A Place of Both Constancy & Change
Dear Friends,
This month marks a full five years since The Merwin Conservancy became the custodian of the garden. Though so many drastic changes have left their emphatic marks on the world since early 2020, I can hardly conceive of the passage of time here in a place where time seems altogether suspended. On each of my walks under the palms over these five years, I’ve so readily attuned to the present moment. I relish glimpses of palm fruit in yellows and oranges high in the canopy, puddles of wispy white flowers underfoot along the trail, and occasionally a brand new frond of a vibrant red, relishing its own unfurling.
Today, my walk under the palms follows a different time signature. I am seeking the changes that have unfolded almost imperceptibly across the time horizon of our stewardship. At the far side of W.S. Merwin’s garden, the stilt roots of the Socratea exorrhiza tell this story well—slowly, wordlessly. When I was five years younger, a new aerial root was just emerging at about shoulder level, beginning its slow crawl toward the earth below. The root has firmly settled in the soil.
I walk beyond the Socratea to the top of the rise, and reach the ledge overlooking the whole of William’s garden. I have stood in this spot with so many visitors over these years, taking in the Pacific Ocean and its long stretch north all the way to Alaska. I wrote a while ago about this same north-facing vista from William and Paula’s lanai, and of its closure behind a dense green curtain of palms during their time in Peʻahi. And now, I see that this view from the ledge to the horizon has all but closed during mine. Only the smallest glimpse of ocean remains. As I think back across the years of our stewardship, I remind myself of several things: this is a place that holds both constancy and perpetual change, a garden made of present moments and of a long view. It is a place apart, as William called it, and yet also of a piece; like the world of which it is a part, the garden was and can again be renewed not by turning away from that which threatens its vitality, but by turning toward another way of being. And then, by making small, daily gestures until a forest all its own emerges.
I marvel at the gestures that continue this way of being, through the dedication of our small and stellar staff, the exceptional commitment of our board and advisors, and the generosity of our supporters. In these early months of 2025, the contributions of our garden volunteers are already inscribed in the story of our collective care. They have cleared trails, removed invasive species, and mended fences. And those who join us for our garden walks have left us thoughtful reflections:
“My heart and soul are nourished and my head is full after spending a few hours today at the Merwin Conservancy. The love of nature, of the land, the culture and history were so evident everywhere. I am so inspired on so many levels by what has been done, what continues to happen and the new opportunities being explored.”
“This tour was a grounding reminder of the ability to create something from nothing. To turn the destruction of the land into a bountiful forest. It is also a reminder that itʻs never too late to start a new chapter in life, to begin again, to create.”
Astonishment at first feels like just the word to hold how I feel about these many and diverse expressions of care, but of late I’m a bit wary of the word. Hiding within it is a seed of disbelief: can it really be that this place was renewed by the accrual of radically small gestures on behalf of its well-being? That its vibrancy and its message are now continually tended by the hands and hearts of so many? I settle instead at the confluence of gratitude, trust, awe, and resolve, and take in the ever changing view from here.
With aloha,
Sonnet
