Let’s be honest—this book probably should have been written first.
Ka Mahina literally means “the moon,” and I am Kaulana Mahina. But sometimes the order things come out doesn’t mean they were wrong—it just means they needed more time. And I’m actually really glad this book didn’t come first, because when it finally did, it was created with intention, lived experience, and a lot of thought behind every page.
This book wasn’t rushed. It was mulled over, questioned, and carefully shaped.
Why I Created Ka Mahina
When I decided to finally create Ka Mahina, I knew I didn’t want it to be just another moon book. I wanted it to focus on foundational moon knowledge from a Hawaiian perspective—the kinds of things that, in the olden days, everyone knew.
Not because they learned it in school, but because they lived by it.
Today, that kind of Mahina knowledge isn’t as common anymore.
So yes, this book goes over basic concepts about the moon. But “basic” doesn’t mean simple or unimportant. It means foundational—the kind of knowledge we want our keiki, and our lāhui, to grow up knowing.
Each page is meant to be an entry point. A stepping stone. A way to start conversations about the moon that can expand over time.
The Hardest Part: Teaching the Moon in One Sentence
The most challenging part of creating Ka Mahina was deciding what to focus on—and then figuring out how to fit it into one sentence per page.
The moon holds so much information. And breaking that down to a preschool level is hard, especially when you’re teaching things that aren’t tangible. You can’t touch the moon. You can’t smell it or taste it. You can see it, but learning about something you can’t fully experience with all five senses is trickier than teaching about something right in front of you.
So I kept asking myself:
What are the things about the moon that we really want our keiki and our lāhui to know?
That question guided the entire book.
Page by Page: How the Book Came Together
The first page is simple: this is the moon. A big, bright full moon. And yes—I took that photo myself, in my own driveway, with my own camera.
The next concept is the moon rising. I remember taking that photo clearly. I went down to the cliffs near my house on Hoku moon because I wanted to capture the moon rising out of the ocean. That night was cloudy, so I didn’t get it right on the horizon—but it ended up working perfectly for this book.
I added an arrow to show the direction the moon is moving, because unless you know where I live, you wouldn’t know that’s the east side of the island. Perspective matters when learning about Mahina.
For the setting moon, I reached out to landscape photographer Josh Haʻo. He had shared a photo that immediately caught my eye—the moon setting behind the mountain in the early morning. That’s exactly what I see where I live, on the east side of Hawaiʻi Island.
If you live on the west side, you experience the opposite: the moon rises above the mountain and sets into the ocean. That contrast felt important to include.
Moon Phases, Anahulu, and Observation
One page shows the 30 moon phases, laid out in rows. This page is an invitation—to say the names out loud (because saying names brings mana), to count, to compare shapes, and to sing mele helu pō or moon phase songs.
Then we introduce anahulu, the lunar weeks:
• Anahulu Hoʻonui – when the moon is growing
• Anahulu Poepoe – when the moon is round and full
• Anahulu Hoʻēmi – when the moon is shrinking
These are big ideas, but this book isn’t meant to explain everything. It’s meant to introduce them in a way that feels approachable.
Fishing, Farming, and ʻOhana
Of course, Ka Mahina touches on how the moon affects fishing and farming—because those are the two areas most people associate with Mahina. And it makes sense. Fishing and farming were how our kūpuna fed their families. Paying attention to the moon wasn’t optional—it was necessary.
On the fishing page, you’ll see my ʻohana—my son smiling big in the cab of his dad’s boat. Yes, I always sneak my family into my books.
On the farming page, you’ll see two of my keiki in a kalo patch in Waipiʻo, with ʻohana who steward that land and who we get our poi from. Mahalo nui to the Kaneshiro ʻohana for allowing us to capture that moment.
These pages are reminders that Mahina knowledge is lived knowledge.
Ending With Light
The final page talks about the moon shining brightly. I intentionally chose a photo that wasn’t another full moon so you can see the kōnane—the glow, the light that reaches beyond the moon itself.
That’s what this book is meant to do too.
Ka Mahina doesn’t try to teach everything. It shines light. It opens doors. It invites curiosity.
This book didn’t come first—but it came when it was ready.
And I’m really proud of it 🌙