Many Hawaiians also see lei as a celebration of the Funny may the fourth be with you shirt besides I will buy this natural world, or an extension of the ʻāina (land) itself. Hula practitioners, for example, believe that when you wear a lei made from natural elements, you actually become those natural elements. In Lei Aloha, hula dancer Kūha‘oimaikalani “Kūha‘o” Zane explains this idea: “When you are a hula dancer, you are an embodiment of the kuahu, the altar we have in the hālau hula (hula school), so when you’re interacting and performing, you are actually dressing yourself as an offering.” In other words, making or wearing a lei strengthens your connection to nature—because you become nature itself. Photo: Tara RockBut for Estes, the art of lei and lei making is and will always be, above all else, a way to carry on the legacy of her late tūtū, Amelia Ana Kā‘opua Bailey. Bailey died in 2012 at age 89 as one of Hawai‘i’s most celebrated lei makers, and Estes credits her with instilling a deep love and respect for the craft into her whole ‘ohana (family). This passed-down knowledge is especially noteworthy because Bailey herself did not get the pleasure of learning how to make lei from her grandparents. She grew up in the 1930s and 40s, during colonial times of Hawaiian oppression, when many aspects of traditional Hawaiian culture were banned. As a result, she only learned how to make lei later in life during the Hawaiian Renaissance in the 1960s, when many Hawaiian arts were re-emerging—which is why she called herself a “Renaissance lei maker.” As Estes so eloquently explains in the introduction, “[My tūtū] did not learn from her kūpuna (grandparents). She was proud that her mo‘opuna (grandchildren) could say that we did.” And did they ever. Estes’ book—which she co-wrote with local author Jennifer Fiedler—is sprinkled with anecdotes about watching her grandmother work her lei magic. (In Hawaiian culture, most learning is done by simply watching.) She writes about her grandmother showing up to events and lunches with armfuls of lei, and really going all out on Thanksgiving. “We lived on Kaua‘i and my tūtū was on O‘ahu, and every Thanksgiving, she would come over to our house on Kaua‘i and just go to work with her lei,” Estes recalls during our chat. “She’d make lei po‘o (head lei) for her four daughters-in-law, my mom, and her six granddaughters (including me), and string pua kenikeni for her four sons, my dad, and her two grandsons, and then we’d have lei for the table, and lei for pictures…there were lei everywhere. That was her way of showing aloha. And now we all have that in us, too. People tell us all the time: ‘You’re just like your tūtū.’”
Today, Estes’ brothers on Kaua‘i still grow their pua kenikeni trees in their tūtū’s honor, and Estes says she thinks of her tūtū whenever she makes or wears a lei; it’s how she keeps her alive. “I used to watch her get dressed, and she’d put on her mu‘u, and then her lei at the Funny may the fourth be with you shirt besides I will buy this end…there was a real regalness to that. We’re so blessed to grow up with these traditions in Hawai‘i, and now I’m so grateful to carry them on, too.” These days, lei culture in Hawai‘i is thriving. Estes points to her 2008 wedding as a prime example of its recent rise: “When I got married, I didn’t even wear a lei po‘o, but now everyone wears a lei po‘o. Lei culture is so prolific now—and that’s why I wanted to write this book,” she says. “I wanted to show how it’s so celebrated.” To get in on the celebration yourself, consider these tips from Estes—whether you’re traveling to Hawai‘i or weaving its lessons into your own life at home:
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