INTO THE LAND OF OZ

You stand on top of a mountain and an owner of the land, Raphael, spins a fable about Avatar and the Wizard of Oz--and he's the Scarecrow. You look at him and go "He is the Scarecrow." That's when you know you're Not in Kansas anymore. Here in the Land of Oz the Puff the Magic Dragon generation got off the boat from the Mainland in 1969 and they never went home.
I'm here in Maui for three months as a "woofer", short for "Willing Workers on Organic Farms" (http://www.wwoof.org/) but how willing & how workin', well, that can vary from place to place. My particular location is a "spiritual retreat" (http://www.mauiretreat.com/) and with the strong-willed female owner, Kutira, a work day might as likely be spent moving an array of goddess figurines from garden to garden as planting seeds of flowers that may sprout & then keel over in the first big wind from the ocean or get nibbled by the adopted pre-domesticated stray duck.
So I begin this blog to tell the tale of a Woodstock Generation-era hippie who did NOT stay on the commune but lived among the Others for 40 years and now returns to the wilderness to explore the new FUTURE PRIMITIVE (a term I gratefully steal from Ben, a new local supplier of organic gardening products in nearby Haiku (www.ecoislandsupply.com).
Come along with me and travel the yellow brick road...