Write On Maui

story
by
Nancy Kam

MY REFUGE OF MY YOUTH

I was born in a rustic brown plantation house in the quaint town of Wailuku on Vineyard Street. My dad was age 25 and my mom only 16 years of age. My mother was a picture bride and they were wed in Wainaku, Hawaii on August 1927. Soon after, they moved to Maui on Vineyard Street. Dad found a job in carpentry with a building contractor.

My sister, Dot was first born in July of 1928 and I came along a year later in November of 1929. Believe it or not-our old, weather beaten shanty still stands with the old paint peeling off.

I was a child growing up during the depression. We learned early in life that it was full of bends and curves, as a winding lonely road with no end in sight. I found free spirit; felt the hot sun on my back. Breezy trade winds slapped our faces as we explored the wide- open spaces.

The panoramic vista had such splendor. The landscape is filled with tropical trees, the aroma of lush island flowers- plumeria, pikake, gardenia, white and yellow gingers and hibiscus accent the vivid colors of the rainbow.

Many years after, the plane from California landed on the runway; my sis Dot picked me up at the Kahului Airport in her silver gray Toyota Camry. As we chugged along, my first glimpses were the Monkeypod trees, standing tall row after row. I was possessed with their spiritual magnitude, moving me ever so close to my roots of my youth.

As a teenager, my best friend, Sheila, and I cranked our thin bony legs on our old used bicycles to go swimming at a newly built swimming pool at Puunene. We were footloose and fancy-free, while slippery beads of hot sweat rolled off our bodies and blustering wind slapped our faces. Our skin was parched-almost black from the hot sunrays. I don’t recall worrying about our teenaged skin. No tanning lotion or protective cream. We were so poor, almost destitute we could not afford it, period. As the old song goes, "Manuela girl, my de ah girl, you no mo hila! hila! No mo five cents, no mo house! Go ala paka ia moi!"

This tune forever lingers in my mind. It was my remedy to cheer my children, to get them to smile, whenever I found them in a melancholy nasty mood.

A long, long time ago during my teens, my adobe was a four-room plantation camp house situated on Lurline Street, in the harbor town of Kahului. The street of my past has since disappeared and in its place, a huge dormitory complex for Maui Community College.

My friend, Hilda, and I enjoyed a cool drink at the Dairy Queen. While sitting on a bench, I felt the coolness of the windy breeze, brush my sun- ravaged face. I looked up to the sky and saw a huge Monkeypod tree with warped branches hanging low like an umbrella, the leaves were dancing with the winds. I felt intimacy of the past engulf me! Dairy Queen was only a walk away from my house. Whenever we could scrounge money from my mom. I was a happy camper to have a cool lip sucking ice cream treat.

My teen years were brutal in my eyes and mind. My mom was going bananas, forever penny-pinching, stretching and scrimping her meager food budget of five dollars each week, to feed seven hungry broods.

I learned at a very young age, what needy and destitute meant. Living in an overcrowded four-room cracker-box house, with no privacy, also camp shared bathhouse and toilet! Oh how I yearned for a fairy godmother, to console and comfort my achy-breaking heart.

Whenever darkness fell, the light of the silvery moon came through the cracks between the Monkeypod's limbs. The scrawny branches hung very low, scratched and clawed at my bedroom window. The torments of the day over powered my troubled mind. It had disturbed me with much lost sleep with nightmares and wild dreams of my personal inhibitions and dilemma of my life.

Somehow, another Monkeypod tree sprouted next to our separate kitchen that resembled an over-sized chicken coop. The tree was massive and we shared my intimate secrets.

I often wondered, where did the Monkeypod trees originate and who planted them? They stood massive and upright between the camps, the tree limbs sprawled northeast to southwest giving us protection from the hot sun. Their cluster of leaves were pea-sized shapes, green and yellow according to seasons. The blossoms were tiny pinkish and purplish flowers. The fragrance locked into my nostrils, refreshed me. The dry flaky barks covered their corrugated branches-their brawny muscles-ashy browns and charcoal black.

Whenever I had notions of escaping the hum-drum chores, I made a fast escape and climbed up the tree like a monkey. I sat above and looked at the world with a different attitude. What an enchanting feeling.

Recently on a hot sunny afternoon, I went to visit my younger sis, Lillian. She had her four Granddaughters, ages ranging from four to ten years old, playing in her backyard. They were clad in their bathing suits. They screamed, screeched and aimed water from the hose to each other. In the meantime, I found a lawn chair under a shady spot, below a massive rubber tree. I relaxed, dangled my long legs, toes pointed up to the sky.

I noticed two of the girls sitting on swings. The swings hung from a curved branch from another aged Monkeypod tree. My mind swirled back to time past. Besides shade, these trees were so unique for fun and play.

Though we were so poor, we were blessed and enjoyed the simple things in life. What a thrill. Now I see little cute bottoms twisting and turning-vibrating their swings as high as they can go-with happy smiles and undaunted laughter.

Reflecting to my past, present and future, I have found my open space with vast skies so spacious and blue. Landscapes are fascinating with species of trees, some tall, some short, bushy and bare. Blossoms and leaves are a multitude of color. The intimacy and the passion from these majestic trees bring solitude to my life.

Throughout my lifetime, Monkeypod trees have endured the climatic changes, the global warming, tsunamis, hurricanes and floods. They are alive and breathe like humans, with the light of morning, it casts a shadow across the plains.

I am delighted to witness a pair of lovebirds perched on the eaves of our roof. They are ready to take flight, finding refuge from treetop to treetop. They depend on our precious trees and so does all living things of nature.

I treasure these trees. They have souls and they are our guardians of our homes. Their roots deep in the ground are blessed and rooted with our faith. I watch them as they gently sway in the breeze. They are my refuge.

 

nancykam©2009

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