How many times have you bought a fresh pineapple?
To cut into bitesize pieces and serve?
Smelled it?
Pulled a leaf?
Inspected the eyes?
Squeezed it with both hands?
For ripeness?
Sweetness?
Read the label Dole?
Felt secure in its reliability?
Or how many times have you bought Dole canned pineapple?
In rings, chunks, or crushed?
To make molds, cranberry sauce, carrot cake?
Feeling guaranteed satisfaction?
Because of the name?
I cannot even count the times in the last fifty years.
So many were there.
Of course, I wanted to see the Dole Plantation.
In central O’ahu.
But, I was shocked.
Letdown.
Because it was more of a marketplace.
Food kiosks.
Jewelry.
Pineapple ice cream.
Candied nuts.
Chocolate covered dried pineapple.
Tee shirts and gifts.
Besides shops, there was a tropical maze.
A children’s train ride.
A small botanical garden.
Into which, to my chagrin, they charged entrance.
Even though it was tiny compared to gardens here.
And most gardens are gratis!
The actual plantation was gone.
Closed permanently in 1992.
Sold to another entity.
Still using the Dole name.
Growing pineapples globally.
Costa Rica.
Thailand.
Indonesia.
West Africa.
Places where labor costs less.
Despite disappointment, I learned quite a bit.
About the history of pineapple cultivation in Hawaii.
Begun in 1899 by James Dole.
Expanding to two canneries.
Shipped by train to Honolulu.
Then exported worldwide.
If truth be told, I had no idea it took four years to produce three fruits!
The field was then demolished, fertilized, started anew.
All labor was by hand.
Imagine the intensity!
The number of people needed!
The hours put in!
Aching hands and backs!
The sweat!
Exhaustion!
Homesickness!
For laborers came from afar with contracts.
From places where they couldn’t find jobs.
Perhaps the loss of the pineapple industry has an upside.
Growing fruits around the globe
helps build economies.
Keeps families intact, alive.
Brings pride and expertise.
Lynn Benjamin
March 13, 2023
