MAKAWAO, Maui » As it turns out, politics had nothing to do with it.
Every couple of years as Election Day draws near, the hedges of elephants that appear to lumber up the driveway of the Upcountry home of Katie and Emiliano Achaval become political topiary. The distinctive hedges were the idea of Katie’s mother, Harriet "Haku" Baldwin, when she lived there with her husband, Richard, whom everyone knew as Manduke. Most folks assumed this was Haku’s way of trumpeting to the world that she was an unwavering Republican.
"Actually, my mother just loved elephants; that was why she wanted the hedges to look like this," explained Katie Achaval before breaking into a grin. "But she was also a staunch Republican — and we are, too."
"So it works very well," added Emiliano Achaval with a grin of his own.
For many years these mock orange hedges were like most others of their ilk: long, boxy and boring. Haku — her name means "boss of bosses," according to her daughter — wanted something with more pizazz. One day while leafing through a book about Japanese gardens, she was taken by a picture of a hedge shaped into rolling waves. The next time her landscaper, Robert Hartley, showed up to buzz-cut the shoe boxes, she told him she wanted waves.
Hartley obliged, and for two years Baldwin was happy. Then the waves got boring.
Baldwin, a lover of all animals, often reminisced about the childhood trip she made to India, where elephants ambled everywhere, filling her with great delight. When the circus came to town, she imagined bringing home a baby elephant.
In her later years Baldwin decided to live her dream of waking up to elephants and walking among them any time she pleased — without leaving behind her beloved Upcountry Maui. When Hartley next arrived to shear the waves, Baldwin was waiting for him like P.T. Barnum.
"She came up to me and said, ‘Elephants!’ and I literally laughed out loud," said Hartley, climbing down from the ladder where he had just pruned the back of one of the pachyderms. "It was one of those ‘Who would ever think of this?’ moments."
HARTLEY needed a sketch if he was going to attempt something more suited for a sculptor. An artist friend of Haku provided one.
"I didn’t know how I was going to do this, but I just went for it," said Hartley. "By the third or fourth one, I had it down."
Thirteen years later he still does. Even though Haku Baldwin died in 2003, a year after her husband, the Achavals have maintained her precious herd, which starts at the end of the driveway where their mailbox protrudes from beneath the rump of the first elephant. The parade continues, trunk to tail, through the gate and into the yard. More elephants form a circular hedge that hides a cottage, and the last of the pack stands sentinel over the swimming pool.
There are 19 in all, ranging from 6 to 8 feet tall (with ears perking up higher). Even a liberal Democrat like Hartley can’t help but smile.
Every six weeks he arrives to see who needs a trim. Emiliano Achaval said that once in a while the elephants "start looking like wooly mammoths," but Hartley quickly has them groomed well enough for any center ring.
That’s because the elephants must constantly be ready for their close-ups. Almost daily they bring tourists traveling on this pastoral stretch of country road to a halt for a photo shoot.
"Before we had the gate, people would just drive in to take pictures," said Katie Achaval. "We get countless visitors."
"The (downhill) bicycle people always stop their vans," said her husband. "It’s become a tourist attraction."
The Achavals don’t mind. In fact, they rather enjoy the festive atmosphere their rare elephants stir up in a land where the donkeys usually roam. At times it has the feel of a grand old party.
