Welcome to Jo's Store.

 

Since we're virtual, you will have to use your imagination for the coffee aroma, I wish wafted through the door when you open it, that's after the tinkling bells chime.

 

 

Browse, drink coffee or whatever suits your fancy on these hot days. Read books, peruse my blog, and buy stuff.

I know thanksgiving hasn't come yet, but it's coming up and after that the biggest Shopping day of the year--which means Christmas is coming.

And shipping and all that. So I have done a little preliminary shopping for you, and am offering my suggestions here.

First, don't on't forget to sign up so you will see what fabulous products we have coming.

 

 

 

Now, Drum Roll Please!

 

 

 

 

Please read about the Orchids of Hawaii, and my experience there, and if you are interested I can get you a price, a

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Welcome to Jo's

Alohilani

 

What in the heck is Alohilani?

 

That’s what we wondered when we moved to Hawaii. There was a handwritten sign about two feet long and 8ight inches high with hand-written letters that spelled Alohilani that existed on the right side of the highway, across from our turn off on the left.  We would have missed our exit had it not been for that sign, for the road was virtually invisible as it took off into cane grass as high as the car.

 

We had purchased ten of the most beautiful acres at the end of the road—the end meaning as far as you could drive. The road at one time transported pineapples from Pahoa to Hilo. Now it was impassable beyond our property.

 

Along our two miles of lumpy bumpy road leading to our house, there existed a gate and a park-like setting, indicating that something spectacular lay beyond. We must have lived there for two months before we found out what it was. It was Alohilani, an orchid farm.

 

One afternoon close to a year later, I called Alohilini, and Joe, the owner, invited us to visit his beautiful spread. He had, he said, about 100 acres. The portion we saw was acres of green around his house, manicured into a park-like setting, populated by three dogs, three horses, a multitude of sheep, and pigs who played with the dogs, and slept clean and sleek under the palms.

 

“Isn’t this what a farm is about,” asked Joe, “having animals?”

 

My kind of guy.

 

Joe told us that when he first moved onto this property, the land was raw, untamed and wild. He bulldozed and planted, and built the highest treehouse I have ever seen, it must have been 100 feet in the air, and not in a tree but on poles. He built a packing building and erected rows of shade-cloth covered structures and filled them with orchids.

 

Growing orchids is labor-intensive.

 

The day my daughter, grandson and I arrived, Joe was breaking open foot long, not round bottles, but squared ones. The bottles were filled with a gel substrate that nourished little green sprouts. In two years, these tiny plants would become exquisite flowering orchids. And he said that the suppliers did not throw in the seeds, but carefully with tweezers placed each plant in rows embedded in the gel. In two years, those tiny plants would become exquisite flowering orchids.

 

Holding the bottle over a trash can, Joe gently tapped the end of each bottle with a hammer, broke the glass, and then poured the tiny orchid plants into a bucket of water. Two young women then placed a single sprout into a one-inch peat-pot.

 

Joe, now a widower, told us that the climate on the island was perfect for orchids and produce mush hardier and healthier plants than those raised in greenhouses, or imported from the orient.

 

We told him we were leaving the Island and moving back to the mainland. Here we were neighbors, and had only just met each other when we were about to leave. I looked over at the pigs sleeping contentedly under the palm trees. They were of the wild variety, black and sleek and grunting contentedly on clean grass, paying us no mind. The were free to come and go at will, and those sleeping under the palms had been born on the farm. They had found a haven, even if—we found later, that once in awhile one becomes food for Joe.

 

As I was preparing to leave, Joe said, “You eat pork don’t you?” He opened a refrigerator packed to the brim with packages of meat, took out an entire pork shoulder, and thrust it into my arms. A parting gift. How wonderful to have met him.

 

I was investigating the possibility of importing orchids when we got back to the mainland, and at the time Joe was willing to provide me with the opportunity of importing orchids. However, when we returned to the mainland, I found orchids in shops and grocery stores less expensive that I could import them. Joe found a way, for he was constantly exporting them. As he said his plants had been grown on native soil and were thus healthier.

 

As I said, we were preparing to leave the Island, one, is while we made great tourists, we mad lousy Polynesians, and felt it was not for us. Two, my husband had developed a heart condition, and the doctor asked me, “You know about the Big Island, don’t you?”

 

“In what regard?” I asked.

 

“If your husband needs further treatment you will have to go to Honolulu.”

Holy smokes, I thought, I’m not commuting to Honolulu.

 

We couldn’t get off that Island fast enough.

 

Incidentally, we saw a golden orchid—really golden colored, not at Joe’s, but at another tourist display farm (I guess perhaps that was the reason for Joe’s tiny sign, he didn’t want tourists visiting.). That orchid had a price tag of $25,000.

 

However, it was not for sale. I wondered at the time if this was like the old ploy of having a thousand-dollar bottle of wine listed on a menu, so as to make the others seem like a bargain.

 

Joe was the real deal.

 

If you want one of Joe’s orchids, I will try to get it for you. I can provide types and pictures. But it has been 10 years since our visit and my communication with him, so I will have to see how that would work. 

 

                               Alohilani, in Hawaiian, means “Full of compassion.”

Thanks, see ya.

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Christmas is Coming.

That's the reason I'm talking about Orchids, I figure they would be a great gift for anyone. Hey men like flowers too. Ask Joe.

 

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One more addition before you order a product. Motivated by Grandpa who trekked into the forest with his dog, I decided to follow his plan. He outfitted the dog with a backpack and let his faithful companion carry his own food--it was dry food, not heavy, the dog carried it with ease.  I decided it was time this site paid for itself. So when you are filling out an order, add whatever you figure would help this site maintain itself. Thank you very much. Simply write in $ and amount.  Scroll to bottom.

Okay, here we go...

For the kids:

Now, what kid wouldn't want glowing gloves that have colored LED lights, and a flashing mode that look like  X-rays of their hands? 

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For The Men in Your Family--get three for the price of one. Not men, Cosmetic bags. You know, brothers, uncles, cousins, all need a travel bag.

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For The Fur Baby:

Save your dog's life.

Keep him visible at night. Or just for fun while you are walking him in the dark with your glow gloves on.

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Mom Needs an Orchid.

Dad needs a mug for his coffee. So does Grandma, Grandpa, and Mom. Put what you want on it. I will have it printed for you.

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And of course, Everybody Needs a Book

Only two are physical books, The Frog's Song, and

It's Hard to Stay on a Horse while You're Unconscious

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