For the past week, I have been in Maui with my wife and daughter. It’s been, in a word, incredible. But more than just a relaxing vacation with my two favorite people in the world, a trip to a place like this is a good reminder that community matters above all else.

Of course, most tourists tend to think of tropical islands like Hawaii as a place to get away from it all, to drunkenly lay on a beach in front of a sunset with yet another Mai Tai in their hands. But for us, a visit to Maui is a chance to explore the local culture, support the local vendors, and get to the heart of what makes a place such as this so special to the people who live here.

I call this the Anthony Bourdain approach, where travel isn’t a way to get away, but a chance to respectfully connect with your fellow human.

Sadly, for a lot of folks (mainly white), the approach is indeed the opposite. It’s about importing their idea of “vacation” to a locale that is not theirs, and then complaining if the locals reject it. The resorts. The high-end retail spots. None of these things echo the heartbeat of the islands.

On the other hand, a place like Hana, which is accessible only by taking a 50-mile winding road along the north and east coast of the island, is the epitome of Hawaii. Local farms. Local food trucks. A lack of resorts and tourist traps. All the more reason to emphatically embrace, respect, and revere such a place.

But to truly be appreciative of Hana and places like it, one must disabuse themselves of their colonialist inclinations. One must respect the land, its people, its culture, and its way of life without appropriating any of it. Which means listening more than speaking, learning more than teaching, and walking with a light foot across the land.

No doubt, this approach doesn’t just apply to Hawaii. It applies to all places and at all times. Everywhere is sacred, just as everything is secular. There is no divide. The mountains. The valleys. The oceans. The deserts. The tundra, the plains, the glaciers, the beaches, the forests, and the swamps. Every square inch of this planet has been touched by divinity, so everything must be cherished.

Only local communities can teach us this. These are the people who have set down roots deep enough to listen to what the earth is telling them. We must listen. When we vacation, we listen and learn. When we are the locales, we teach with competence and confidence, and hope our guests have hearts open enough to hear.

As I return to my own piece of land, itself sacred and restored in the wake of the 2018 Camp Fire, I bring these reminders home with me, and invite anyone to Happy Woods Farm if they are ever in the Sierra Nevada foothills of Northern California.

Selah.

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