we'd actually like to harvest ourselves before the goats do.
Everything had been working beautifully.
Until we moved our box truck home to the main side of the property.
That move apparently opened up a pathway for local mongoose visitors to begin helping themselves to the chickens' eggs. Thankfully, they never progressed beyond egg theft, but we didn't want to risk anything worse.
So Matiz, Beau, and all of their ladies were relocated.
And, as is often the case with relocation projects, new opportunities for escape presented themselves.
I managed to capture one of the two chicken challengers fairly quickly.
As of Sunday, however, little Miss Blackie remains at large.
Joshua and I have developed a few plans and hope to put them into action later this evening.
Stay tuned for future adventure updates. 😆
All in all, I would say Joshua, Jammie, and I are managing ʻĀina Iki Ranch and all of her exciting adventures with lots of laughs, pocketfuls of smiles, and a healthy dose of gratitude and grace.
It really is hard to do anything less when you're entrusted with stewarding this beautiful land and caring for all of its animals—even the ornery ones.
As much as we've missed having Val here, these first few days have given us an even deeper appreciation for everything she has built and everything she does behind the scenes. Every escaped chicken, misplaced goat, cleaned duck eggs tucked neatly into cartons, and early morning feeding reminds us that ʻĀina Iki Ranch isn't just a place—it's a living, breathing community of animals, people, and purpose.
We're sure there will be plenty more adventures, escapes, enchantments, and pocketfuls of smiles before Val returns. Until then, we'll keep learning as we go and enjoying every step of the journey.
