Where I grew up in Monterey, California, one birch tree grew tall (and still grows), maybe 40-feet+ and billowy in the soil close to the house front door. Another had been planted in the backyard. The leaves look like pointy bulbous heart shapes, softer green hues, the size of an American dollar coin. Any gust of wind organizes the leaves, gathering them like petite synchronized swimmers, a performance in the country creek where water flows, the gentle splash a surround sound.

Born in 1965, I spent much of my growing up years in this home after the age of six. And now on this June 2022 chilly summer morning

If you find yourself on the Big Island, and this is less than an invitation, and more context in case that coincidence happens—you visiting and me living—in the same spot, which is the Kohala region, then pull up a chair at the café table we call Pomaka’i. This is sitting space. (Possible to find more writing on the blog here for this eating locale, if you wish to search.) In the meantime, I visit this café often, so more words are being offered. Have a seat, please.