Faith

Red Dirt Waterfall Spills Ribbons of Color

Take Route 550 slowly up Waimea Canyon Road on the west side of Kauai. Pull over for a scenic view of a strange phenomenon. On one side of the winding road is a man-made waterfall where the gushing water juts through red clay earth spilling the stream into shades of yellow and orange. Snap a photo for substantiation. Cross the road and you’ll find another area of mystery. Stones of varying sizes and shapes are stacked helter-skelter to the edge of the cliff creating a sacred-like appearance. Like hallowed ground. What does it all mean? Ahu. Is it an insult to Pele, the volcano goddess? Or a breach of the natural beauty intended for spiritual energy? Stop and listen. All is quiet aside from the gentle wind whistling in your ears against a backdrop of rushing water. Some native Hawaiians say it is bad luck for the island stones and lava rocks to be moved around or taken home by visiting tourists. It is disrespectful and sabotages the importance of preserving the island’s natural beauty, according to National Park officials. The golden rule of national parks is that visitors should “take only pictures and leave only footprints.” Whether you call them cairns, stacking rocks, or ahu, be kind and pay homage to the Garden Isle of Kauai. 

If Chihuahuas Could Talk

Just like people, I suspect not every dog automatically loves the beach. Take a chihuahua, for instance. Typically, they enjoy being cuddled, carried around in the crook of a young lady’s arm, or nestled in a canvas bag above the crosswalk of heavy footsteps. While rambling barefoot along the oceanfront this morning, I passed a gal sunbathing on a blue striped towel. She didn’t seem to mind reclining close to the shoreline beyond the reach of crashing waves. Like a sleep number bed, the sandy beach conformed to her body shape. The Winter sun was brightly shining. Although the temperature was rising, the cooling sea breezes felt refreshing. About six feet away the tiny brown dog was sitting with a look of displeasure on its face. One paw was raised above the beach as if to keep the fine, loose grains from getting between its toes. It slowly turned in my direction, blinked its eyes, and shifted uncomfortably as though a few light brownish pebbles had already lodged into the derrière folds of its short fur bottom. I could practically read the chihuahua’s thoughts:”This is ridiculous!”

“How much longer are we going to be here?”

“I’m thirsty and this ocean water tastes like salt.”

“I have sand in my ears.”

“I have sand between my toes.”

“I have sand in my butt cheeks.”

“And I want to go home!”

If only chihuahuas could talk. 

Hemingway Sighting? 

“You can write any time 

people will leave you alone 

and not interrupt you. 

Or rather, you can if you will be 

ruthless enough about it. 

But the best writing is certainly 

when you are in love.” 

~ Ernest Hemingway 

This is Where it All Began for the Old Kōloa Sugar Mill

Take a step back in time, circa 1800, where a lush and fertile land along the southern coast of Kauai housed a sugar plantation that sustained an entire island. The Old Kōloa Sugar Mill was born. King Kamehameha III reigned supremely when Christian missionaries came with a message to share. Because the Native Hawaiians preferred fishing and living off the land, it was necessary to maintain a sustainable workforce. Thus, Chinese flocked to Kauai to work, in addition to Japanese, Koreans, and Filipinos. The Old Sugar Mill of Kōloa quickly relocated from the town to 980 acres near a waterfall and seaport. At the current site it became a large-scale industry, producing 225,000 tons of sugar in 1898. “This is where it all began” is splashed across the rusted and decaying abandoned storage bin as a reminder that everything must come to an end. Now what stands is a shell of deteriorating remains. Still, 161 years is a good run. 

Who Will Stop the Rain?

Sometimes it’s nice to sit on the edge of a party. Minutes after we settled in, a couple of mobile restaurants pulled up to the curb. Food Truck Stop Thursday at Kauai Beer Company typically offers two choices of food venues in lieu of their regular menu. George of da Jungle versus Scorpacciata are the featured chefs of the night. Street musician, guitarist Lara Brady of Epiphany, sat poised a few feet away from the wrought iron patio crooning tunes from 40 years ago when she was still a teenager. “Do you mind if I take your photo?”, I inquired. “Sure”, she replied. “It’s like a Stradivarious”, she went on, “the style of wood in this guitar. You can’t find it anymore.” I dropped a buck into her guitar case. Her toothless grin smiled in appreciation. About that time, the sky opened up and spilled forth a deluge of rain. Everyone scrambled for cover under the sidewalk awnings and sipped on a flight of eight specialty brews until it blew through. As suddenly as it began, the downpour ceased like the man upstairs turned the water spigot off. Larry, the event coordinator, looked up to the heavens, spread his arms wide, and grinned from ear to ear. “Life is good,” he exclaimed. “Let’s get this party started!” Grills fired up, high intensity pizza ovens were set to 800°, and the lines began to form placing food orders for the duration. The place was abuzz with noise and clatter. As fast as the servers could deliver, piping hot menu items were exchanged for table numbers while conversations lingered and new friendships were being made.