Weathering Lala
It was this time last week that Joshua, Val and I were prepping the property for incoming Hurricane Lala.
We hit up ACE and snagged extra 12-gauge wire, 550 cord and any other odds and ends we could think of that might help. We went to the gas station, topped off our tank and filled our extra fuel canisters in case there wasn’t enough sunlight coming through the storm clouds to keep our batteries powered.
And we spent two days checking every major animal shelter—tying things down, adding extra rope and 550 cord to keep roofs from lifting, and trying to think of every bit of potential mitigation work we could possibly do.
By Friday morning, we had done about all we could.
Joshua and I were scheduled to play our monthly kūpuna event with the Puna Dirt Road Band, and I was surprised to find out it hadn’t been canceled. Part of me didn’t want to leave the ranch.
But Val reminded me: We had done everything we could. There was no reason to sit there simply to watch and worry. Life is worth living, and if music brings me joy and energy, then we were going to need all of that joy and energy once Lala approached.
So we went.
And we played.
And Lala started to show herself.
After the first song, the rain poured, the wind shifted and equipment was quickly moved farther inside to avoid water damage.
And we kept playing.
It was magical, as always. The kūpuna were genuinely grateful for our contribution, and in hindsight, it was a wonderful way to welcome the storm to come.
And boy, did it come.
Saturday morning arrived with wind and rain.
Joshua, Billie and I made our way over to the main property—what we dub “Val’s side”—and I started helping Val prepare medicines for one of our goats who had been sick in the week leading up to the storm.
Pickles had been losing his appetite. His eyelids were paling. He wasn’t going out to graze with the herd like he normally would, and his energy was low.
We had been giving him regular doses of medicine and energy and immune-support supplements every two to three hours, knowing that soon we would need to increase those moments to every hour on the hour.
With medicine and treats in hand—in swimsuits and galoshes, nonetheless—Val and I made our way through the rain to the Biggies’ barn to administer his first round of the day.
Val entered his separated corridor first.
She paused.
Then she reached her hand back toward mine.
And I knew.
I felt it.
Pickles had passed.
Before she could get the sentence out, I put my hand on her back to let her know she didn’t have to find any words.
A handful of days earlier, I had already said my goodbyes to Pickles.
Val had told me she didn’t have high hopes for him, so I sat down on the dirty goat mats beside him. I let him press his head into my chest, and I cried as I gave him all my love, all my pets and all my appreciation for the time I had gotten to share with him.
Ranch life doesn’t always give you much time to grieve.
And I’m grateful I took the allotment I had ahead of Lala to do so properly.
Because shortly after discovering his body, we had to move Pickles out from the safety of the shelter so that our living goats would have more room to stay dry and protected from the storm.
We carried him to a nice, clean pad in the horses’ paddock. Ruby and Frisky had already been let onto Gary’s land next door, where they could seek shelter among the trees.
And then we moved right along.
The medicine and treats meant for Pickles went instead to another goat in need, Hansel. He has also been dropping weight, but that’s another story for another time.
Then back inside we went.
Wring out the swimsuits.
Put on dry clothes.
Wait for a break in the wind.
Check the animals.
Check the shelters.
Come back inside.
Wring out the swimsuits again.
Change into dry clothes again.
And, somewhere in between all of that, maybe take a moment to grieve.
The rest of Saturday is such a blustery blur that it’s difficult to recall now.
I don’t even know how many screenshots from my weather app are saved on my phone. I know AI is a touchy subject, but I’ll tell you what—it sure was helpful during Lala. Every thirty minutes to an hour, I was sending ChatGPT screenshots of predicted wind speeds, gusts, current radar and future radar, asking it to help me understand how ʻĀina Iki might fare as the storm moved through.
There are SOOOO many weather screenshots from Saturday still sitting in my phone.
And between all that endless checking, we would use any pause in the wind to run outside, check the herds, move animals into safer locations when necessary, and then come back inside to—you guessed it—wring out those swimsuits and find another set of dry clothes.
Looking back, I can’t imagine doing all of that while also trying to give Pickles medicine every hour on the hour.
Part of me thinks he felt Lala approaching and gifted us by leaving before she came roaring through.
At some point, Sunday arrived.
The wind calmed. The rain softened. And finally we could walk the property and see how we had fared.
Brillie—or Queen B, as I like to call her—our oldest goat, was perfectly content in her temporary new home inside the parrots’ big house, eating all the alfalfa cubes she could chew.
Hokane, our herd sire, was thoroughly enjoying his makeshift home in the Newbies’ duck shelter.
The Newbies ducks were loving their unexpected opportunity to explore the backyard, since their usual domain is the mini-goat paddock.
And our horses, Frisky and Ruby, were happily foraging through all the grass on Gary’s land next door.
Everyone we had moved was accounted for.
Alive.
Safe.
Okay.
So I thought it was time to feed the ducks.
First the Newbies.
Then the Sillies.
Then the Home Team.
Every time I feed, I count the flock.
Eleven Newbies. Check.
Seven Sillies. Check.
Nine Home Team…
Wait.
Where’s number nine?
And then I saw her.
She was lying beneath Miss MacNut, wings spread and her head turned back.
One of our Home Team girls had passed.
I cried as I fed the rest of the Home Team. And I cried some more as I finished feeding BB’s—Babette’s Babies—GG’s—Goliath’s Gals—and Dickie Duck.
Then I returned to Miss Home Team girl.
I picked her up and looked her over, searching for some obvious sign of what had happened. There was nothing screaming an answer back at me.
So I carried her through the mini paddock and into our satellite garden along the fence line.
I had some silent words with her there.
Then I sent her on one last flight over the fence line and let Mama Gaia tend to her.
When folks ask how we fared after Lala, my easy response is:
We did okay.
And structurally, we did.
A couple of downed papaya and banana trees. A flipped horse shade. But no major structural damage.
The harder response is that we lost lives.
Two days later, on Tuesday, Joshua was feeding the ducks to give me time to get us ready for a VA appointment in Hilo when he discovered that another Home Team duck had passed.
Miss Hiss, as he liked to call her.
We don’t know exactly what caused us to lose those two girls in the days surrounding Lala. Maybe the tremendous stress of the storm played a role. Maybe something else was happening that we simply couldn’t see.
So we cried again.
We said our silent goodbyes again.
And another Home Team girl took one last flight over the fence line to Mama Gaia.
There’s another storm approaching as I type this blog post.
Joshua and Val are outside preparing while I sit here writing, recollecting and trying to hold back the tears.
Her name is Moke.
And here we are again.
We learned things from Lala. This time we’re planning to build a couple of pallet teepees for the Home Team so they have additional places to tuck themselves away from the wind and rain.
We’ll fill the fuel cans.
We’ll check the ropes.
We’ll secure the shelters.
We’ll watch the weather.
And, as always, we’ll count every animal.
I’m hoping we’ll be even more prepared for Moke.
But mostly, I’m hoping she spares this little piece of the Big Island—and all the lives that call it home—from another round of ruckus.
A little more about Pickles…
Pickles’ story didn’t begin with Hurricane Lala. In fact, the little tri-colored goat wasn’t expected to survive his very first day—and somehow, against the odds, he did.
We’re putting together a special Donors Den post telling the story of how Pickles came to be at ʻĀina Iki, from his unlikely beginning as a rejected newborn to the wonderfully quirky goat we were lucky enough to love.
We’re waiting on a few old photos of baby Pickles before we share his story properly, but it’s coming soon.
If you’ve supported ʻĀina Iki Ranch in the past, you already have access to our Donors Den—and we can’t wait to share this piece of Pickles’ history with you. 💚
