Native Hawaiians protect salt-making
HANAPEPE, Hawaii — On a warm summer afternoon, Tina Taniguchi was on her hands and knees scraping dirt off an oblong depression in the ground. Thick brown hair peeked out from her coconut leaf hat. Splotches of mud stuck to her T-shirt and speckled her smiling face.
Taniguchi smiles a lot when she’s working in her corner of the Hanapepe salt patch on the west side of Kauai — a terracotta plot of land about the size of a football field — dappled with elliptical pools of brine, crystallizing in clay beds.
“It’s hard work, but for me it’s also play,” Taniguchi said, adding with a laugh, “I play in the mud all day.”
Taniguchi’s family is one of 22 who throughout generations have dedicated themselves to the cultural and spiritual practice of “paakai,” the Hawaiian word for salt. This is one of the last remaining salt patches in Hawaii. Its sacred salt can be traded or given away, but must never be sold. Hawaiians use it in cooking, healing, rituals and as protection.
Over the past decade, this tract has been under constant threat due to development, pollution from a neighboring airfield, sand erosion from vehicle traffic and littering by visitors to the adjacent beach.
In addition, climate change threatens to obliterate the practice with rising sea levels and modified weather patterns. This year, the salt-making season lasted barely three months from July to September because of above-average rainfall. During a good year, work typically begins in May and ends in November.
Taniguchi drives about an hour to get here. For her, it’s church and play rolled into one — the time she forges a spiritual connection to the land.
“This would be a religious practice of mine for sure,” Taniguchi said. “My dad raised us saying that these mountains are his church, and the ocean is where you get cleansed.”
Malia Nobrega-Olivera’s grandfather was instrumental in forming the group of salt-making families called Hui Hana Paakai. She is also an educator and activist who leads efforts to preserve this centuries-old tradition. The organization’s goal, she said, is to speak with a collective voice when communicating with the landowner, the state of Hawaii, whenever issues arise. NobregaOlivera said the salt patch is part of lands taken away from Native Hawaiians after the U.S.backed overthrow of Hawaii’s monarchy in 1893.
“Regardless of what a piece of paper might say, we are stewards of the area and this land is our ‘kupuna’ (elder),” she said.
Nobrega-Olivera looks fondly at black-and-white photos of her grandparents, uncles and aunts from about five decades ago, standing near hillocks of shimmering salt. Back then, they would give away 5-gallon buckets. Today, they hand out salt in sandwich bags. Trading salt for other items continues to this day, she said, adding that her late father once traded salt with a man who was selling piglets on Craigslist.
Born from the need to preserve fish and other meats, the process of turning sea water into salt can be slow and grueling. The season begins once rain stops and waters recede, exposing the salt beds. Ocean water travels underground and enters the wells. Each family has their own well, known as a “puna.” As water enters the well, so do tiny, red brine shrimp, giving Hanapepe salt its unique sweetness, said Nobrega-Olivera.
Eventually, water from the wells is moved into the salt beds, which have been cleaned and lined with rich black clay. There, layers of salt crystals form. Typically, the top layer, which is the whitest, is used as table salt. The middle layer, pinkish, is used in cooking while the bottom layer, with a deep red hue, is used in blessings and rituals.