The last few days have been interesting. We stopped in Hilo for dinner on the way back Sunday night and KC told me something very curious. Eli, apparently, is not Eli, though he would probably tell you he is of everyone and everything so his name is not important. What is important is the reason he changed his name.
KC explained that a few months ago, Eli’s home was raided by the DEA. He went on the lam, and Zak, the farm’s owner, allowed him to become an undercover WWOOFer at Pu’u’ala while the police look aimlessly for him.
Eli buried the hidden life of Wesley Johnson—his old name—and adopted a new identity so transient WWOOFers like me won’t spill the beans. KC apparently thought I was trustworthy, or he just can’t keep a secret. I think the latter.
Obviously, I told Sharon and Melissa, and Melissa told Matt, whose presence is becoming bothersome as he tries to wiggle his way into making a constant foursome. Melissa’s sharing of this information that I procured and felt was sensitive exacerbated this frustration with the Matt situation. But it’s time wasted to go into that.
I’ve become closer with a number of people on the farm. I feel comfortable speaking up at Jesiah’s or Eli’s wild spiritual objections to every scientific fact ever produced, and actually enjoy shooting the shit at work. Once you get talking you realize you’re not as different from all these hippie folk as you previously thought.
Playing football at the beach today was another surprisingly grounding experience. Some people actually knew what they were doing, and a lot participated. Little common interests can, and must go miles here.
That can get difficult, however, when reminders of the differences come back with steam. Like when you share the bed of a speeding truck with a nude girl, dancing and spontaneously laughing at the full moon. She was seeing something she liked, I guess. I’m just not sure I want to get naked and see the same thing.