by RJ Krause
Chapter 13
Tomorrow We Plant
Eventually Pete and Nickel parted ways, and Pete was looking to settle somewhere in Hawai‘i and start his own ranch. He’d been there for a couple of months but still wasn’t sure which island he wanted to settle on. The Big Island had by far the largest parcels of land on which he could raise cattle and horses, but Maui also had its good points. Makawao was already raising cattle and with the busy seaport of Lahaina nearby, he would have no problem selling his beef and shipping it out. The Waimea area on the Big Island was home to Uluwehi Ranch, one of the largest ranching operations in the country.
While Pete was still island-hopping, trying to decide where to buy land, he had a surprise visit from his mother that would change his life forever. Mrs. Monroe arrived in Hilo in the middle of a heavy rain storm, and it was pure chance that Pete happened to be in the area. He had been on Oahu for most of the week and had just arrived in Hilo the day before. It was the middle of the rainy season and had been raining for over a week. As he walked down the street with his head bowed against the heavy downpour, he suddenly heard a familiar voice.
“Señora, dis boy has grown up and become a man. Maybe now he has learned to let go of de rope.”
Pete looked up and there was Paco, the old caballero he had befriended on his grandparents’ ranch so many years ago. Standing there next to him smiling through the rain, was Pete’s beautiful mother. It was quite a reunion with all three of them laughing and hugging and getting soaked to the skin. They found a place to stay overnight. By the next morning the rain had stopped and the sun was shining. Pete rented a carriage and took his mother and Paco to do some sightseeing around Hilo. They traveled for several days and saw the wide rolling grasslands of the famous Uluwehi Ranch. They had a picnic lunch at Rainbow Falls, enjoyed the surf at Black Sand Beach, marveled over the volcanoes of Mauna Loa and Mauna Kea, and made camp wherever they happened to be each night. They rode around the island leisurely, drinking in its natural beauty—endless blue skies, spectacular sunrises and sunsets, and the clear aqua colors of the ocean. They lost track of time, but eventually reached the town of Kailua-Kona on the other side of the island. As they approached the town, Paco became so excited he started speaking rapidly in his native Portuguese tongue.
“Hey Paco, slow down a minute, and tell me in English what it is you’re so excited about.”
“Dis place good for growing coffee trees, amigo. I can see this with my own eyes. Paco can smell coffee soil and dis one is good for coffee.” He jumped to the ground and began scooping up dirt with his hands and letting it run through his fingers.
“You buy land here Señor Peter. You raise coffee with your cows and you be plenty happy in dis life!”
Of course, there was a lot more to the story, but that’s pretty much how Pete decided to buy land and settle outside of Kailua-Kona on the Big Island of Hawai‘i. The “passing on” of the coffee growing tradition began shortly after Pete had bought the land to build his ranch. He hired a couple of local Hawaiians to help them with construction of a house. One evening, after a backbreaking day of work, Paco, Peter and Annie sat down to rest and watch the sunset.
“Tomorrow we plant Señor. Da beans I have here in my pouch are from my father’s father and are of the finest in all South America. They were a gift to me and now I give them to you. We plant tomorrow and soon we have the best coffee in all the Islands.”
“Paco, can’t we wait at least until the house is built and we have a roof over our heads? A few more weeks shouldn’t matter that much.”
“Señor Peter, these beans do not care about a house. They want to be sent home to the earth. I can hear them asking this Señor. If we no give them to the earth now, they no give us coffee later. It is how they are. We must plant mañana.”
And so, the first coffee of Columbian stock was transferred over thousands of miles, passed down from father and son to father and son, and finally into the rough callous hands of a young cowboy born in Boston, known as Paniolo Pete. Some time later, when Pete told me the story of his first planting, it seemed as if he was describing some religious experience. The volcano was smoking on the upper slopes, there was a beautiful sunrise over the ocean, and a cool tropical breeze was blowing. As they were getting ready to begin the planting, a small flock of Nēnē (Hawaiian geese) landed on the side of the field to watch.
“See Señor Pete, these birds were sent from my padre to make sure we respect his beans. We must be very careful, and when we are finished, they will fly to the heavens and bring us luck.”
Now I’m just an old cowboy and know little of what is involved in the planting of coffee. But I’ll tell you this as sure as my name is Bronco Bill, it’s the best darned coffee I’ve ever had! I’ve been drinking coffee most of my life and have sat around more than my share of campfires. Yes sir, Paniolo Pete’s coffee is the best I ever drank.