And as you look up such a valley you see terrace after terrace of taro rising before you, the patches often fifty or sixty feet above the brawling stream, but each receiving its proper proportion of water.
Near by or among these small holdings stand the grass houses of the proprietors, and you may see them and their wives, their clothing tucked up, standing over their knees in water, planting or cultivating the crop.
Here the Hawaiian is at home.

His horse finds its scanty living on the grass which fringes the taro patches; indeed, you may see horses here standing belly deep in fresh water, and feeding on the grasses which grow on the bottom; and again you find horses raised in the drier parts of the islands that do not know what water is, never having drunk any thing wetter than the dew on the grass.

Among the taro patches the house place is as narrow as a fishing schooner's deck--"two steps and overboard." If you want to walk, it must be on the dikes within which the taro land is confined; and if you ride, it must be in the middle of the rapid mountain torrent, or along a narrow bridle-path high up on the precipitous side of the mountain.
Down near the shore are fish ponds, with wicker gates which admit the small fry from the sea, but keep in the large fish.

Many of these ponds are hundreds of acres in area, and from them the Hawaiian draws one of his favorite dishes.

Then there may be cocoa-nuts; there are sure to be bananas and guavas.