A slight turn off the main highway, on a road just beyond the canyon, revealed another world unexpected. Long prairie grasses carpeted over lava rock and uneven ground draws the eye to a herd or two of cattle free to roam. To many, this is true paradise: Home on the Range. This is the land where the Hawaiian Cowboy still reigns. He rambles the rugged countryside, sometimes on horseback and oftentimes by gas guzzler. Ironic, isn’t it? Not really, when you talk to the locals. It makes perfect sense that living on an island encourages farm-to-table suppliers. If you have any doubts, stop by the Farmers’ Markets held regularly each week where you will find an abundance of fresh produce, not to mention, organic eggs. Living off the land.

Just beyond the intersection, the road is lined with 4x4s for handling muddy terrain, range rovers in all colors, and pickups with extended cabs. These are the strong “work horses” that come into town. They are parked outside an old saloon as if corralling around the feed trough. The grub served inside is four-star, they say. The ambience takes you back to the Old West, from the lucky horseshoes above the doorway to the splintered wagon wheel adjacent to the six-foot steer horns mounted above the bar. A chalkboard boasting “Come Play With Us” features food, beverage, and musical options. Not only is the steak filet mouth-watering delicious from a local source where the beasts are grass-fed, it’s cut-with-a-fork tender. Down the hall, where things can get a little rowdy, Hawaiian music is belted out weekly balanced by a Karaoke performance or two. Sounds idyllic and yet a little wild.

Standing on the edge of a cliff overlooking the crashing waves below can be both invigorating and terrifying. Simply because every choice we make involves risk and consequences. Never mind that gingerly stepping along a steep narrow path, riddled with fragments of lava slivers crumbling without warning, keeps the adrenaline pumping. It’s all about the destination, right? Or is it? After all, from this vantage point the view of the faraway lighthouse emerges from obscurity. It comes clearly into focus. So does the gigantic cruise ship on its way out to sea. Besides that, the two hard-working fishermen below, with their rods cast out and their buckets half full, make this same trek everyday like clockwork to come back with the best catch-of-the-day. All is calm except for the rush of water against boulders. The sight alone is mesmerizing. Waves rushing in, tide pulling out resembling an aggressive tug of war. Land versus Sea. At times the ocean almost creates a water spout sending salty jet sprays upward to form a gusher, or powerful water fountain. Giant waves frothing the base of lava rock leave a foam behind resembling egg whites whipped into a meringue.

As the sun sets low and dusk settles in, the calm fulfillment of connecting with Nature brings inner peace. Triumph replaces Pain, Peace softens Loss. “The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.” ~ Psalm 18:2. Sometimes the journey is the destination.

Once the ball had dropped, champagne glasses clinked together while cheers exploded and kisses were shared. Couples clung together in hopeful embrace as the magical fireworks welcomed the dawn of a new year……2015.

From our terraced lanai perched high upon the cliff, we sunk into the relaxed comfort of a cushioned chaise and wicker ottoman. Enveloped by the night, the distant sound of waves below clapped in unison to music playing next door, the familiar “Auld Lang Syne”. An anchored catamaran swayed back and forth in the bay, sails moored down for the eventide.

In the still of the night, I slid to the cool tiled floor as Gerald casually leaned back and closed his green eyes. (Warning Ladies: Wearing sexy red intimate apparel can bring all kinds of delicious pleasure.) Lifting his fingers, he swept the tangled strands of hair off my cheek, slowly combing through them. As my lips began their caress, he let out a breathless moan. Muscles moved spasmodically from his chest to his throat, which was all the encouragement I needed. As our hearts pounded ferociously, a fire inside was exploding. Shivering is good, you know.

Let me just pause now for you to let your imagination run wild. Ours did. After all, when you bring romance to a tiny island in the Pacific, everything is possible. Nothing in the world can spoil moments like this by minimizing its importance.

She’s not the Queen of Sheba, although her fur is as soft as mink. She’s not Puss in Boots, despite her sassy attitude. And she’s definitely not Garfield, a comedic feline with a sluggish disposition. On the other hand, Pōpoki, is a complimentary resident member of the Marriott family at the beach resort on the island of Kauai. She awakens at the break of dawn to greet the early risers on their way to the outdoor cafe for a foamy cappuccino and buttery croissant. Her purring “Aloha” sets the stage for another perfect day in Paradise. And if she plays her cards right, this seasoned grimalkin will touch the heart of a cat-lover or two, who will stroke her back and rub her ears for awhile in exchange for the hospitality. Just gazing into those piercing green eyes as they blink an alluring “Mahalo” speaks volumes as it connects the spirit of Life deep within us all.

From the Land of the Dead, on a cliff by the sea, all is quiet except for the crashing surf below. At first glance, the place seems abandoned; lost and forgotten, an afterthought. Headstones lay helter-skelter, lacking order or symmetry. Some face down as though strewn by the wind in a game of Dominos. Piles of lava rock, crusted over in spots of frozen ash, dot the graveyard left as memorial markers for family trees. Some are inscribed with names and dates; others etched in a foreign language from immigrants migrating to a new world of promise, hope, freedom, and bounty. Remnants of broken bottles, empty jars, half-burned candles, and cherished mementos serve as reminders of loved ones. Red dirt stains the ground where weeds choke what few grass blades struggle to survive.

If headstones could speak, what stories would they tell? Would they recall how Chinese men, women, and children left everything behind in their native homeland in search of their dreams? Or that endless days of back-breaking work was worth a few dollars a month? That prayers were answered when cries were murmured? What if wishes came true and they danced here every night by the light of a full moon? Only the guardian of the graveyard knows for sure. It’s the lone cane frog; the sole living creature left behind to insure the deceased would pass safely into the spirit world. How symbolic!

Four years ago he was just a black bundle of fluff with a beak. Deserted by his island mother hen, he survived the only way he knew how. Across the road, the front door of a contemporary home opened and Gary, a slender gray-haired man, stepped out to head for the car. This little orphan rooster made a break, scurried over to Gary’s doorstep and tried to go inside. He saw a Safe Haven and knew it was his only hope of survival.

Thus began the life of Chuckie Whitetoe. Gary and Andrea adopted him to share their cliffside retreat on the tropical island of Kauai. Many islanders only dream of living in a condo with a million-dollar view overlooking Kalapaki Bay. Chuckie grew and thrived there. He’d relax on the lanai basking in the sunlight on the cushioned wicker lounge, crowing to his little heart’s delight.

In the evenings after work, Andrea would take him across the road where the grass was green and let him scratch for food. Sometimes Chuckie would roll in the sand to clean his colorful wings. But in the end, he always wanted to go back home where his head was combed and his feathers smoothed.

As time went on, Chuckie Whitetoe got lonely for female companionship. He set up a Facebook page and tried to get a little help from his fans in ordering a mail-order bride. Responses came as far away as Germany with all kinds of applicants sending cheesecake photos vying for his attention. In the end, he couldn’t resist a flirty little chick from Hanalei, on the north side of the island. True, she was a bit of a free-spirit whose parents referred to her as a “Party Girl”. But she adored Chuckie and told him the times they spent together were magical! It just goes to show you, never give up, be thankful for small miracles, and always……always, be “Living the Dream!”

“The breeze seemed to stall out for a while, so I gave this sailboat a little push with my big toe.” I was being creative with my camera as I snapped photos of my feet, leisurely crossed at the ankles. Fifty feet down to my right, Kalapaki Bay was a sea of calm. Usually waves crash against a cliff face and water spews upward across a pile of lava boulders, leaving tide pools in its wake. Not so today. Even the ocean was observing Sunday as a day of rest. A rustic sailboat bobbed on the quiet water, barely floating on a whisper of air.

It was a gloriously sunny afternoon. Gerald was dozing on the twin wicker chaise lounger next to me. Our view above the bay on the lanai from our cliffside retreat was heaven-sent rolling into our final week at the vacation condo. This is God’s love in action. Quiet waters; restoring the soul.

“What are you going to order from “Kick Shaws”? Everything in the world, man “. The line was ten people deep as Gerald stepped up to place our order from Chloe’s “Trucking Delicious” food truck. She flashed him an ear-to-ear dimpled smile. Her tattooed mom, Julie, was taking orders as fast as her fingers could write. We already knew we had to get the Kokobopo Cake (Kauai Beer Company’s signature dessert of chocolate porter cake, sea salted caramel filling, chocolate porter ganache) again since it totally blew our tastebuds away the first time we had it. Gerald fumbled with the name as he teased Julie before finally saying, ” Just give us that damn chocolate cake!” Peals of laughter followed.

The crowd was animated and excitedly chattering nonstop as patrons at outdoor cafe tables lined up their numbered table markers: 5, 3, 43, 22 so runners could deliver the food as fast as it came hot off the grills. Ours was on its way: Spicy Lobster Melt-spicy Langosta lobster salad, pepper jack cheese, sweet chili slaw. Yum! A refill of ice-cold beer set the stage in preparation for an amazing experience of culinary delight. Larry, the old hippie, acts as assisting manager. He stopped by the table to give Gerald an update on the local political ramifications of having a fantastic night for all parties involved. Arm-in-arm he and Gerald posed for a memorable snapshot of this first anniversary of Truck Stop Thursday at the Kauai Beer Company. “It has literally blown everything out of the water”, Larry shouted above the crowd.

Curls of woodsmoke drifted upwards from the beach as the sun barely peeked above the eastern horizon. It was one of those days when the aroma of barbecue pork arouses the senses and we had to catch a glimpse of its origination. Sitting on the edge of the Marriott Beach Resort, not far from the sand, was an imu pit that looked to be about three-feet deep and five feet long. It was obvious dinner was slow-cooking in the underground oven, producing an island favorite: Kalua Pork. Although we had heard about this technique, it was pretty exciting to see it evolve before our eyes.

Upon closer scrutiny, a sign was visibly posted at the cordoned off area which read “Private Function”. Just beyond, heat waves shimmered against a baby blue sky. There must have been at least a 200-pound sow covered in a heavy plastic tarp. The edges were buried in dirt. Apparently steam had raised the plastic into a taut dome. The aroma of salty meat infused with smoke struck me in the face on its way across the bay. It smelled delicious! Meanwhile, workers busied themselves moving about filling tiki torches, setting up tables, and stringing white lights. Tonight was the night for a traditional Hawaiian Luau.

Later on, outside the open doors to the lanai, the atmosphere of romance was infectious. The sound of the conch shell and the beating of the drums below was hypnotic. From our bird’s-eye view, hula dancers swaying to the music brought the evening to a thrilling conclusion. Aloha!