Hawaiʻi and rural Nevada don’t belong in the same sentence.

So yeah, Hawaii has some common traits with Fallon, Nevada.
I can already hear the gasp — my fellow Fallonites and Hawaiians clutching their chests.
Relax. Hear me out.

In the rural desert around Fallon, you can find abandoned equipment, forgotten infrastructure, stacks of “might need it someday” metal sunbathing in sagebrush. Out here in Hawaiʻi — even in the lush, ocean-wrapped beauty — you can spot the same instinct. In any neighborhood, there’s at least 5 in 10 houses keeping old appliances, spare engines, or something mysterious under a tarp. And locals will shrug and say the same thing I heard in Fallon:

“You never know when you might need it. Things are hard to get.”

Standing under this old pole on Kokohead, my mind drifted straight into that shared need.
Not judgment. Just curiosity.

Why do we humans hold on to things long after their wires have fallen away?
Why do we leave old relics lying about the land with no desire to clean things up?
And if we scrubbed this mountain ridge clean — made it a polished, modern adventure for locals and visitors — would it lose something essential without this old pole or that rusted cable winch?

I don’t know?

Would it still feel like Koko?
Maybe that’s tomorrow’s question.
Because in the morning, I’m climbing back up to the top for sunrise,
And I’ll let the mountain answer for itself.