maile

The word "maile" refers to a native Hawaiian vine (Alyxia stellata) that is deeply embedded in local culture and tradition. It is universally used by locals across all islands to describe both the plant itself and the iconic, open-ended lei made from its fragrant leaves and bark. A maile lei is considered a symbol of respect, honor, and aloha, making it the standard gift for significant milestones like high school graduations, weddings, and political inaugurations. Historically associated with Laka, the goddess of hula, the vine is traditionally gathered from the mountains, stripped, and twisted or braided. While anyone can wear or gift maile, it is highly inappropriate to throw away a maile lei in the trash; instead, it should be returned to the earth or hung to dry as a keepsake. Because local maile is increasingly scarce and heavily regulated to protect native forests, much of the maile sold commercially today is imported from Tonga or the Cook Islands, though locally sourced maile remains the most prized.

The sun was finally dipping below the kiawe trees on the east end, casting long shadows across Uncle Manny’s front porch. His hands were stained green and smelled like damp earth and crushed leaves. All afternoon, he and his cousins had been stripping and twisting maile they pulled from the ridges above Halawa Valley for his grandson’s graduation. Now, the finished lei were wrapped in damp newspaper in the fridge, and the heavy, sweet scent still hung in the humid evening air.

"Eh, Manny, you missed one spot," his cousin Joey teased from the top step, pointing a half-empty green bottle at a stray vine tangled around the railing. Joey’s back was aching, his knees were shot, and he was covered in mosquito bites, but he was grinning. "Next time the boy graduate, we just buying the plastic one from the store. My fingers stay permanently cramped."

Manny chuckled, leaning back in his rusted lawn chair and rubbing his eyes. "You try give that boy one plastic lei, his mother going throw you right off the Kaunakakai pier," he said, his voice raspy from exhaustion. "Nah, we did good. Smells like one real Moloka'i boy going walk the line tomorrow. Now pass me one beer before I fall asleep right here."