Kailua Then and Now

From the east side of Oahu, you can see the rich green cliffs of the epic Koolau mountain range. The mornings in Kailua were very simple then.  The light wind coming up from the Keolu Hills kept the old house cooler than most as the hint of a deep blue ocean lingered in the air.  If I listened  closely in the stillnesss of my room, I could hear the sound of the ocean waves falling and tumbling over and over each other and settling on the cool white sands of the windward shores. The sun always found it's way through the window by my bed and the rooster's crowing just before the first light seemed so distant to my ears as I lay half way between sleeping and waking. This was later followed be the voice of the morning doves my favorite sound to welcome in the morning. I remember setting both hands on my windowsill and pulling myself up to see them making their way through the dew covered grass on the lawn outside. Opening the window ever so quietly as not to wake my brother or startle my feathered friends, I take a deep breathe and become part of this wonderful new day.

Music has always been a part of my family when I was growing up. My mother sang to us when we were very young. She strummed on her ukulele wiith a voice that held us all very close. Like a warm hug is what it felt like. It is the only way I could describe it back then. For me it was a way of saying how much she loved us and It was a way for her to express her feelings.  She being a single parent at the time made life very interesting for the four of us. I remember how she would improvise and find ways to put food on the table. One morning I remember her getting us up and dressed. I thought hey, is it a school today? She never said much. She just went into the kitchen cupboard and pulled out a couple of old rice bags. She always saved things that could be used over again if it served a good purpose. We all got in to the car and went on our way. Where are we going? You'll see she would say. It was funny to me then. This could be fun! She drove us to a place off the main road on the way towards Waimanalo. An old road, but she parked safely on the right shoulder and let us climb out of the old car. She pointed to these trees right off the road up a steady sloping hill. The ground was soft and the soil fertile. The rain made it so green It was a bit of a challenge negotiating the climb from where I stood, but my brother and I were up for the challenge. Mom untied the rice bags to reveal the large opening. You see those trees up there? I want you to climb up there as far as you can go, and pick the fruit off that tree and place them in those rice bags. My sister was a few years younger than us boys, so my mom would stay closer to her. Don't get me wrong, my sister was almost as agile and fearless as we were back then. She was about five or six....

Of course we were all barefoot in those days, the best for that kind of terrain I always thought. The best thing we ever had except for the shoes we used for school. (It was required.) But out here in the mountains it was our feet and balance that we depended on most. Not to mention, determination. Through the loose soil and slippery puddles of mud from rain the day before, the tall grass and unearthed roots that came up from the soft dirt like large hands and fingers ready to grab us or trip us up. But our imagination played upon it. I pretended they were alive and tryng to reach out to us to snatch or pull us down and under into their world. It made me move quicker through the mud and brush. My breathing was fast and the pace of my heart kept up with it every step of the way as I heard it pounding in my ears. Finally, reaching the fruited trees I pulled the rice bag I had stuffed in the waistband of my shorts and shook it out. I opened the bag and held it open with my right hand, and reached up towards the fruit with nimble fingers until I had it in my grasp. I began pulling until I felt the branch that held it  give way and snap back into it's natural position to the tree. I held it and marveled at it with big brown eyes in my hand for a moment, and thought...this is mine...so I ate it! Mom, I called out, what are these? Guava, she replied with a booming voice. A voice she trained us to listen too. Mom, an ex- marine,was pretty strict back then. If we were out of line she would send us out to grab a stick or nearby slipper (flipflop). We usually closed our eyes and danced around until we learned our lesson. And yes, it hurt! It's funny now, but back then...being disciplined made you learn fast. Now, where was I...oh...

My brother climbed up onto the tree with it's skinny branches and invited me to do the same. We laughed and laughed and picked and picked until our bags were as full as our little tummy's. Mom had a little smile on her face. And when she smiled her eyes smiled with her. I'll never forget that. You see, there was not a time in my young life that I ever went hungry or felt that I would ever wanted for more.  It was only later in my adult life that I found out the truth about those little trips up into the mountains that was so much a part of my childhood. Those were the days when Mom had nothing to put on the table. Instead of falling apart and giving in to the reality of what seemed like a desperate situation she turned it into a positive one. Wisdom is what she had and hope is what moved her to accept the things she couldn't change. Ultimately it was her faith in believing that there was a power greater than herself that made a difference.

to be continued...