Relationships are complicated. Terminology is important. Aunty, uncle, cousin, tūtū, hānai, makua (kāne or wahine). Lineal descendants, those relations in straight uninterrupted lines of genealogy, as in your kūpuna. “I am a Lineal Descendant of [fill in the name].” Those with ancestral ties to ʻāina, with relatives unnamed and unknown. “My family has lived at [fill in the name] for X generations.”

Plants, too, have complicated genealogies. Where are they found? Where did they come from? To whom are they related? When and how did they get here? These days, with help from geneticists, we can learn how groups of people, plants, or any thing living are related.

On Molokaʻi live two lāʻau kamaʻāina. They are in fact cousins, and are meakanu ʻāpaʻakuma. Both are endemic to Molokaʻi, and are found nowhere else naturally. Both are extremely rare in the wild, and one, Kokia cookei is likely extinct there, but survives cultivated. The other, a pure white, scented hibiscus, clings naturally to life in just a few locations. Sad, but all too true these days. Degraded habitats. Invasive species such as fire-hardy alien grasses, plant-munching deer, pigs, goats, all contributing to deadly population loss.

Please. Do your part to encourage their survival. Ask around for legally acquired keiki. Plant them. Nurture them. Cherish them.

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Sometimes, there’s nothing so lovely as a classic hapa haole song. For us oldies especially, in keeping with this month’s atikala, it’s Song of Old Hawaiʻi by Beecher & Noble, copyrighted in 1937. “There’s the perfume of a million flowers, clinging to the heart of old Hawaiʻi.” Not many endemics are scented. Puapilo, maile, hōlei, ʻōhai, all come to mind.

Then, too, there are our gardenia. All smell slightly different. Kiele haole makes me sneeze. A lot. Nānū, and its hybrids with tiare, I don’t care for. But tiare … tiare has an inimitable scent. Unique, evocative, sigh-causing. And monoi, the classic tiare-scented coconut oil of Tahiti … monoi always went beach with me. A thin coating lets kai bead off, avoiding that salted-skin itch when getting dressed, and it’s great for the hair.

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While nānū is a very rare endemic, we don’t know about tiare. Gardenia taitensis has long been emblematic of Tahiti. It apparently has origins on West Pacific isles, and may have been brought here very early. Both nānū and tiare provide dye for kapa and, of course, both, or all, are used in lei. Go! Go try smell! See if you can detect the subtle differences. And the real thing beats polymer clay any day!

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ʻĀhinahina or hinahina, is ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi for grey (or gray). Several plants fit that descriptor, and they dwell in a variety of locations, from sea level to mountain heights. This particular ʻāhinahina (Artemisia mauiensis) is, if you noted its species name, indeed of Maui, ʻāpaʻakuma i luna Haleakalā.

On subalpine slopes (think 7,000 feet or so), fed by fogs and mists, Maui ʻāhinahina ekes out a living, managing to survive where many plants can’t. It’s impossible to miss, given its silvery-white, extremely delicate foliage, contrasting with dark lava or cinder. Though pua are small and pale yellow, what a beauty this is!

The white or silver color is an adaptation to very harsh sunlight. Thousands of minute hairs coat leaves, allowing the sun’s rays to bounce and not burn. Ditto for ʻāhinahina silversword, another denizen of the heights, as well as for coastal ʻāhinahina kahakai, with tight rosettes of leaves favored for lei on Molokaʻi.

Loveliness aside, it’s said that lau ʻāhinahina Maui were also used as insect repellent, thanks to a sage-like scent. Leaves were layered amongst stored ahu ʻula to make sure bugs stayed away.

Can you imagine a lei poʻo of these lau? And lucky for us, it requires hardly any precious water. It’s available in some plant nurseries, Go! Go buy and plant!! Help perpetuate our precious heritage!

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But … which one? Of our mea ʻāpaʻakuma, endemic things, those found only in our pae ʻāina, we have 50 species of Melicope. Fifty. According to geneticists, one propagule, a seed or plant, arrived here millions of years ago and evolved into our 50 different ʻalani, of which the mokihana (Melicope anisata) of Kauaʻi is one. Relatives are found on nearly all other islands.

Part of the citrus family, ʻalani are scented like anise, which make their lau a favorite for tucking into layers of kapa. I used to love picking up fallen lau and hand-crushing them to surprise walking companions.

As the floral “symbol” of Kauaʻi, lei are made with green, cube-shaped seed capsules of mokihana. Please remember to be frugal and take only enough so they are symbolic. Let most remain on the sprawling shrub or small tree so they can ripen and perhaps start new plants. Excessive use of resources, whether it’s 50 strands of lei pūpū, or 25 strands of pīkake, or 20 strands of maile draped to the floor does not help to conserve and preserve mea makamae.

Mokihana seed capsules contain a chemical, furanocoumarin, that, upon contact with perspiring sunlit skin, can cause a rash. Entwined with maile lauliʻi, as they often are, our skin is partially shielded from lei mokihana, but in any case, be aware, and be careful.

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Being curious, we wandered paths at Ka Lae, and encountered billows of what turned out to be ʻōhai (Sesbania tomentosa) – another one of our variable endemic plants, ranging from shrubs to small trees, with pua of peach, salmon, red, and even yellow. And in the sun, the warm lau smell (depending on your preference) like peaches or nectarines.

Clusters of a few flowers hide under a canopy of silvery leaves, their white hairs helping deflect harsh sunlight. I couldnʻt resist and started picking. Carefully, one by one, till I had what turned out to be enough for a maunaloa-style lei. I wore it to campus, and no one commented. Did they know? I still wonder.

Unlike our cherished kumulāʻau ʻāpaʻakuma (endemic trees), ʻōhai have a preciously short lifespan; 10 years, more or less. But being averse to rainy weather, they are a perfect companion on leeward shores and slopes where conserving wai is critical.

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Ka hanana makana, hoʻokupu, ʻauhau paha i ke aliʻi no ka hoʻohanohano

Given the prominence of Pelehonuamea at Kaluapele o Kīlauea of late, some may wonder about appropriate “offerings” for her. The dictionary definition is noted above, with “the chief” in this instance being Pele, as we seek to honor and respect her.

Years ago, I asked the late Nālani Kanakaʻole, my kumu hula, about what would constitute appropriate traditional hoʻokupu and she provided this list: lūʻau, ʻawa, red fish, black pig, ʻōhelo, palapalai, liko lehua, ʻieʻie, ʻōlapa, palaʻa, lehua.

She and other Kanakaʻole people also note that nā mea must be deposited into the lua pele (crater), or near active pele (lava), and not simply left on the ground.

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Ka hanana makana, hoʻokupu, ʻauhau paha i ke aliʻi no ka hoʻohanohano

Me ka ʻike nui ʻia o Pelehonuamea ma ka lua pele ʻo Kīlauea i kēia mau lā, nūnē paha kekahi i ke ʻano “hoʻokupu” kūpono iā ia. Me ka ʻike o ka puke wehewehe no ia mea, ʻo Pele “ke aliʻi” a makemake kākou e hōʻike iā ia i ka mahalo me ka hōʻihi.

I kekahi mau makahiki aku nei, ua nīnau au iā Nālani Kanakaʻole, kaʻu kumu hula, i nā mea kūpono e hoʻokupu ai iā Pele mā, a nāna mai kēia papa helu: lūʻau, ʻawa, red fish, black pig, ʻōhelo, palapalai, liko lehua, ʻieʻie, ʻōlapa, palaʻa, lehua.

Wahi a ka poʻe Kanakaʻole, pono e hoʻokupu ma loko o ka lua pele a ma kahi paha a ka pele e kahe ana, ʻaʻole e waiho wale ʻia ma ka ʻaina.

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Meakanu; a thing growing, a plant. ʻĀpaʻa, “land one has lived on for a long time.” Meakanu ʻāpaʻakuma: a plant that has lived in a place for a long time. Of course “long time” is relative. Some say “Oh, I’m from here. I’ve lived here a long time.” But, how long is “long”? Ten years? Twenty-five? A lifetime? Generations? Millennia?

The science of molecular biology is relatively young, but entirely fascinating, at least to some. Genetic studies help us understand relationships. Like the popular “Ancestry DNA” tests. Who are we? Where did we come from?

Increasingly, delving into those molecules – infinitesimally tiny building blocks of life – can inform us: From here, or from there? And, excitingly, when?

When did ʻōhiʻa lehua, our iconic species, arrive in our pae ʻāina? Where did it come from? Some researchers tell us that ʻōhiʻa has been in Hawaiʻi for perhaps 3.9 million years. Most recently it came on the winds from Te Henua Enana (Marquesas), and apparently originated on Lord Howe Island, between Australia and Aotearoa. Many millions of years ago. Simply mind-boggling.

Endemic plants are indeed those that have been here a long time. Those that are not found anywhere else in the world, and evolved here into unique species.

Native (or Indigenous) are plants that got here by themselves, but are found in other places. They have not evolved into different species.

Polynesian introductions (canoe plants) are the 25 or so useful species brought by those who became Native Hawaiians.

Alien plants are those introduced with or after the arrival of Cook. Many are invasive, spreading and wreaking havoc on native ecosystems.

So much must be done to ensure survival of our meakanu ʻāpaʻakuma. Do what you can. Learn about them. Plant them. Share them. Pull invasives. Above all, cherish them!

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The most recent kāmakahala (Geniostoma sp. formerly Labordia) to be described lives only on Kauaʻi, and is named for Clyde Imada of Bernice Pauahi Bishop Museum. All delight in cool rains of mountain slopes, and their bright yellow pua, small but noticeable, say “Here I am!” Some say pua were gathered with care and strung into lei for aliʻi.

These days, perhaps because endemic pua kāmakahala are so rare, the name is used for similar-looking flowers of orange cestrum, a cousin in the Solanaceae family. Fashioned into delicate fragrant lei they are a precious gift, endemic or not, but be makaʻala! Cestrum are invasive, and our endemic species have enough pilikia as it is. Yes, “night-blooming jasmine,” here since the 1870s, can be a delight for the ihu, but at what cost? They belong to and in Central America, not competing with our lāʻau makamae.

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An epic example of noho i waho, a maliu … be outside, pay attention. In 1992, botanizing botanists, incorrigible plant people, while climbing around, with permits, on ʻAleʻale, a sea stack off Kahoʻolawe, happened upon a sprawling plant they came to realize had never been seen before.

And good thing Ken Wood and Steve Perlman, working for the National Tropical Botanical Garden, did because in 2015 kanaloa (Kanaloa kahoolawensis) became extinct in the wild. But before that fateful day, two seeds were found and collected. One germinated and became the founder of the surviving nursery population.

The late Parley Kanakaʻole bestowed its inoa Hawaiʻi, referring to Kanaloa, a traditional name of Kahoʻolawe, and the gentle flexible nature of the plant. Kanaloa, studied and classified, became the only species in its Genus, and is an endemic member of the pea family, a relative of koa, wiliwili, and māmane, as well as invasive ēkoa.

And now, for our word of the month: tergeminate, or thrice-twinned, a reference to the arrangement of leaves on a stem. Liko, young leaves, are bronze colored, and globular flower clusters bear a resemblance to those of koa. The discovery of kanaloa led to solving the “Riddle of the Mysterious Pollen.”

Archaeologists working on Oʻahu, Maui, and Hawaiʻi found an unidentifiable pollen in cores taken from wetlands. It turned out to be kanaloa and, along with ʻaʻaliʻi and loulu, the trio formed a vegetation zone on leeward lowlands until the late 1500s. By then, people had impacted native ecosystems so much that kanaloa disappeared from the pollen record. But, it lingered on ʻAleʻale. Tenaciously waiting…

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