Molokai is an island that comes on to you sideways. It’s not easy, and perhaps all of its secrets and challenges can never be fully revealed, even to those who have lived their lives on the island. Like a complicated romance, it is deeply alluring.

I fell for Molokai almost immediately, intrigued by its isolation and unique character, its brusque beauty and the courage of those who cherish its history and work to preserve it.

Molokai is not typical in any way, with its small population (only 7,345, according to the 2010 census), expansive open spaces, surf-pounded northern and western shores, and lengthy south-facing reef — the longest in the United States.

Facing south, canoeing and stand-up paddling beckon, but snorkeling is not always prime; the sheltered waters are shallow and, after rainy periods, silted with runoff from the land above.

Still, there are beautiful beaches, remote and spiritual valleys, wind-swept highlands and fertile fields enough to nourish the senses.

And so many stories!

Where the taro fields begin in Molokai’s lovely Halawa Valley, you’re likely to meet Anakala Pilipo Solatorio, who bills himself as a storyteller on his business card.

Solatorio, a sun-browned, smiling grandfather, is as likely to chant or talk about taro growing or his early life as a military man on the mainland as he is to fall into the practiced rhythms of his tales of the valley’s Hawaiian lore, learned from his grandfather when he was just a curious boy.

"Grandpa told me, ‘Teach people who want to know,’" Solatorio said. "My grandfather told me there is a difference between sacred and secret."

Kulia Peters of the Molokai Visitors Bureau began telling me stories as soon as I arrived.

She picked me up at Molokai’s tiny airport. At the rental car offices, she pulled up nonchalantly in front of a "No Parking" sign to wait for another writer, plucked some glowing, fragrant pink plumeria flowers out of her bag and began stringing lei. Soon she was describing the quiet that descends on hula dancers preparing before dawn for Molokai’s revered Ka Hula Piko ceremony.

Peters, who is part Hawaiian, has been dancing hula for as long as she can remember ("all my life," she said), and she raises horses on her homestead ranch near the airport, where part of the land is given over to growing sweet potatoes. This year she was the pa‘u queen in the annual parade on Molokai during Aloha Week.

"If you’re a very spiritual person, you’re in the right place," Peters said, smiling encouragingly.

I’d only been on the island for an hour, but that sentiment was repeated often, in different variations, during my visit.

AT THE Ka Honua Momona fishpond, just a few miles east along the coast from Kaunakakai, I met Kauwila Hanchett, executive director of the nonprofit, environmentally oriented site.

A dark-eyed young woman with an extraordinarily calm demeanor, Hanchett first asked that I introduce myself and tell what I was looking for. In my encounters with people on Molokai, this emphasis on respectful introductions, and on taking time to listen, was a recurrent theme.

"This is a place of great spiritual depth and knowledge," she said as she described efforts to restore the site, part of a 5-century-old network of fishponds. Volunteers are welcome.

There is no one common viewpoint on this island, mind you: Molokai is riven by ongoing disagreements over the future of its Hawaiian culture, land use and tourism. But as a visitor what you’ll find for the most part is that guests are welcome, desired even — so long as you don’t try to impose your viewpoint or take away too much.

People’s unvarnished opinions are available. Molokai is not covered up by the comfy quilt of resort accommodations and tourist services that blankets even tiny Lanai or quiet Kauai.

Walk the streets of Molokai’s central town, Kaunakakai, on a Saturday, when vendors come out to sell T-shirts, secondhand clothes, papaya and bananas, photo discs and even roughly crafted, handmade farm tools, and join the conversation: Life is quiet here and people love to talk.

I showed up one Saturday, and by the time I’d walked the few blocks across town, I’d heard stories about paddling, Kalaupapa mules, a life changed to make Molokai home and a life lived in the islands. It was engaging and entertaining, one of the most pleasant Saturdays I’ve ever experienced.

IF YOU’RE shy or crave a pampered, luxury experience, Molokai might not appeal.

But if you enjoy a rowdy back-and-forth with a farmer, go ahead, drop in on Tuddie Purdy at his mac nut farm, and be prepared to take things at his pace. On a wall outside the Purdy sales shed, stickers proclaim, "Moloka‘i … Not For Sale. ‘Just Visit.’"

You also can learn more about ag on Molokai at Kumu Farms, or visit a plumeria farm. There are no fancy facilities; you’ll be face to face with the people who grow and serve up your product.

If a challenging hike into a forbidden valley tempts you, sign on for a steep descent into Kalaupapa or a tour of Halawa Valley. Both require that you arrange your visit with a guide.

And if the ocean calls, you have options — all with a bit of a twist.

Get advice from locals. Learn something. And accept the alluring challenge.