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panakinthedisco · 4 months ago

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MISTY ━━ Joel Miller

summary: it all started at a station stop, a conversation about your beloved country, and somehow, in that moment, joel miller became utterly captivated by you.

author's note: i specifically made this one-shot for my SEA and filipina girlies rahhhhhh🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅 🇵🇭 🇵🇭 🇵🇭 🇵🇭 🇵🇭 🇵🇭!!! we need more representation in this fandom so i had to do it <3 but i hope y'all enjoy this because this is just FLUFF :))

word count: 3k

“The Philippines must be very beautiful.” Joel Miller says to you when you tell him where you’re from. You trembled at the way he said your name — revealing much more of his Southern accent and also his undeniable charm. Even though no one calls your birth name, folks in your country called you by your nickname except your dear Lola back home in Manila.

It makes you feel beautiful, or perhaps it’s just the lulling motion of this train to New York, the luxury of having nothing to do -– the way you feel on a holiday, you think, though you haven’t been on one since before you left for the United States five years ago. You’re not entirely sure. And now, you’re overwhelmed by the sensations you're experiencing with Joel Miller — thrilling and intense. Yet, in an instant, your Catholic guilt takes over, making you feel ashamed for enjoying his attention.

Religion has always been a central part of your life, ingrained in you by your overbearing mother, who is almost a fanatic. She vigorously enforced her beliefs, and you obeyed dutifully, attending Mass, saying your prayers, and adhering to the teachings of the Church. Your mother’s strict adherence to Catholicism shaped your upbringing, leaving little room for deviation.

But as you reflect, you admit to yourself that you secretly rebelled when you were younger. Those small acts of defiance, hidden from your mother's watchful eyes, were your way of reclaiming some sense of freedom. Now, as you sit on this train, the memories of those rebellions mix with the current thrill, leaving you in a whirlwind of emotions.

“It is beautiful,” You said softly, a little like a sigh. The sound of that small exhalation hangs in the dry air between you and Joel like a gauzy mosquito net that you and your cousins slept beneath when you were children while you’re staying over at your grandmother’s house. This was before Lola had air conditioners installed and they could shut out the mosquitoes. You had an urge to tell him that. And then, almost as if he hears your thoughts, Joel asks you what your home is like.

Smiling, you begin to share your memories. "My grandmother owned a piece of land a few miles away from the city. We had a small family farm there. When I was younger, I used to play around the chicken pens and even feed the goats with my cousins. We'd pick pale yellow mangoes from the trees on the farm and line them up in rows on the grass to ripen in the sunshine."

Joel listens intently, his eyes reflecting a genuine interest. Encouraged, you continue, "We used to walk barefoot through the muddy rice fields and catch field snails, which we’d eat in the evening. I remember how we’d have competitions to see who could collect the most snails. I was quite competitive about it," you say with a laugh.

You describe how you would go fishing in the rice field ponds and in the swampy shallow waters, reaching down with your bare hands to catch mudfish. "It was always such a thrill to feel the slippery fish wriggle in your grasp," you add.

Your mind drifts back to those carefree days. "We'd also climb the trees and pick guavas and tamarinds, sometimes sneaking a few bites before bringing them back to Lola's kitchen. The smell of her cooking would fill the air, blending with the earthy scent of the countryside. In the evenings, we'd sit outside, listening to the cicadas and telling stories under the stars."

Joel's expression softens as he imagines the scenes you paint with your words. "It sounds like a paradise," he says, his voice low and thoughtful.

"It was," you reply, a touch of wistfulness in your tone. "Those memories are some of the happiest of my life."

Then Joel asks you, “Isn’t it a country of islands? What are the beaches like?” His hazel brown eyes pierce beneath the reading light of the train, filled with curiosity.

You smile, your mind immediately drifting to the many beautiful beaches you’ve visited. "Yes, it is a country of islands," you begin. "The beaches are incredible, each one unique. I've been to quite a few, but my favorite memories are from my mother's hometown on an island in Palawan called Cuyo."

Joel leans in closer, captivated by your words. "Cuyo is a small, quiet place, but it's absolutely stunning. The beaches there are like something out of a postcard—white sand, crystal-clear waters, and vibrant coral reefs just offshore. I always loved going to the beach there. The water is so clear that you can see the fish swimming around your feet."

You pause, reminiscing about the warmth of the sun and the gentle sound of the waves. "When I was a child, I would often go with the fishermen. They’d take their boats out early in the morning, and sometimes I’d tag along. The sea would be calm, and we’d glide over the water, watching the sunrise paint the sky in shades of pink and orange. They'd teach me how to cast nets and catch fish. It was an amazing experience, being so close to nature and learning from people who had lived off the sea for generations."

Joel's eyes remain fixed on you, his expression soft and engaged. You continue, "During the afternoons, we'd play on the beach, building sandcastles and collecting seashells. The island is surrounded by reefs, so snorkeling was a favorite activity. The underwater world is so colorful and full of life—it's like a hidden paradise."

You share more about the island's charm, the simple yet fulfilling life there. "We'd have picnics on the beach, with freshly caught seafood and tropical fruits. My mother would tell us stories about her own childhood, and we'd sit there, listening as the sun set over the horizon."

The memories flood back, each one more vivid than the last. "I also remember walking along the shore at night, the moonlight reflecting on the water. Sometimes, we'd see bioluminescent plankton, making the waves glow. It felt like magic."

Joel smiles, clearly enchanted by your stories. "It sounds like an incredible place," he says softly.

"It really is," you reply, a warm glow in your heart. "Cuyo and its beaches hold a special place in my memories. It's a place where time seems to slow down, and you can truly appreciate the beauty of nature."

You met Joel at the station stop in Chicago. He smiled at you, and you smiled back. That was all. He found the empty seat beside you.

And it began with your name. It must have been foreign for Joel to hear a name that is not Americanized. He repeats your name – not like a question, but as though he likes the sound. Joel reaches for your hand, and shakes it, “I’m pleased to meet you.”

The Amtrak 49 train moves from the Midwest to the East Coast, specifically New York. You opted to take the train to save on airfare, but the truth is, you also wanted a little extra time to unwind during the sixteen-hour journey. You are grateful to have met Joel Miller from Texas, who is also on his way to New York for a visit. It feels like an unexpected windfall, and you are giddy and thrilled to have him to intrigue and engage, just as he intrigues and engages you.

Joel Miller is an enchanting distraction, precisely because he seems equally captivated by you. You savor the minutes like sweets in your mouth. It's been so long since someone has paid you this much attention, and you feel flushed and drunk with it.

You listen to Joel talk, struggling not to be wide-eyed and open-mouthed, though it’s hard to avoid his hazel brown eyes that make butterflies in your stomach flutter. He listens to you in that same way, as though every word that drops from your lips is candy-coated delicious. Thinking this, you pop a breath mint into your mouth when he isn’t looking. You feel absolutely silly about what you’re doing.

He is older than her. He must be in his mid-thirties while you’re in the middle of the twenties, quite new to the corporate world and still struggling to keep up with the inflation. He didn’t mention whether he’s married or not but he might have a wife in Texas or in New York. Those thoughts flood into your head and you steal a glance — surprisingly, he’s looking at you too.

What is he thinking, you think, don’t let him be thinking of you. And then just as quickly, please let him be thinking of me.

You cannot help allowing yourself this quick sweet rush of happiness like having a man come to call at your house, bringing flowers or candy. Like a date on a weekday evening. Like that certain knowledge that someone yearns to kiss you.

You are wanted. You are beautiful in the eyes of Joel Miller.

As the train continues its journey, the conversation with Joel deepens. He suddenly asks, “Wasn’t there a big revolution in the Philippines in the 80s? The EDSA Revolution? I remember hearing about it on the news. It seemed to captivate the world.”

You nod, your expression turning serious. "Yes, the EDSA Revolution in 1986 was a pivotal moment in our history. My parents were both involved in it. My mother and father fought against the dictatorship. My father was a student activist at a prestigious university, and it was incredibly difficult for him."

Joel's eyes widened with interest, and you continue, "There were times when my father had to hide because of his controversial writings against the president and the government. He told us stories about how he hid in the countryside, constantly looking over his shoulder. It was terrifying for him."

You pause, your thoughts drifting back to the stories your father shared. "But he fought back by writing and eventually took part in the EDSA Revolution. I remember the tears in his eyes when he talked about tasting freedom for the first time. He always said he was doing it for us, for me and my siblings."

Joel is silent for a moment, clearly moved by your story. "Your father is incredibly brave," he says softly. "To stand up against such a regime and fight for what he believed in... that's remarkable."

You smile, a mix of pride and sadness in your eyes. "He is brave. He risked everything for a cause he believed in, for a future he wanted for his children. The EDSA Revolution was a peaceful protest, but it was filled with so much emotion and hope. My father's involvement in it shaped who he is and, in turn, who I am."

Late at night, Joel asks you if you want to get something to eat. The dining car is open. You agreed to his invitation and made way down the aisle. The car is dark and most of the passengers are slumped in sleep, their shapes suggest they are in the most comfortable position possible, given the uncomfortable circumstances. Their heads are buried under coats and sweaters. Every now and then, a snore emitted from an old man. Or a faint cry from a hungry baby in the back of the car. When you stumbled from your step, losing your balance, Joel grabs you and clasps your hand in his to steady you.

They order cups of coffee and eat crumbly stale chocolate chip cookies out of small carton boxes. You did not remember when you had talked so long or laughed so much. And it is exciting to know that as you both talk, towns and cities rush past in a midnight blur. Both of you are far away from everything.

Close to four in the morning, you both stumbled down the aisle, back to your seats. You are already sleepy in a warm, comfortable way. Your eyelids are heavy, like they have been smeared with thick honey, and sure enough, they close stickily. You let your head drop and fall lightly to rest upon his shoulder.

When Joel reaches over to flick your reading light, you sighed, inhaling his scent. For an instant, you open your eyes but it is completely dark and quiet except for the sound of the train on its tracks. As you exhaled you fell asleep, but not before hearing Joel’s hoarse whisper as he fixed the unruly hair that is covering your face and tucked it behind your ear.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Joel calls you on your phone, his voice urgent. It’s been a week since your last meeting and he asked for your number — in which you gave it to him. You were not expecting anything in return and your long conservation is enough for you but at the back of your mind — you wish he’ll call you.

Hearing his voice almost made you stunned. You missed him and his presence.

“Have lunch with me today?” he says.

"I..I don't know." You said. It is indeed a bad time because you have a lot of things to do which is babysitting your aunt’s daughter but you looked over to the living room where your aunt is already busy taking care of your niece.

He speaks once again, "I have to see you. I have to show you something."

You looked at your wristwatch. You calculate the number of hours and you realize you can get away. You do have the time. You are heartbeat quickens. You want to see what he has to show you. But even more than that, you want to see him.

You clear your throat. In a low voice, you said, "Where should I meet you, Joel?"

Both of you meet in Central Park. Winter is on its last legs, and the air has a bit of warmth to it. Still, you wished that you were indoors. Your raincoat is very fluffy and lined but it is just warm enough for you.

"It's not raining," Joel says when he sees you.

"But it might." You said. "It might get colder. It might rain. I cannot take any chances."

"Okay."Joel smiles tenderly at you. You let yourself smile back, thinking, how dare he be. How sweet he is. He tells you,"Come on, I have a surprise for you."

You both walked briskly through the park, through the tree-lined paths, until they came to the gates of the Central Park Zoo.

"Here?" You asked him, Joel nods. "I was here yesterday. That's when I saw it."

You’re confused what he meant, "What?"

But Joel shakes his head, "You'll love it." He says. And he will not say anything anymore.

Both of you walked in the wet puddles that were once ice and snow. Although the leaves have still to emerge, people in the park are out with their books, perched on benches and big rocks by the pond, their faces to the sun as though they are tanning on a summer day.

You shivered, you cannot help it. Because it is cold, yes, but also because of now.

Joel takes your hand. Maybe because he saw you shiver. You glance at him uncertainly, and once more, catch him looking at you.

"Tell me."

He squeezes your hand. "Be patient." He says, as if to a child.

At the ticket gate, the attendant warns that because of the cold, not all the animals may be out and about. Joel laughs, and says,

"That's perfectly alright."

Once inside the zoo's gates, Joel walks with more speed. You had to trot to keep up because he would not slow down. He squeezes your hand again and tells you to close your eyes.

You did, and you are not afraid to fall with him leading you. You feel the cool air on your face, the gravel beneath your feet. You hear the seals barking, splashing in their pool.

His grip on your hand is stronger. Although you cannot see, you take steps with confidence.

Both of you stopped. You realized that you are both entering a building.

"Step up, sweetheart," Joel tells you. You hope that you didn’t blush.

All at once, a heat washes over, a fantastic wet, green heat so heavy, you are forced to draw a breath. You opened your eyes. You are in a jungle of thick ripe foliage. There is nobody else around. You can hear the cries of birds, the thick rustle of leaves and from somewhere, the sound of rain and trickling water. You can see trees, of deep green and black and brown, as you take your steps, you feel the soft ground beneath your feet.

You have never seen anything like this before.

You climb the wooden walkway through this tropical rain forest in the Central Park Zoo. The bridge is overlooking a small waterfall and beside it, there is steam rising from what you know is some hidden vent. Tiny beads of perspiration spring to your skin. You blow the bangs off your forehead.

At the other end of the bridge, Joel is still standing at the other side of the bridge and he is staring at you. As he wants to take everything about you. And then, your heart fluttered by his soft gaze.

And then, he went to you while your eyes never left his. He takes both of your hands in his, leans in and whispers in your ear, warm breath against your neck. “This is how it is in the Philippines, right? Isn’t this the way it is?”

You nodded and you know what is coming next. You feel that heat and stop thinking. You closed your eyes as Joel went closer to kiss you.

Moments later, you answered him, “Yes, this is the way it is.”

You thought if you haven't met Joel Miller on a train or maybe someday, against all the laws of probability, both of you met in another place or time but it doesn't matter right now. Meeting Joel Miller is a prelude to something wonderful and you felt it at the very beginning.

That swift, surprising transition from nothing to everything.

AVAILABLE ON A03

☆ MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION | SOCIALS | SIGN OFF BANNER MADE BY. @alderaandors

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #*writing #pedro pascal #alternate universe #joel miller x female reader #no outbreak!joel miller #joel miller fluff #joel miller x reader fluff #fluff #tlou fluff #filipina reader!!!#philippines represent rahhhhhhhhhhhhh

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occultradio · 11 months ago

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—OCS as OBSCURE ASSOCIATIONS

Thanks for tagging me again @plumbewb 💜

I still have no idea how to dress him nothing ever seems 'right'

He's been name dropped a few times by Vis so I thought I'd do him this time. He's much younger than Vis & Trace and essentially still in his 20's even though he's a few hundred years old. He was just a kid that got caught up in shit and was the bands drug dealer for a while. Quill has a baby now that Vis is eventually going to babysit. Idk Quill is just goofy and kinda creepy and no one is really sure if he's ate humans or if it's empty threats. His husband November is also a vampire.

Quill

ANIMAL: Frog

COLORS: green

MONTH: April

SONGS: Gossip - Night Club Tear you apart - She wants revenge

NUMBER: 8

PLANTS: water lilly

SMELLS: Blood, he's his husbands only food source so he typically has dried blood on him somewhere

GEMSTONE: prehnite

TIME OF DAY: anything after sunset, again vampire husband & baby

SEASON: spring

PLACES: On his husbands inherited off grid farm. City life got him in trouble and he just wants to be a nobody.

FOOD: anything

DRINKS: The plasma wine he makes on his farm

ELEMENT: water

ASTROLOGICAL SIGNS: Gemini

SEASONINGS: furikake

SKY: clear with stars, he doesn't see the sun much any more

WEATHER: light rain

MAGICAL POWER: He prefers to speak with telepathy and only vocalizes with intense emotions. Unknown if he's actually bad at simlish or just extremely careful of who he communicates with from his drug dealing days

WEAPONS: Teeth/claws

SOCIAL MEDIA: none, off grid and wants to be forgotten

MAKEUP PRODUCT: light eyeliner

CANDY: guava candy

METHOD OF LONG DISTANCE TRAVEL: none, doesn't want to leave the farm

ART STYLE: street art

FEAR: Losing November or their baby, also worries if he's good enough to be a dad

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: Chupacabra

PIECE OF STATIONARY: pen

THREE EMOJIS: 💊🐔🍼

CELESTIAL BODY: Comet

I tag anyone who wants to do it.

idk my brain is broken today

#simblr tag game #oc: quill

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mygardenvideos · 2 years ago

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Best NPK Fertilizer for Guava Tree

Composted chicken manure is the best NPK fertilizer for Guava Tree and is a slow-release rich source of macro and micro nutrients for Guava Tree.

Chicken manure is an abundant source of nutrients and have high levels of nitrogen, and has a good amount of phosphorus and potassium.

Moreover, chicken manure contains more calcium than any other cattle compost, as well as magnesium and sulfur for optimal growth of Guava tree.

Application of chicken manure will create excellent soil for the Guava trees to grow and you can find your tree grow healthier

Chicken manure adds organic matter to the soil and increases the water holding capacity of the soil, also improves aeration and drainage of the soil

Chicken manure is sometimes dangerous to the plants if they are not composted properly. So ensure the chicken manure used for fertilization is well composted.

Apply 5 kg of chicken manure around the Guava tree. After completing the fertilization, cover them with the soil completely.

Finally irrigate the soil thoroughly. Chicken manure can burn the roots of the tree and sometimes kill the tree if the soil is not irrigated..

Benefits of chicken manure is that the yield will be 2 times that of normal manure.

To get maximum benefits from Chicken manure, continue fertilizing the Guava tree at least 2 times a year.

#guava farming #organic fertilizer #NPK fertilizer

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smol-stardust · 1 year ago

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Don’t forget the moments, where the little things made me smile.

The secrecy of suckling on ixora blossoms, the crimson mingling with sweetness. Orange kindergarten hat crooked atop your head, remember the first moment where you strayed and broke rules but felt an utter bliss in nature.

Never touch the engine exhaust of the motorcycle after grandma shuts it off, and the billowing wind in your face all through the back alleys of the guava farms. And when your mom showed you the little gem inside a hibiscus that same summer, and plonked the sticky yellow bit within on your nose, the laughter you shared.

When you hid away, scared of being left alone as the adults forgot that you were still small.

Remember the evening motorcycle rides on grandmas motorcycle and that same summer, where your mom showed you the hidden joys lurking within hibiscus flowers and forgetting the flat tires of your bike as you trekked along, a yellow sticky stub securely stuck to your nose after your mom fetched it out the hibiscus flower. The sweet perfume of the rice fields in the pink skies. The tippy toe reaches with pruning scissors as you chomped away at guavas on grandmas farm at 5 in the morning.

Don’t forget being different, it’s not a bad thing. Remember that you were scorned for your different foods and items, but also remember that the differences make you, undeniably you.

The cool bleak void of how human inhumanity can be, how sometimes human are the most pitiable inhuman creatures that scorn you. Let the bitterness linger when you feel dark, and remember even bitterness have antidotes and be the antidote to the bitter inhumanities you feel.

Feel the cool breeze and squeeze of stubby fingers against your own. The gooey softness of marshmallows melting on your tongue. Blissful, and the smiles of friends as you bask under the moon

Remember watching your mom alone yet kind and caring for you. And when things feel hopeless remember she too had felt that way as she cherished you. Remember the perils and how you’ve loved words yet hated them and remember that a weapon is only a weapon if you allow it. Turn the words around in your head, and decide if you will hurt or heal.

Giggle at the fortune of never getting in trouble that time you sacked a senior student after they mocked your friends and shoved you. Question how fate spared you that day but giggle at your victories and how obviously right you were.

Remember the waves and rocking off the boat under the sunset when you won that regatta, the sweet yet bitter lingering of matcha as your friends gathered for chado.

rough blisters digging into your skin but how rewarding they felt as you sat atop the highest branch, reading in serenity.

Feel the overwhelming scent of sunscreen everyday that summer as you entertained the tiny army. A ghastly mix of sharpie, alcohol markers and sunscreen etched into your skin as the little ones displayed their love in the form of potential skin cancer but oh so adorable doodles all over your body. A reminder that you are loved.

Soap suds and the intense burn of plastic on the improvised slip and slide for the kids, pretending that you didn’t pin the plastic picnic math into the grass with scissors. And the sweet horrors of being hosed down by kids for the whole afternoon in the sweltering sun

The burns of sliding down the stage barefoot before a band concert and plonking on your face as all of us giggled, glad we’re hidden in the back as drummers and the silly cowbell and woodblock solos everyone scorned, yet we found solace in.

Remember my aliases throughout the years, four square champion, surgery queen, snoopy fanatic, and eventually, the sweet tender child calling me mom at camp.

The overwhelming sea breeze as a child screamed out mom and everyone paused, a warm blanket of fluffiness in you. The rest of the summer your name forgotten, just the sweet echoes of mom, or cwoach echoing on the seas and over the playground. A sweetness lingering at your little army and how they nurtured you as you learned to nurture them in return. Remember the doki doki thumping as you received the rainbow loom bracelets and warm embraces from those stubby arms. Yet you still question to this day, what is it with the little ones always nuzzling their faces into your butt in particular, an awkward feeling, yet a gentle pure fondness that exuded from them

Hallways rendezvous to my snack locker after my victory of fixing a printer jam, the warm papers in my hands, chemistry booklets piling everywhere. That last year of high school with the Forbidden blue Gatorade and grape juice, how I had to chase my dear friend away as we joked about drinking the colourful chemicals, or when I squealed as I felt an unfamiliar coolness touch my hands, all from a drop of acid and carbonate in a test tube, the laughter and half serious comments of flogging the silver harvested in labs on the black market. And that final day as I bid farewell to my chemistry mom, heavy green book in hand as she passed along a piece of the chemistry shenanigans onto me.

And feel the anxiety in you right now as you crawl into the voidal abyss of exam season, and remember the then and the now.

And look in to the future, remembering and changing and growing while always keeping your roots planted firmly.

#spilled words #this ended up being me thinking about 17 years worth of things #it’s kinda sweet actually #putting this department cuz it got super super long #sparky’s.poems #longer post #spilled stardust

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rjzimmerman · 11 days ago

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Excerpt from this story from Hakai Magazine:

Francis “Bully” Mission Sr., president and founder of Mission Animal Control, is in a good mood when I meet him at a strip mall parking lot on the south side of the Hawaiian island of Kaua‘i. He and his son Levi have just found two “squeakers”—pigs no more than a few months old—in one of their traps, which means US $100 in their pockets and another satisfied customer. Property owners all over the island hire the duo to remove problem animals, and Bully has invited me to join him as he collects the new captives.

“We had a big mama yesterday and three juveniles,” he tells me as I climb into his pickup truck. “The population is unbelievable.”

Inside the cab, I notice what appears to be Old MacDonald’s entire farm glued to the dashboard: a plastic cat, a couple of horses, a cow, and three pigs. These are all species that humans have brought to the Hawaiian islands and that the Mission family is often hired to eliminate. Feral pigs, once denizens of the mountains with intermittent forays to lower elevations, have become regular raiders of lowland farms, upscale neighborhoods, and members-only golf courses. “Some of them look like you could put a saddle on them and ride them,” Bully says of the pigs he’s seen.

Pigs can now be found on six of Hawai‘i’s seven inhabited islands, and their impacts are especially profound on Kaua‘i, the lush “Garden Island,” which has so far retained much of its native character. Its mountains are home to 255 unique native plant species and 208 native birds, including 11 found nowhere else on Earth. As the pigs tear up vegetation, they encourage erosion and muddy the island’s drinking water supplies. Their wallows breed mosquitoes that spread avian malaria, contributing to 10 of Kaua‘i’s 16 native honeycreepers going extinct. They also spread the seeds of the strawberry guava tree in their dung, contributing to what one group of researchers has referred to as an “invasional meltdown.” The guava shades out native plants and smothers them in its leaves.

The pigs’ presence in the populated lowlands has grown over the last couple of decades. Sally Rizzo, who was running an organic farm during my visit, told me that the pigs broke through her fence this year and “shit all over our baby greens.” On the roads, drivers frequently have to swerve to avoid pigs, leading to several hundred accidents every year. Beaches aren’t safe either. Three years ago, a tusked boar made headlines when it went for a swim and thrashed a surfer in the lineup off Oahu, another island. On oceanside bluffs, meanwhile, the pigs are preying on the chicks of migratory seabirds, so completely trashing their burrow nests that the birds never return to them again.

Despite the damage that feral pigs are causing, you can’t just shoot them on sight as you can in many other US states. In Texas, home to more than one-third of the seven million feral pigs in the United States, hunters and landowners target them from helicopters or with poison baits. On Hawai‘i, however, pigs occupy a more complicated position, as their populations are managed for both recreation and subsistence. Along with West Virginia, Hawai‘i is one of two states with bag limits on public land. This means that while conservationists are trying to reduce or eliminate pig populations inside protected areas, the Hawai‘i Division of Forestry and Wildlife manages the animal as a limited resource just about everywhere else.

#feral pigs #Hawaii #Kuaui

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