Hilo side adventures

A couple of weeks ago we headed Hilo side to cat sit for a night and make use of our friends' projector and movie screen. You know, a get away from our get away. The only notable happening during our stay was the exceptional stealth displayed by the resident cat, Chongo. A cat of many names (5 to be exact), the "Houdini" should have clued me in, But alas, it did not. An outdoor cat most of the year, our friend asked us to keep him locked up inside during their absence. Easy enough, I thought. In the morning I opened the backdoor to check the yard for a pepper plant to add spice to breakfast. Chongo, who had sauntered off into a different room burst out the door between my legs without me hearing as much as a step in his approach. Of course I felt bad and once I got myself off the ground I dashed down the stairs to where he'd been standing. His apparent confusion at the ease of his escape allowed me time to scoop him up and toss him back into the kitchen. Candace laughed at me, lost her smile and told me not to let it happen again. Ok. The cat didn't fool me again for a good 30 minutes. The front porch is the perfect place for breakfast and coffee. I held the cat (mistake #1) while The C brought our goods out onto the porch. As she passed through the door with the coffee, Chongo began writhing and clawing my arms acting like he wanted to head away from the door. So I tossed him that way. He hit the ground facing back at the door, legs in motion mid-air. By the time I knew what was happening, he'd shouldered the screen door open and disappeared. This time he didn't stick around. Candace didn't smile when she reprimanded me; her look strongly hinted that I find the cat before sitting to eat. I found him, but grabbing him didn't happen. I chased him over the fence, across the street, in circles around the car (turns out hide n seek is his fave game) until collapsing in a pile of panting sweat at the bottom of the steps. By now the frown had become gales of laughter and breakfast opened to me. As the bread sopped up the last of the food, Candace called Chongo. He reappeared and ran up into her lap. I cried a little.

Later in the day our thoughts turned to the holidays (this took place pre-Xmas) and decoration creation. Following The C's lead from 2 years ago, we made wreaths. Surprisingly easy, especially when you have a creative partner to fix yours up to look vaguely wreath-shaped. How did we make them, you may ask? It all began with a stop-over off Saddle Road on our drive up to Mauna Kea for another sunset viewing. The task couldn't have been simpler: get cuttings from plants that would look good on a wreath and put them into a plastic sack. Avoiding lava tubes and pointy plants added a bit of danger, but we persevered and filled our sacks.

To round out our adventure, once more the Civic labored up the steep road to the Mauna Kea ranger station. This time our arrival preceded sunset and with plenty of time to spare we'd climbed up a nearby hill with dinner and a couple of Coronas. The hill top wind shelter provided a perfect place to hunker down out of the chill wind and eat our food, toasting our good life with the Coronas. For a good while the hill top was ours. As the sun sank lower and lower people began to arrive. Loud talking people. People whose awareness of those around them seemed not to exist. A family with 3 kids arrived. The mother stood in front of us and continually screamed at her kids, finally forcing them to sit beside her and not have any fun or do any exploring. Sad, but at least she stopped yelling quite as loudly. All five of them plunked down in front of us on rocks (blocking our view) without so much as a "hello". Dad tried to get a picture and kept telling the kids to move over, more, still more, so that we would not be in it. Still no acknowledgement of our presence. By the parents. The 2 older boys both said hello and apologized when they walked in front of us. Eventually we moved down the way so that we could see the view. Amazing, really, the lack of awareness. And it's not because of the kids and the exhaustion of parenthood. There was just no concern about anyone else. Why does it still amaze and frustrate me to see this sort of thing so often? It continued later with many folks down in the dark parking lot around the telescopes the rangers set up, but I don't feel like recounting that. Instead, some pictures!

Whales

Over the last few days we've seen amazing sights and adventured to our hearts' content (mostly). Today held a very special surprise that would have been missed had I not been too tired to hold up my 1,000+ page tome (heavy).

After a morning of work-type computer activity at Lava Java over tasty yerba mate, a visit to a beach was deemed mandatory. The Civic whisked us up the coast to Kua Bay where half the beach seemed lost to large pounding surf. Fortunately, the spot we seemed to lay in most times we go (oft ignored by others I guess because it's away from the water access?) remained open and we plunked down. A hot sun shone down on me and I twitched between writing in my journal and laying on my back to stare at the large crashing waves, letting the booming wash over me. It's amazing how the various blue hues in the water still shine forth as waves rise, and crash over in mighty tubes. Gorgeous and awesome. Out beyond the bay whitecaps scarred the ocean out into the horizon.

I began seeing splashes out of the corners of my sleepy eyes. Splashes much larger than the day's norm. Waking up a bit to take more notice a large splash in front of my eyes woke me completely and I began poking Candace in the shoulder, asking for her opinion on the source. My thought was whales, but perhaps dolphins. For a while she helped me look but saw nothing. Finally I got a clear look at a huge humpback whale breaching! From then until we left just before dusk our eyes stayed trained up and down the ocean looking for signs of the beasts.

I saw whales years ago when I visited Kaua'i. From the beach their spouting barely registered. This time the action was much closer. Not only did we see them spouting, but they could be seen twirling as they breached most of their bodies out of the water. We saw their backs as they dove after spouting. The closest action gave us a view of their massive flukes smashing the water. My greatest excitement came while watching a couple of them smashing their huge pectoral fins repeatedly onto the surface of the ocean.

I'm still smiling as I write this, as it was nothing I'd witnessed before and it was incredible. Maybe one day I'll see it closer up, but today's action was perfect for now. Tomorrow we may head back out and try to see more action. I didn't even try to get a picture today, maybe tomorrow I will. Wish me luck!

I'm in trouble

Today paradise trembled. In my heart anyway. Clouds obscured the blue sky and vog enveloped the ocean and horizon in an obscuring gray. Warm breezes held a cooler note and the typically heated air felt neglected by the sun.

My mood followed suit. Away flew gaiety and carefree thoughts. In rumbled gray and muddy thoughts. Perhaps a lack of sleep led to this, maybe a crash after an excess of caffeine. But I think it was the gray. One whole day of it.

What will happen in Portland in a few weeks?

Best not to think about it.

New fruit

Our friends Ken and Christine have a tree in their yard, bearing significantly fewer limbs after Monday's hack-fest, that is called the Ackee Tree. Said tree spouts rad little fruits that kinda hurt when they are knocked from a branch 20 feet up. But that's not important. What is mandatory knowledge is the oddity of their appearance. While on the tree and intact they look innocuous:

Yet after preparation they come out looking like scrambled eggs. Odd, I know.

Bull adventures part II

Today's adventure with the bulls lacked yesterday's excitement.

Correction: I'm not actually playing with bulls. There are three cows, but they are vicious looking!

Our unwritten, non-hand shaken contract for terms on the place that is "home" this month stipulates a 10 hours work week. By this morning only 1.5 hours remained to meet the week's requirement. As such, elation ruled the morning and we walked out the sliding screen door smiling hugely. Right outside the door ML crouched and neatened the edging around the ohana. They have paying guests arriving in a couple of days and she asked us to make everything around the ohana neat and tidy and pretty. And oh, she had to leave for an appointment right then. Oh easy day! The C got to edging and I lopped dead or dying or slightly faded branches and leaves from hapu'u ferns, ti plant, palm trees, banana trees and assorted other plants whose names I don't know and/or have forgotten. And maybe in the process I ganked a couple of papayas and avocados. All trimmings but the last became fodder for the cows.  

As the hour .5 wound down, a lightheaded giddy feeling usurped my brain. With rake in one hand and a load of palm fronds in the other I neared the wall between me and the cows. After throwing them more food I delayed a return trip for more cuttings to get a better look at these creatures.

My back sprouted an itch. Forgetting my scratching hand held a rake I moved to attack the itch and bopped myself in the forehead. For some reason my brain's focus moved from relieving my own itch, to thinking that the cows could use a good scratching, and wouldn't a rake be just the thing? Look at them! Covered in flies, plants hanging half-chewed from their jaws, malice in their beady eyes. How could they not like my idea? In my defense, the rake was one of the chunky plastic dealies, not a rock rake or a metal tine-y one.

Their heads lowered to the newest offerings. I quietly crept closed, stepping over dried out monstera fronds and fallen bread fruit. Once I made it to the wall the silliness of my stealth became obvious-the fresh greenery captured all their attention. So I leaned out and began scratching the neck of the nearest. The tines touched her back, she squalled and bucked and knocked the rake out of my hand. She stared at it. Then at me. And back at the rake. Her right fore-hoof lifted and she once more looked at me. Eye contact did not break, but the rake snapped as she stamped down.

"Chuff!" And she resumed eating. The other two ate the rake head. All three gave me the stink eye and sauntered off. I called it a day and had a Corona. I guess we all win.

Torrero

Twice in the last two days I've engaged the local cows in entertainment of my own creating in order to dispel any boredom they or I may have had. Our interactions were markedly different on both days. Allow me to re-enact the first of these episodes...

Fade in to a mildly disgruntled Corey wandering down through the farm, raking leaves out from under trees and bushes from their entwined positions around sticks and plants and rocks. In my opinion the leaves harbored no desire to move. And why would they? Protected from the sun, lawnmower and any sort of animal that would see them as food, their position in life couldn't have been better. Well, except for the decomposition. And worms and other small critters munching on them. Still. Relocating decomposing foliage from their resting places did not cause the festerment. No. A well laid ruse prolonged the work day and kept our heroes from their afternoon of sloth.

Starting early in the morning all four of us on the farm started picking coffee, beginning at the bottom of the farm and stumbling our way to the upper fence line. I enjoy picking. It relaxes and can be meditative, until an unseen or loose or grabby rock sends a mislaid foot awry. Or branches slap into your face. Or spiders, which weave elaborate webs between trees, leap onto you in protest at your innocent destruction of their traps.

This is all beside the point. All morning we picked, me assuming that the end of picking would be the end of our work day, as has been the case in the past. Four and 0.5 hours and 160+ lbs. of cherry later I prepped for a shower, snack and possibly a nap. Instead ML asked us to help load a couple piles of downed monstera into the pickup so that she could haul it down to the dump. Since we'd cut it (Candace cut it, really. Turns out it has similar chemical properties to poison oak, to which I'm allergic. If I didn't mind little watery blisters that itch like hell and spread entirely too easily to all parts of my body-all parts-then I'd have help cut it.) the day before how could we say no? A little foresight and maybe I'd have run. During the year, poor ML gets no help around the farm. As a result she's entered a state of frantic panic to get as much help as she can before we leave and she is left with maintaining the entire place. Unfortunately for all, our time is limited (and dwindling way too rapidly) and work is not our priority.

As the monstera rained into the truck bed, ML ducked over to the side of the 1/4 mile driveway which is lined with the fast-growing plant and began to cut more. A few minutes after her cutting started, when I tried to load more into the truck she yelled me away from it and told me that instead I could get the leaf blower and blow all the leaves out from alongside the driveway and haul them across the orchard and dump them in the pasture with the cows. My eyes goggled and all I could utter was: "Um. Ok." The whine: "But I don't want to work anymore," stuck on my craw. Off the good Little Slave trundled.

For maybe an hour and a half I wrestled plants and the rake (the leaf blower is totally ineffective because of the underbrush and debris), making piles, dumping the piles into a tarp which I emptied into the pasture. The C and ML ran off to the dump and came back with smoothies. Thinking our day over, I rushed to finish my last pile before my smoothie melted. When ML began gathering more leaves and pruning everything in reach I choked. And wandered off with another load before the curses on my tongue could escape into the air.

At the wall I dumped my leaves and looked at the cows lounging under the trees. Like clouds scudding out of sight before a strong breeze my dark mood lifted as a tremendous idea came to mind. Without thinking I mounted the lava rock wall which of course collapsed under and on top of me. Fortunately all the large boulders banged off of me and continued on downhill leaving me a little bruised but unpinned. Key. The cows blinked.

Keeping in mind what I learned about bull fighting from James Michener's "Mexico" I bowed low (hehe) to the cows before hoisting my blue tarp cape. "Heaahhh!" I yelled while advancing with the mincing steps I imagine a true torrero takes. Beside me the blue tarp weaved and flapped and sometimes got hung up on the pointy rocks, tearing holes because of my energetic waving. Nothing. All three continued cud chewing, casting bored/dumb looks at me. I paused and wiped sweat from my eyes. Again I advanced. Down on the highway (100 yards away) a pickup full of locals cruised past, the bass drawing the cows' eyes away from me. Two of the guys in the truck yelled out encouragement. I think. I heard "Something something haole something."

"Yah! A sus pies! Lúcheme!"

Finally Lucy lumbered to her feet, raising her hindquarters and then lurching up and straightening her fronts. She began to plunk towards me and I'll admit, my nerves may have wavered as I took in her size: feet the size of dinner plates, head like the uprooted stump of a 100-year or ficus tree and a body the size of...a cow. Cows are not small, let me remind you.

After a quaver or two I picked up my tarp, straightened and held it straight out from my right side. "Ole!" came a bit prematurely. Instead of sweeping past while I gracefully twirled the cape over her head she stopped in front of me. Unsure what to do I lowered my arms and said hello. In a flash a wad of cud hit me in the face and before I could wipe it away her woolly horn-less head came in from the side and knocked me over. Afeared of her sharp hooves I rolled and scrabbled blindly until the wall hit my forehead. Hearing nothing resembling a stampede I wiped my eyes clear and looked to check on my adversary. There she lay, back under her tree, chewing her cud and playing the innocent.

As I crossed back over the wall I created another rockslide 5 feet over from the first. I made a hasty repair of both to keep the cows in (and to avoid having to explain how the holes through which they escaped came into being) and walked back up to the ladies.

"Where is your cape," Candace asked.

"What happened? Your pants are torn and what is that black stuff on your face?" ML offered.

I grunted, tossed a dismissing wave at them and walked on. My clothes made a trail towards the edge of the pool into which I tossed myself, rubbing off the shame and pain and black cud.

That smoothie was warm by the time I drank it.

Goings on

Tales and anecdotes with no rhyme or reason to the presentation

The day was overcast and cool, rain piddled down on us while we scoured tide pools for signs of life. The rowdy ocean crashed behind us, alerting us to our intransigence and folly at being so close to a shelf and rabid water, backs turned against the power. Finally good sense took over and away we moved. The ocean sighed in relief at the return of good sense. Back in the Civic, attempting to pull out of the parking spot a minivan taxicab cut us off, the driver yelling out the window as he parked alongside. A coffee cup, forgotten on the roof had impelled the kind stranger to overtures of helpfulness. Once the wayward cup settled back into the bosom of safety we thanked the kind sir. With a giggle he said: "Of course! Now it's time for a smoke!" And up he lit his pipe, not of the normal kind. With acrid smoke lingering in our noses off we went to another safer set of tide pools.

A single hour of work had passed by. In the yard rakes collected lava rocks and leaves and detritus from various tropical creations. These piles made their way into a wheelbarrow by way of my gloved hands, thence conveyed into a large pile of rotting rubble at the property's edge. Moving into a solid groove we steadily cleared the yard in preparation of renewal. Until the wind picked up. And gray clouds not so much scudded as bullied their way into the sky overhead. Eventually, cold rain drops began to fall and a nodding of heads conferred the wisdom of a hasty retreat onto us. Within minutes of driving off the property the rain began to fall in earnest. Winds pushed the car from centerline to edge line and back. Makai, a water spout over the ocean caught the attention of drivers who paused in their forward progress to gawp. We arrived home, grabbed our gear and madly dashed into the ohana. As the screen door wicked shut the storm gathered in intensity and started began to try. Sheets of rain cascaded off the roof and into the pool. Leaves and branches and the random farm fowl flew past the windows. Nary a drop of rain entered the windows so there we stood, taking it all in. Gray clouds turned black; lightning strikes bounded forward and ricocheted off the surrounding hills. Winds of horrible strength threatened the trees and the cows moaned in agony. One "ping" preceded another and then another and soon the yard filled with marble-sized balls of hail. And then it ended. Much too soon for our intense-storm deprived psyches.

New Years Eve 2009 in Hilo, HI. A pregnant woman and her husband, me and my lady. A dinner of daal and flat bread followed by several games of Wii Mario Cart. I'd not played the game since college, when it served a worthy distraction from class. Video games have come a long way since then. The ladies deferred from playing; Jimmy and I went to town. Just when I'd reached my limit, his pregnant lady said: "no more," and off it went. Did I mention that the game was played not on a tv screen but projected onto a pull-down screen. In place of the game came the movie: "The Fall". Quite good. Just writing about the night makes me feel old, as it bears little comparison to last year's loud dance party at the Holocene. Instead of dancing and boozing each couple reclined and cuddled on a couch while the movie played inside, and every house in town lit off fireworks outside. As midnight neared the movie we moved outside as the intensity of banging out-gunned the movie's sounds. Sparklers and pictures (see below) entertained us for a while. Midnight bonged, the frequency of serious explosives increased and we kissed. The year 2009 ended, the year 2010 began. Amazing. Since the outside noise now diminished, finishing the movie was possible though only two of us made it through. Are we old? Perhaps. I'm ok with that. A reflection on the amazing year that was 2009 is yet to come.

Chickens and I

It's legal to have chickens within Portland city limits. For a while now I've considered getting chickens so that I can be eating fresh eggs from a source I know all about. Plus, it'd be fun to tell folks that I have chickens. Offer to trade them eggs for something. Like a pie. Or cookies. Maybe a kombucha creature. However, the last couple of weeks here on this farm are causing a rethink. It's been a reminder to me on the nature of chickens and the oftentimes incompatibility of our natures. They like to cluck constantly, making noises that serve no logical purpose. I, on the other hand, experience a cause of the fantods (which occasionally howl) at this. Especially when said noise happens before 7am. Which has been happening fairly consistently lately. Anywhere from 5:15 to 6:30am this silly black chicken (I'll call her Deep Fried, DF for short) decides to waddle around the ohana, clucking and squawking repeatedly. The other chickens ignore her until they get fed up and chase her off making their own ruckus. Some lucky mornings DF will jump into the coffee processing area which happens to share a wall with the bedroom. In there she'll let loose, creating an echo that isn't slowed in the least by the blinds.

She's a chicken, they make noise and I can't hate her for following her nature right? That makes sense now but not in the morning. I've banged on the wall. I've popped through the door into the processing room, scaring the poop out of her (literally) which only drives her up onto the roof, adding scratching to the noise. Once I chased her out across the yard but the owners of the farm saw that and didn't look overly impressed.

On other unfortunate mornings, the turkeys wander into the yard. They have no problem getting into it with DF. And there are more of them. And they are louder. Who knew turkeys could sound like tortured women? I didn't know and wish I still didn't. To the credit of the other chickens on the farm (all 20-some of them), when the turkeys begin their harassment of DF the other chickens come to her defense. Which makes a gawd-awful noise that is impossible to sleep through. At least I've stopped trying to call 9-1-1 at the first shrill screams. One misreported call was all it took.

I guess the bottom line is that I'd better rethink my chicken obtainment plan. Maybe my yard in Portland, if I ever have one, doesn't need any chicken inhabitants.

Food for thought.

Happy new year!

Hard to believe that it's 2010 already. The last year flew by, faster than I would have liked. As I sat reflecting on what happened in the past year, well, a lot has happened. A lot of travel, some work, life changes and a lot of fun. I'm too tired to get introspective right now, maybe I'll get to that later.

We rang in the new year with our friends over in Hilo in very mellow fashion: dinner and some wine. Jimmy and I played Wii MarioCart (my first Wii experience) while the ladies chatted. A movie went in ("The Fall") and was paused for the midnight. And the fusillade of artillery outside. Of course there were small fireworks going off constantly all around us for at least an hour. Peppered in among the smaller noises were loud thundering booms. Since they sounded off across the way we've no idea what they were. They didn't sound like the legally purchased fireworks, that's for sure. Good times!