Going Through Them Changes

The much ballyhooed Fissure # 8. It was about ~5 miles away as the crow flies, but hey, I ain't no crow. 

"Them Changes" Buddy Miles

It was a slow moving disaster and we had plenty of warnings. What, with losing your job, your home of five years, your community and the very earth that you live on. Ah, my old friend Mr. Impermanence pays a little visit again, just to keep me on my toes.

My home for ~4 years as I prepare to move out. As far as the county of Hawaii knew, this was our chicken business on agriculturally zoned land. This E Ho Mai village housed about 35 people.

I came to Kalanihonua on August 13, 2013 looking for a change. As you will remember dear reader, I had sold my business and home and ensconced to a yoga retreat center in the wilds of Hawaii. Kalani seemed like a cool enough place to work for a while until I figured out my next move.

I actually came to the jungles of the Big Island for the job and thought I would sus out the community attached to the job when I got there. You know, make a little hummus, a little quinoa, in exchange for free room and board, an hourly wage and much more. After a period of observation I could then see what in fact was really what. 

Kalani was something called an "intentional community". Charlottesville has a few, Yogaville, Twin Oaks and Biscuit Run come to mind. I had worked with residents of all of them over the years but knew very little about their mission/operations.

My catering business, like all hospitality businesses, was highly regulated: mandatory federal, state, county and city permits, alcoholic beverage control, fire department routinely checking propane tanks and fire extinguishers, random health inspections, insurance audits, the tax man popping up everywhere and more.

So when I landed in this tropical garden community and noticed some of the fraud and mismanagement, which was part of the charm of the place, I thought to myself "this is awesome!" These, these people have come out in the middle of nowheres-ville Hawaii and just done this.They thumbed their collective noses at the man and did their thing...and had gotten away with it since 1975".

This was a little garden next to my hale that I had been working on: pineapples, an orange tree, catnip, a coconut palm and other  decorative tropical plants. Hope to come back one day and see how they fared...sulfur dioxide notwithstanding.

NOT SO FAST!

It turns out they were not getting away with it.

In 1975 lower Puna was the Wild West (and to some extent still is). Our "friendly founder," Richard Koob, could move into isolated jungle and build his dance troupe inspired, super gay friendly utopia and essentially go unnoticed and un-persecuted.

Well, there weren't enough gay men who wanted to be Tarzan and live off grid in the jungle to keep the place afloat.

Fortuitously, they were hundreds of neo-hippies, tired adventurers hoping to find peace and security, layabouts, bohemians casting about for freedom from convention and a prying public, ne'er do wells, electrical engineers, idlers, deserting sailors, ayahuasca and psliocybin tea drinkers, Canadian strippers from the tar sands fields on sabbatical, health faddists, religious quacks, philosophical utopians, yoga babes, crystal worshipers, everyday nut cases, alcoholics, suspected fugitives, ex-communicated and shunned Mormons, nudists, seekers, Buddhists, lonely hearts, broken toys, misplaced souls and University of Virginia educated retired chefs who were willing to, wait for it:

PAY TO WORK THERE!

 (Not me, as I was on a paid skilled trade scholarship.)

Over the ensuing decades, Richard and his band of Merry Pranksters built a place where the above mentioned motley cast of characters were accepted with no judgement of who they were or what they had been. It grew willy-nilly to include a retirement village, permaculture operations, a lodging business, a store, great, mostly organic food, that was meat friendly, a pay to work volunteer program that brought people from all over the world, all kinds of yoga classes, a clothing optional pool and a belief that less work and more worship of the Goddesses Aphrodite, Kama Kama and Pele led to....well I don't know what.

There were four attempts to create a mission statement for the 501 (c) "campus" during my tenure. They never really came up with a credible definition as to what we were all doing.

  By the time I arrived, there were about 100 volunteers in the program and Richard had retired. They       had set up a board and hired an Executive Director. A man named L.J. was hired to make things Pono.

Pono has six meanings in Hawaiian and 83 English translation equivalents. In this instance, L.J.'s "Pathway to Pono" meant to "make things right" or "the right or proper procedure".

But this is 2013 and not 1975 and the area had grown, and in a down at the heels kinda way, gentrified. The advent of the Internet, TripAdvisor and our incessant advertising put a laser beam spotlight on the place. To say that things were not right, and management was following the decidedly wrong procedure would be an understatement.

I thought that all of this was great and I had no desire to be anything more than a worker bee...no desire at all to join leadership or offer ideas to the "Pathway to Pono". I was having a great time, spending none of my savings...I just wanted them to keep doing whatever it was they were doing.

A couple of years ago I took a break from the kitchen and worked in the office. Through our very own gossip/rumor mill, Kalani's famed coconut wireless, I had heard the stories of electrical, cesspool and plumbing installations, performed by untrained volunteers, that were jury-rigged 15 years ago and had disappeared into the jungle, and now no one at Kalani had the slightest clue where they were; but it was at the office that I was able to peruse the entire litany of, er, problems.

 There I saw layer after layer of zoning and building permit violations, environmental trespass, a wrongful termination lawsuit filed by an Hawaiian woman who had been there since the beginning, sexual harassment complaints, possible tax evasions, employment law deceptions and general fiduciary malfeasance. Turns out, for example, we had 17 buildings scattered throughout the 120 acres of agricultural zoned land and ZERO, count 'em, ZERO were permitted by the county of Hawaii. We had nine cesspools on the property that were leaking fluids that were disappearing into the cracks in the lava and I assume finding their way to the ocean as the current lava eruption does. We had a campground that had to be one of the busiest, if not the busiest on the island. 60 to 70 people lived in the campground for months, sometimes years and the bathroom had three toilets.

Our kitchen was zoned residential, in spite of the fact that we put out 100-300 organic and consistently awesome meals three times a day, seven days a week, depending on how many guests were staying in our un-permitted lodging hales. There was no fire suppression system in spite of the fact that a dozen or so people lived above the kitchen for years. One of the walk-ins in the kitchen was the back of a truck with a condenser rigged on the back.

The fact that more people were not killed or seriously injured over the decades speaks volumes about the magical and otherworldly vibe of the place.

Our E Ho Mai Village Poultry Enterprise in the background.

Another funny thing was our interpretation of the zoning laws of Hawaii county. We were zoned agricultural land. E-Max, the large event space above hosted yoga and other classes, ecstatic dances, public speakers etc seven days a week, in what we told the county was our GREENHOUSE. There were also two other greenhouses where our retreats would take place.

The E Ho Mai Village, where there were various A-frames and other jungle dwellings (electricity provided by extension cords laid throughout the jungle) for the more permanent staff were chicken coops for our thriving POULTRY BUSINESS. Several dozen cottages and other buildings that were marketed as vacation and retirement homes and rented out to the public were zoned as farm dwellings. Meanwhile, we advertised the business in full page glossy ads as "Hawaii's Largest Retreat Center" in Yoga Today magazine.

I guess I could go on about using "volunteers" from the 501(c) to work at the two other for profit businesses on the property to cook food, do yard work etc. on the properties. It seems at the very least there was co-mingling of funds and an avoidance of payroll taxes like Social Security and Unemployment Insurance. There wasn't a budget until two years ago and no one had any idea where all the money went. I have no clue how they filed any sort of accurate tax returns with the IRS. You get the idea.

Anyhoo, as I said, I could have cared less. Outside of the office the Aloha flowed in the community, the weather in Hawaii was lovely, I got to fulfill a dream of living on a Gilligan's Island with Dirty Dancing and the price of admission was negligible.

This was not to say that from time to time the most wacky, crazy and genuinely disturbed of critters did not wash up on our shores, as basically no one was turned away and one had to try mighty hard to get booted out (but it happened).

Richard Koob, the friendly founder.

I was always game to try (usually only once) any free New Age treatment. As I remember, this one was a crystal alignment that was going to open up my chakras, because this practitioner told me mine were soldered shut. "Sure, let's go for it".

I digress. Where were we? Richard, the friendly founder had retired before I arrived at Kalani and the first Executive Director, a man named L.J was hired to navigate the "Pathway to Pono". While trying to right the floundering accounting and permitting ship, L.J also embarked on an ambitious pathway of massive expansion. Ah, there were plans for a farm to table organic supermarket, a fire station...Kalani was to become the hub/community center in lower Puna, the most isolated, poorest and downright flaky part of the Big Island.

With the fresh eyes of a newcomer, L.J.attempted to remedy nearly 40 years of mischievous chicanery. Due to the transient nature of Kalani, from time to time there would be a mass exodus of volunteers in protest of various real and imagined snubs, slights and affronts. Whoever was left, if so inclined, became a manager, regardless of their skill sets. This was how someone who could not boil an egg would become the kitchen manager, sometimes for years. "The right person in the right job" became the management mantra.

In order to rectify this particular problem L.J. had everyone resign and reapply for jobs that they were qualified for (and how outrageous is that?), using newly created job descriptions. There were howls of outrage from long term volunteers. "We are a community, not a business" they screamed.

There were mass meetings in protest and accusations that L.J was a dictator trying to make them work for da man (most people worked 28 hours a week). As I was over qualified for my job, I never paid these community meetings much mind and went to the beach instead.

Some of our kitchen staff at a talent show taking place in our "greenhouse".

L.J began firing people and making enemies. At times the palace intrigue and in-fighting seemed more like the Roman Senate than a hug 'em up jungle utopia. Meanwhile, in an effort to fill every room, they began marketing Kalani, a preposterous and eccentric poor man's Club Med, as a resort. It didn't go well.

In one instance, they teamed up with the show "The Price Is Right" and offered the "Kalani Experience" as a prize. A very nice couple from Nebraska, who appeared that they would be better suited on a cruise ship to Hawaii, won the prize. Sweet reader, these people didn't know what to make of the Kalani Experience. They actually thought that they had been set up in some type of Candid Camera Reality Show. Upon checking out the man asked "you people are kidding, right?"

L.J. also closed Hale Aloha, our coffee shop, right on the main road and also not permitted. The business was doing quite well, but he had aspirations of a super market specializing in local and organic vegetables, meats and things like honey and elixirs.The man in charge of new construction also had big dreams, but he was known to tear things up, order tens of thousands of dollars worth of materials and never finish anything. Hale Aloha sat empty, generating no income, while construction materials sat out in the rain. He did manage to buy 50 large shopping carts that were too big for such a tiny store though.

My daughter Caroline came to visit twice and loved it.

My sons Giles and Hunter got quite a few chuckles having the "Kalani Experience".

Richard stands by as L.J. puts a lei on Jonathan, Kalani's erstwhile Hawaiian kumo and kahuna. Who woulda thunk that three years after this picture was taken that L.J. and Jonathan would be fired, Kalani would be closed and Richard would be living on the property with just a few die-hards squatters?

L.J. met fierce resistance to his "Pathway to Pono". Thousands of dollars were squandered on projects that were never finished. Hurricane Iselle ripped through the Island, causing massive damage at Kalani including blowing up four $75,000 transformers which contributed to a decline in business that lasted for months. L.J. was eventually fired and banned from Utopia for these reasons and more.

A couple of shots of the campground after Hurricane Iselle ripped through Puna.

    Well then, who would fix Kalani?

     One, Joel Tan to the rescue!

As I recall, Kalani limped along with no Executive Director for about a year until they brought in Joel. He was of Filipino descent and man did you hear about it. He grew up, studied and worked in the Bay Area and as far as I can tell was active in the LGBTQ world and a general activist in "art and cultural engagement". He majored in ethnic studies at UC Berkley and was married to a man named Bunny, who favored pink bunny costumes.

Just the man to turn Kalani around no? Just the man to get rid of this laissez-faire management, anything goes culture and turn it into a legitimate, permitted, grant-eligible non-profit organization, right?

Watch this three minute video Joel on Joel

As I have said, I never wanted to get involved in the politics of Kalani, because I don't know how anyone could have made the books pono. I never applied for any leadership position any higher than a shift leader in the kitchen and a low level clerk in the office. I wanted to work the absolute minimum to pay the price of admission so I could live in the jungle in Hawaii and have cool adventures like these:

I guess the bottom line for me is that under Joel's leadership Kalani is now closed. He made an effort to fix Kalani's financial mess by paying all the employees a living wage and the accompanying payroll taxes, which was necessary, but it costs money to be legit. He also added many new paid positions without increasing business.

Joel's background was in activism and he wanted to do more than just run a retreat center. He wanted to mitigate all the crimes the bad white man heaped on Hawaii as well as all the other places brown people had been oppressed. On his first day he looked out at the 97% white people that made up Kalanl's employees, volunteers and stewards and noted that "he was a brown man on a brown island addressing white people (haoles) in a gated community who were not even from Hawaii.

He forgot to mention that he was born in the Philippines and grew up in the Bay area and was new to Hawaii, which is what a real kanaka maoli (true people) call a malihini (stranger or newcomer among the people of Hawaii). What a hoot it was that Joel never noticed that he and his entire management staff were malahinis and mostly haole or hapahaole (mixed blood whites) malihinis at that. Talk about cultural appropriation.

Joel also wanted to start employing as many Hawaiians as possible and cater to Hawaiian families as customers, in an effort to be inclusive and to right historical wrongs.

One of my last jobs during the Joel years was the town run. I would drive to 45 minutes to Hilo and pick up things from machine shops, chemical stores, garden shops, Target etc. Almost everyone I dealt with was brown. I hesitate to use the term Hawaiian because there are not many to no pure blooded Hawaiians left. ~80% died of one disease or another, less than 35 years after "discovery". Those that remained often married the immigrant waves of Chinese, Japanese, Portuguese, Micronesians and Filipinos that were imported to work in the sugar industry (because there were not enough Hawaiians as their populations had been decimated).

So although the clerks and mechanics I met were brown and born in Hawaii, their ancestry was likely to have been Chinese, Japanese, Portuguese, Filipino, Micronesians with a little haole and other countries thrown in.

They would say "you come all the way from Kalapana, bra" like it was the ends of the earth. A place on the lava fields that they might go camping for a weekend. These people were assimilated; $40,000 pick up trucks, mortgages, kids playing soccer etc. I don't know how Joel thought that people like this were going to drive 45 minutes each way, to an area they considered almost another country, to work for flaky white people for $10.75 an hour. And they didn't.

To think that these "brown" people would want to live in what essentially amounted to the outdoors, was ludicrous. They were trying to move up the ladder. Only a certain kind of white person, clawing their way to the bottom, thought that living in what was in effect substandard housing and poverty was the coolest thing ever. When these locals go camping, they move most of their house to the campground.

So, it stayed 97% haole.

Another place that Joel was misguided was his under estimating the conservatism of the local culture.

You should have seen Joel's face light up at our Monday morning meetings when he talked about a weekend at a gay pop up bar that featured his friend Davion changing into Felicity Layne. If Joel thought that the locals would flock to Kalani to watch a middle age man in drag (admittedly Davion was quite good) he had another thing coming. And they didn't come.

In another attempt to attract the locals, Joel aligned Kalani with Oceania instead of the United States, supported the return of our 50th state to the Kingdom of Hawaii and had his half Japanese, half Irish kumo (teacher) speak to us about chanting, hula and old Hawaiian culture. These speaking engagements were interesting to me, but I only saw like three Hawaiians attend...the rest were well meaning haoles and haole Kalani employees that were required to attend.

He was also big on cultural appropriation and wanted to "decolonize" the food and other areas at Kalani. He must have not looked at local "Hawaiian" menu recently, because if he had, he would have seen a melange of the dishes from every country that every sailor or sugar worker brought with them. Hawaii was already a polyglot country. No one eats more than a spoonful of poi (prepared taro root) these days, especially not 300 pound Joel.

  There was not one local Hawaiian on his management team. Again, he wanted more than to make Kalani a lawful and proper non-profit; he wanted to change the world. Fine to want to change the world, but go start your own brown utopia; don't piggy back on another (haole at that) man's dream. Dude, spare us the scolding and admonishing of people based on their skin color.

Fissure # 8 amongst other entities, was the final nail in the coffin of Kalani.

On top of all this, Joel and his staff peeled back more layers and more problems saw the light of day. It turns out that Richard's family trust sold the mortgage of Kalani to itself. The Ag land was assessed at $89,000 and Richard sold the mortgage to the trust (sold it to himself and his brothers and sisters) for 1.1 million, which considering everything else that was going on, Kalani could not possibly pay. The Koob Family Trust refused to budge.

Then came the letter from the EPA. Evidently, the EPA had been after Richard for years (12?) to change the nine cesspools over to septic tanks. The EPA, like many other government agencies were fed up with Richard's shenanigans and said if Kalani didn't fix them in a month, then a $27,000 fine per day would be levied.

Although Joel was a divider, narcissist, hypocrite, excluder and a culturally appropriating racist who was running a inclusive, accepting, organically formed, whatever it was operation and Richard was a grifter, rouge, scoundrel, rebel, outlaw and the visionary and architect of some of the best years of my life, the final nail in Kalani's coffin was the fissure # 8.

Razorback One

Lay offs and firings started, customers stopped coming and volunteers stopped volunteering, Joel abandoned ship and basically moved to Hilo. The community divided into Richard and Joel camps; they played the blame game and exchanged vitriol on Facebook nightly, hell hourly. Although I stayed neutral, the die had been cast and in preparation for the end, I bought this super cool camper van named Razorback One.

Then all hell broke loose.

There were daily earthquakes. One was a 6.9 that almost shook me and Razorback One off the road (some days there were as many as 40 minor quakes an hour, called a swarm). The floor of the Halemaumau crater in the Kilauea caldera dropped 1000 feet and that lava went somewhere.

That somewhere was right smack dab in the middle of a subdivision called Leilani Estates. The Earth  there opened up into at least 25 fissures where that Kilauea lava glowed, then splattered, then full on erupted. After a few days fissure # 8 made world wide news that continues to this day. We few that were left at Kalani would sit out on the old 1960 Kapoho lava field and gaze at it mesmerized for hours. No one knows when it will stop, but Kilauea has been continuously erupting since 1983.

Roll up your windows and do not stop was the advice that the National Guard gave as we made a dash across the cracks on the only road that eventually was to be the only way out of Puna.

The cracks, steam vents and steel plates on route 130, at the time was one of the few ways out of lower Puna.

 I heard recently that the plates were 170 degrees F. Notice all the dead vegetation?

Sulfur Dioxide was in the air at Kalani, trees started dropping leaves (mainly the non-indigenous plants, as the native plants had evolved with S02). This main road out of lower Puna developed steam vents in the middle of the road and were covered with metal plates. Guests started cancelling events, the cruise ships stopped coming to the Big Island. Employees and volunteers started to freak out and evacuate with little or no notice, sometimes in the middle of the night and leaving all their possessions.

This is the view of the steam vents from inside our car one day when we were in the middle of running the gauntlet. 

 Eventually no tourists and other gawkers were allowed into the area. All Air B & B's and such were closed as the National Guard set up checkpoints and only allowed residents with valid addresses (which was me). Hundreds of people were mandatorily evacuated to refugee camps in Pahoa and Ke'au. The staff at Kalani dwindled down to about 20 people, but we had the eruption area seemingly to ourselves.

The National Guard was also patrolling other subdivisions to discourage looting. Here they check in with a resident of Seaview, Kalani's next door neighbor.

It was eerie walking around the once vibrant campus and seeing no one. Kalani stopped ordering food as all trucks were prohibited on Route 130, so the meals, while still good, became a hodgepodge of whatever remained in the larder. We twenty helped close down operations and keep the place from being looted.

A month ago this campground was teeming with people going about the business of long term camping. Kinda looks like the pictures after Hurricane Iselle, except no people.

With limited grounds staff, the former meticulously maintained campground was being reclaimed by the jungle

We had a community meeting after breakfast every Monday morning. I sat next to this pole 4 years and 9 months ago for my first meeting and sat there each week after that, with about 100 other people attending. There was a large lava rock there that I used as a table, balancing my coffee and amaranth in some of its little niches.
One Monday, to my horror, my rock was gone! During general announcements I stood up and said that someone done stole me rock! A week or so later Jenn Brooks built this little table on the pole for my breakfast and soon everyone wanted one (she also built the bed in the back of Razorback 1). Looked kinda forlorn and deserted as I made a last walk around.

However, one last bit of fiduciary malfeasance was in order. The Retreats Office had collected hundreds of thousands of dollars in deposits from various groups for retreats stretching into the future, as well as from a few grants from the government and from who knows where else. Management used that money, amongst many other things to pay employees their last checks including paid time off (including me:)) and renting a three bedroom house out of the area as a safe location for hard core believers in management to continue shutting down operations and maybe figure out a way to save Kalani through fund raising (the 30 K or so that they did raise on line done got spent too). I have heard the amount of $400,000 kicked around and when I left there was $10,000 in ye old checking account. The facilitators of these retreats, various yogis and yoginis, were furious.

Now there is no one to answer the phone.

 Caveat Emptor, I reckon.

Here is Lilly, who I met in my first few months at Kalani and my best friend though years of adventures, takes a "breather" from the sulfur dioxide.

There's gotta be a better way.

Fissure # 8 from Seaview subdivision, about 5 miles away.

The glow of Fissure #8 from town

One day we moved some barriers and went down Red Road, that most scenic and tropical of roads. Because of the dead vegetation it was unrecognizable. This was as close as we dared go to the flow because even this far away the asphalt  on the road was heating up our shoes. The flow  that is blocking the road  is ~180 feet high.

Eventually, the lava that flowed out of fissure # 8 and created a giant lava river 8 miles long. Here it crossed Red Road a little north of McKenzie Park blocking the way out in the opposite direction of #130 with the plates. It then continued on and made contact with the ocean, destroying ~688 more homes and creating new land in the ocean. The vigorous eruption of Fissure # 8 continues unabated as I write this almost two months later.

When the lava hits the ocean, it sends up a plume of hydrochloric acid, steam and tiny volcanic glass string like particles called Pele's hair: the whole cloud is called laze. The wind can blow laze all the way to the other side of the island. Don't want to be breathing that stuff folks. The laze has created its own micro-climate replete with blinding rain, hundreds of lightning strikes and the occasional tornado above the fissure.

This is an old shot of some of us preparing to snorkel in a popular area known as the Tide Pools. I think it was the best snorkeling on the island. Gone. Now under 180 feet of lava.

Green Lake was a supposedly bottomless lake in an ancient cinder cone that was a study in, well, greenness. Gone. It was an otherworldly dream world with millions of plants, mosses and algaes that I had never seen before. Evaporated and buried. I am sure before this is all over this most beautiful and raw part of Hawaii will lose more landmarks. What Pele giveth, she also takes away.

 Gotta roll with them changes.

Laupahoehoe Point Park, on the North part of the Hamakua Coast where we got back to breathing the cleanest air in the world.

As we began the endgame, both the Richard and Joel camps were suing each other for various and sundry reasons with money that neither of them had.

The Richard camp foreclosed on Kalanihonua. The Joel camp declared bankruptcy. Richard invited who ever was interested to squat on the land, live communally and start Kalani again like it was 1975. The Joel camp locked the campus down and barricaded the gate and proposed moving to another property and starting Kalani anew without Richard.

For all the reasons listed above and more, it was time for me to move on (actually, the main reason was the abysmal air quality).

There then began the diaspora as management ordered us to evacuate. Only five volunteers were allowed to remain on property (one poor soul had sold everything he had in the Netherlands to be at Kalani and had only been there two days; wonder if he got his deposit back?).

I went to Laupahoehoe Point Park with Lilly. People came and went as we all pondered our next move in different situations across the island.

At one point there were four chefs in our refugee camp. We were well provisioned and every meal was a feast. Here Chef Marion mans the grill.

Another funny thing was to suddenly be the object of pity. People with best of intentions continuously stopped by, thinking we had lost our homes and everything else in Leilani Estates. They didn't know that all of us had been houseless for years.

A whole slew of churches, religious orders and assorted do-gooders brought by camping gear we didn't need and massive amounts of food; so much in fact that we actually gave some of it away. They would come to our table with pad and pencil to make a list of things we needed. Some of us wanted to ask for more booze, ice and tobacco but thought better of it. 

Some Japanese tourists would just walk into our camp and take pictures of us refugees. One group using a translator asked how we fed ourselves. One guy told them that we swam out in the ocean and caught Ahi tuna with our bare hands and then made sashimi and poke out of the giant fish. The tourists' eyes got wide, gave us the Asian bow and then they nodded approvingly at our ingenuity as they got back on the tour bus. 

Our group was some of the non-aligned ones, basically not in the Richard nor Joel camp.

People like me that were just sad to see it end, no matter who was at fault.

At meals and extended happy hours, there was no shortage of opinions, stories, reminisces of departed Kalani Hall of Famers, etc.

We might be houseless, but Hawaii was our home.

Realistically and metaphorically the end of the road.

By and by, it dawned on everyone in their own way and in their own time that Kalani was gone and the Puna as we had lived it was gone.

A Hui Ho, Ohana.

So.....what's next?

PS: This post added April 22, 2019 Kalani Retreat Put Up fot Sale

Thanks for stopping by.