Why or why--oh I know you never do this, but tell me--why do we have clothing in the closet that is never worn? It’s like those little do-dads that nobody knows their use, we don’t even know what they are, so we throw them into the junk drawer—they might be useful someday…
The great thing about moving is you clear out drawers, closets, etc.
We got the house together, sort-of, and our Realtors, a husband and wife team, came last Monday. Shannon took pictures, and we listed the house for sale.
Two days later I’m packing.
Oh the irony of it all.
On her last trip Darling Daughter found a house for us to rent in Southern California. It is located on three acres, a better transition for us than being plunked down in the heart of Los Angeles.
Here we live down a long 2 ½ mile unpaved lumpy bumpy road, yet there exists about a city block from our house an orchid farm. I called the owner and we visited his exquisite spread, acres of green with a manicured park-like setting, palms, all planted by him, a rock wall, an iron gate, spreading green populated by 3 dogs, 3 horses, sheep somewhere I didn’t see, and pigs who play with the dogs and sleep clean and sleek under the palms. They were wild pigs Joe told us, but born on the farm, so it was home to them. “Isn’t that what a farm is about,” said Joe, “having animals?” Joe, the owner, sells orchids wholesale which was the reason I called.
When he moved there the land was raw, he bulldozed it and planted everything. Now it is an oasis, a house, a tree house maybe 100 feet in the air, a packing building, and rows of shade-cloth covered growing structures filled with flowers.
Considering all the work that goes into growing orchids I’m surprised they aren’t more expensive. Joe was breaking open bottles, square on the diameter, about one foot long, filled--like a ship in a bottle--with little green squiggly sprouts growing in a jell substrate that in 2 years will become blossoming orchids. In Taiwan planters didn’t throw seeds in the bottle and shake them up, but painstakingly with a long tweezers placed the seeds in three rows. Once sprouted they fill the bottle like bean sprouts. Joe smashed the bottom end of the bottle with a hammer, poured the babies into a bucket of water, and two young women carefully placed a single sprout into a one inch size peat pot.
Perhaps we will become an orchid importer for Southern California. From the Big Island with love. The climate here is perfect for orchids, and they are healthier than orchids raised in a green-house. The name of the farm? Alohilani. As best as I can determine it means “Bright Sky." I better ask the owner to make sure.
As I was preparing to leave Joe said, “You eat pork don’t you?” He opened his refrigerator took out an entire pork shoulder and thrust it into my arms.
A parting gift. What a guy.
On the same Monday as the house listing, we drove to Kona to place Husband Dear on a jet plane back to Oregon to work on an optic instrument. Rather than drive back that night DD, BD and I stayed over.
Morning dawned magnificent, clear, sun glistening, aqua-marine water of picture post card quality, palms swaying. We swam, had breakfast, but by afternoon the Vog rolled in and everything turned white, or more accurately gray, the sky and water barely distinguishable from each other. Apparently that is typical of the Kona Coast these days.
Normally I don’t relish a COSCO store visit, but that day seeing well-stocked shelves gave me a taste of the mainland. We bought file boxes to pack, and white utility towels for packing, and were on our way.
This island with its variation in landscape, topography and climate never ceases to amaze. Instead of driving the coastal route as we normally do, we drove through the middle of the island, from Kona to Hilo over Saddle Road that runs between Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa, two volcanoes. It is like driving through Texas, the hills look shaved, barren, a few cattle on dry grass, a few goats, oh, and wild turkeys, didn’t know they existed here.
There are tales about Saddle Road, of an area 51 sort of situation, of trucks secretly going up the mountain, of a military base, legends of UFO sightings, of men in unmarked cars and plain clothing, but with the tell-tale cropped haircut of the military, who show up behind your car should you venture off the road. There are even tales of ghost warriors who appear, at night usually, and scare the bee-jeeses out of unsuspecting souls. We, however, cruised over the high elevation, down the dips, over one lane bridges, cresting the summit, and getting 100 miles per gallon down the other side, with no legends, warriors, or military appearing.
In parting, consider these:
“Your expanded self is driving the bus. You can’t make a mistake, mess anything up, or blow it. You just trust your Expanded Self and flow with what you feel inspired or motivated to do, moment to moment.”
—Robert Scheinfeld
“The High Self is an utterly trustworthy spirit self who is there to guide and help us when we ask—but —Pila of Hawaii
“There are two way to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”
—Albert Einstein.
