Rachel Zemach's Blog
March 8, 2024
Suicidal Pigs, Butterflies and Leafs the Size of Children: welcome to rural Hawaii
I started writing my memoir about Deaf education, The Butterfly Cage, about seven years ago. Now, my book is out of its cage and its spreading its wings and fluttering into the hearts of strangers. It's been an exciting, hard, daunting, fun and ultimately beautiful adventure, and one I strong encourage now to anyone who has a flicker of a book sitting inside them, recurring in their psyche and heart, and harassing them.
The process is long, and it will both bend to your will and demand respect as its own entity. You will work harder and longer than imaginable, for little money, but it is a way of seizing control of your past and utilizing it to do some good in the world.
And then one day, you might find yourself in rural Hawaii looking at leafs so huge that two of them form the length of you, and a vine so blue it looks like plastic. My daughter lives here, off the grid on the big island, and as I try to to bite my tongue as she navigates wet, slippery rocks and cliffs in flip flops, she regales me with stories of suicidal pigs that run along aside your car when you drive at night here, and then dash in front of it. Not coincidentally there 's a lot of meat eaten here.
She took me to the botanical gardens where the foliage is extraordinary, extravagant, lush. Reds, oranges, pinks and a vast array of green tones everywhere, with bright yellows and jewel-like purples balancing out the dizzying feast for the eyes. Flowers in elegant shapes and unexpected masses pepper the landscape, farm stands are everywhere and the weather changes from one short drive to another.
There is a TV in my air bnb, but its small, and the selection even smaller, and I've rediscovered the joy of reading, for which I'm extremely grateful.
Books have always been important to me, but now after writing one, I see them differently, more reverentially, knowing they comprise of human sweat, grief, tears and sheer, sheer effort (as well as laughter, joy and stunning new connections.)
As for the suicidal pigs, I have yet to see one, and thats fine with me!
The process is long, and it will both bend to your will and demand respect as its own entity. You will work harder and longer than imaginable, for little money, but it is a way of seizing control of your past and utilizing it to do some good in the world.
And then one day, you might find yourself in rural Hawaii looking at leafs so huge that two of them form the length of you, and a vine so blue it looks like plastic. My daughter lives here, off the grid on the big island, and as I try to to bite my tongue as she navigates wet, slippery rocks and cliffs in flip flops, she regales me with stories of suicidal pigs that run along aside your car when you drive at night here, and then dash in front of it. Not coincidentally there 's a lot of meat eaten here.
She took me to the botanical gardens where the foliage is extraordinary, extravagant, lush. Reds, oranges, pinks and a vast array of green tones everywhere, with bright yellows and jewel-like purples balancing out the dizzying feast for the eyes. Flowers in elegant shapes and unexpected masses pepper the landscape, farm stands are everywhere and the weather changes from one short drive to another.
There is a TV in my air bnb, but its small, and the selection even smaller, and I've rediscovered the joy of reading, for which I'm extremely grateful.
Books have always been important to me, but now after writing one, I see them differently, more reverentially, knowing they comprise of human sweat, grief, tears and sheer, sheer effort (as well as laughter, joy and stunning new connections.)
As for the suicidal pigs, I have yet to see one, and thats fine with me!
