The rare fragrant Hawaiian hibiscus blooming by our entry gate.

Making copies of a nice agave that bloomed last month.

Worlds smallest orchid, the flower is 1/4-inch wide.

The three Hawaiian sandalwood trees recently gifted to the monastery by Lyons Arboretum in Hololulu. To be planted in our sandalwood grove.

Potting up calatheas that will later be planted on San Marga.

Dark red pentas for Hanuman’s mountain

The monastery has tens of thousands of botanical species, some humble, some stunningly proud, some edible, some poisonous, some not so pretty. But they all add to the special spaces here, hundreds of little microcosms, each with a different amount of light and water and wind and minerals and predators. Those who work in the gardens, growing and nurturing, soon learn to listen to the plants, watch their reactions and respond in order to help them survive and flourish. Of course, our teachings tell us that the entire universe is aware. A molecule has awareness, a protein shows intent. Siva is aware and Siva is the life/existence in all things, so it is no surprise to us that plants would exhibit awareness. Theirs is different from ours for sure, but it is awareness nonetheless.

Science is just now catching up to that little fact. Witness the latest New York Times bestseller on plants:The Light Eaters by Zoë Schlanger. It’s a deep dive into the secret life of plants. According to her research, far from passive greenery, plants see, smell, remember, decide and communicate. Schlanger presents five fascinating reasons to think of plants as having awareness: they sense light direction, emit chemical warnings, store memories, respond to touch, and even adjust their behavior. This, she insists, is hard science and she tells it well. She is not as talented as Michael Pollan in his books about food, but she does reveal that science about plants is evolving quickly.

One of the most compelling anecdotes Zoë Schlanger shares in The Light Eaters involves the mimosa plant (Mimosa pudica)—a sensitive species known for folding its leaves when touched. Hawaiians call it hilahila which means shy or bashful. Scientists dropped mimosa plants repeatedly from a short height—not enough to harm, but enough to provoke the leaf-folding reflex. At first, the plants reacted as expected. But after just a few drops, they stopped closing their leaves—having “learned” that the drop wasn’t dangerous. Even more astonishing, weeks later, the same plants still remembered not to react. No brain, no nerves—yet they showed signs of learning and memory. Consciousness? Maybe. Awareness? Undeniable.

Sweet Hawaiian Orange Trees

The original tree protected by an electric fence.

We took these photos this morning and look forward to a few ripe oranges.

Showing the entirely hollowed out base of the tree.

The orange is near our newly planted Nepalese Rudraksha Grove.

You are looking at a box of six Hawaiian heirloom orange trees, saved from extinction by the high-tech Terra Nova Nursery in Canby, Washington, about 200 miles from Seattle. Of course, it comes with a monastery story.

About 70 years back Uncle Manuel (who for decades was the manager of the water system that flows through the land that is now Kauai Aadheenam) received a gift from a Hawaiian clan. They gave him a special orange tree, one whose sweetness and low acidity made it rare and valuable. Manuel carried the tree in a gunny sack on horseback from the mountains about 20 miles to the monastery and planted it himself in a field. There is grew and gave its fruits for all these decades.

About 15 years back it began to age. The bottom trunk rotted out during a wet winter, then our cows sped up the process by munching on the sweet leaves and fruits. We put a fence around it, but a year later the cows overwhelmed the fence and ate every leaf. We though it was dead.

But it is a brave orange, and it grew strong branches right out of the rotting trunk. We tried to propagate it. And failed. We enlisted local tree grafters. Who failed. Finally, in desperation to save this legacy fruit tree, we reached out to Harini Korlipara, General Manager of Terra Nova Nursery. She had visited the monastery three years back and said she would try, so we sent her cuttings following her directions.

It worked! Yesterday we opened the box with six very healthy orange trees. We will give one to the living relatives of Uncle Manual in honor of his bringing the mother plant to our land, a couple to local botanical gardens and collectors and the rest will be planted in our own fruit groves. Orange trees can live 70-100 years, so a couple of generations of monks will have sweet oranges for breakfast.

Oranges and other citrus fruits were introduced to the Hawaiian Islands by European explorers. British Captain George Vancouver is often credited with bringing orange seeds or saplings around 1792–1794 as gifts to King Kamehameha I. Hawaii was for a short time the premier supplier of oranges to California until the citrus farms developed in the state.

The drone hovering above and bathing one of the towers.

A close shot of the top of the flagpole, a rare view.

This is Timo, the Maui-born pilot, landing his drone, named Kaimalu which means “Sea Breeze”

The gold right after it was applied, so pristine.

Deva Rajan and Jill, a gilder, at work.

A close look at this image reveals the drone half way up the flagpole.

Yes, that really was a five-foot-wide agricultural drone hovering above Iraivan Temple—no, your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you! And no, it wasn’t lost on its way to a pineapple farm. Let us explain.

In our lush, tropical paradise, even gold needs a little TLC. Though it’s famously resistant to rust, tarnish and decay, the tropics are home to some very determined microscopic critters that just love humidity. They don’t care if it’s 23-karat gold—they’ll settle in anyway!

To keep them at bay, we’ve been applying an anti-mold treatment a few times a year. In the past, this meant renting a huge cherry-picker to reach the soaring towers and golden flagpoles. Effective? Sometimes. Expensive and finicky? Always.

Enter: the drone.

Thanks to the Aloha Aina Drone company from Maui, we’ve found a high-tech solution. Their team brought in a specially outfitted agricultural drone and treated Iraivan’s five gilded towers and two stunning gold flagpoles with two gentle, gleaming coats of protective liquid. Think of it as an airborne abhishekam—but instead of milk and rosewater, it’s mold-defense magic from above.

The best part? It worked beautifully—and instantly. The towers glistened. The flagpoles gleamed. And we all breathed a sigh of relief (and maybe a bit of awe).

With this drone-powered approach, we now have a fast, affordable, and frankly cool way to care for the temple’s golden features. Expect to see our airborne helper buzzing by every few months, keeping Iraivan as radiant as ever.

Who says tradition and technology can’t work together in perfect harmony?