Haku Maui begins with family and ends with a return to the land.
Rooted in Family
Britney Alejo-Fishell learned lei in a Makawao home where flowers grew in old Tabasco bottles.
Her grandmother, known locally as Auntie Buti, kept the small glass bottles in nearly every corner. She showed care through lei, and Alejo-Fishell learned the mechanics as a child: how to braid, twist, string and spin. The meaning came later, after she left Maui and chose to return home.
After college, work in tourism left Alejo-Fishell feeling detached from the values her grandmother and mother had raised her on. When a friend asked her to create a lei for a baby’s first lūʻau, the friend’s gratitude nearly brought Alejo-Fishell to tears. The request returned her to Auntie Buti’s lessons and became the beginning of Haku Maui.
A Hale in Makawao
She started the business out of her garage. In 2017, she found a small space tucked behind Baldwin Avenue in Makawao, surrounded by kukui trees. Kukui means light, and the tree has long been used for medicine, oil and illumination.
Today, a bamboo path leads to that space, a hale styled like tūtū’s hale (grandmother’s house), filled with antique heirlooms, coolers of fresh lei and the fragrance of flowers cut for the day. Mama Sheryl greets visitors at the door, often with the first warm “aloha.” Fresh lei rest nearby, made only hours before.
Season and local availability shape each lei – tuberose, lantern ʻilima, pua kalaunu (crown flower), lokelani roses and plumeria when they bloom. The family sources orchids and anthuriums from a farm in Hilo, Hawaiʻi Island. Requests matter, but Alejo-Fishell also asks guests to embrace the flowers and foliage in front of them.
Some flowers bring their own history. Pua kalaunu, once favored by Queen Liliʻuokalani, has deep purple swirls associated with royalty. Lokelani is Maui’s official flower. Alejo-Fishell gently challenges the expectation that lei should be bright, fragrant and floral.
Carrying the Kuleana
One of the most meaningful examples she shares is limu (seaweed) lei, which symbolizes forgiveness.
Alejo-Fishell works with natural materials and traditional techniques: haku (to braid), wili (to twist), kui (to string) and hilo (to spin). “A lei isn’t only material. It’s the experiences you weave together to create the lei of your own life,” Alejo-Fishell said.
Behind the retail shop, Alejo-Fishell leads workshops she calls “a history class disguised as a lei making experience.” As participants choose stems and begin weaving, she talks story about Makawao, Hawaiian culture and connection to ʻāina (land). Stories are often carried through mele (song or chant) and hula; lei, she says, are another way to perpetuate culture. She teaches what each plant represents, how to care for and wear lei, and how to respectfully release it back to the land.
During workshops, the room often grows quiet as hands weave leaf and flower.
Her kuleana (responsibility) reaches beyond the shop. As president of the Maui Floriculture and Growers Collective under the Maui County Farm Bureau, Alejo-Fishell supports local flower farmers and brings attention to a corner of Hawaiʻi agriculture often overlooked. “You can’t just pick one kuleana,” she said. “You have a responsibility to share, educate and help in all aspects of Hawaiian culture.”
Her Makawao workshops move visitors away from resort corridors. They meet neighbors who bring flowers from their own gardens and stop to chat during workshops. Alejo-Fishell forages carefully, taking only what is needed and giving back to the land in return. “This hana (work) is important. We give you the tools, but it’s up to you to carry that kuleana,” she said.
By the time participants walk back down the bamboo path to Baldwin Avenue, lei in hand, the flowers have already begun to open up. They will fade. Some will be returned to the ʻāina, completing the cycle Alejo-Fishell speaks of. But the intention woven into each strand will linger for a lifetime.
