Bidding 2010 a Sweet Farewell

 The thrill of Autumn was a trip to Hawaii.  The islands  offered stunning beaches, clear water, lava rock (lots!) and an abundance of papayas.

Papayas at Hilo Market

Papayas became my favorite island indulgence. My quest for this fruit became an obsession. I ate papaya for breakfast, lunch and dinner. 

Aside from "Braking for Papaya," at every local fruit stand, snorkeling was a favorite activity. I grew up in New Jersey where I spent many blistering summer days along the coast. Splashing in salt water is familiar but sucking air through a plastic tube is weird, maybe even a bit scary. Body surfing is what you do in Jersey, not snorkeling.

The first couple times in the water with mask and breathing tube made me a bit nervous. Even though I know how to swim, the ocean and its depth prompts an irrational fear of being dragged out to sea and drowned. This fear, however, does not keep me out of the water and it certainly did not keep me from snorkeling.

Mostly, I snorkeled along shallow reefs observing an extraordinary array of shapes and colors belonging to fish. If you seek amazement stick your head underwater. I prefered to snorkel at a place called Two-Step, named for the stair like formation of lava that allowed snorkelers to climb in and out of the sea. Spinner dolphins like to rest in this area at night before spending their day near Captain Cook Monument.

No dolphins materialized during my first visit to Two-Step. Therefore, one visit to Two Step would not be enough. On my second visit, shortly after staking claim to an area of lava rock large enough to place my gear, I saw a large group of dolphins swimming offshore. The distance between the dolphins and me was beyond my comfort zone. I settled on the rough black rock, a bit disappointed, and pulled out some lunch and began to eat. After awhile I noticed a small group, perhaps five or so swimmers, in the area where the dolphins had been seen. Maybe I could do it, swim that far into the sea.


With snorkel and mask adjusted I slid into the ocean and began to swim, popping my head out of the water periodically to locate the other snorkelers who were also in quest of dolphins. Along the way, colors sparkled on the backs of fish as sunlight penetrated the reef.

Without warning the shelf gave way, I was far from the two tiered rock that offered an easy to return to my unfinished lunch. As hard as I tried I could not see the bottom.  As the water deepened  my heart rate quickened and I kicked harder and faster to match the adrenaline surging through my limbs. I popped my head out of the water looking for the swimmers. They looked like dots on the watery horizon.  I started to question what I was doing. A voice in my head ranted, "you are too far from shore, you should not be out here" and  then in the stillness of my gray blue world shapes emerged from below.  Disoriented, I stared deeper into my underwater world.  Gray forms morphed into dolphins. I saw a mother and her child and others. I swam faster, pumped my fins furiously to stay in sync to what appeared to be a dream, until suddenly, dolphins surrounded me. I swam close enough to touch the gray sleek bodies that effortlessly moved beside me. I did it. I left the safety of the land and entered the domain of dolphins.  

Two days later I looked into the massive mouths of manta rays as they rolled over exposing their underbellies in a quest to gulp down plankton. These creatures are massive and swim with grace. My eyes, as wide as a child’s on Santa’s lap, watched the manta’s feed until my skin chilled in the night. 

The islands are abundant with gifts. While hiking under the thick canopy of Kauai’s Napali Coast, I bent over to pick up a piece of fruit that had fallen from tree growing along the trail. I split the fruit open and immediately smelled the fragrance of Kauai. The sweetness of guava exploded on my tongue. Reaching for another, I knew I could live here; content to bear witness to water caressing the ample land.

Napali Coast, Kauai

  

I bought an ukulele in Hawaii. I have been practicing chords as the days grow short into winter. With each strum I can taste coconut, papaya and guava and see electric blue, flashy red, bright orange, yellow and iridescent green sunlight, shimmering on the backs of fish.

I am thankful for my travels and equally grateful to spend time in northern New Mexico. These past weeks have been a grand time for late night adventure. The other night I awoke in early morning dressed for cold and stumbled groggy into darkness with a pocket full of wishes, eager to see Geminids streaking through the pitch-black New Mexico sky. That was just days before a fresh foot of snow surprised us all in this La Nina winter. Recently I stood witness, in the silence of Frijoles Canyon, as the December full moon disappeared in shadow on solstice. Earlier that evening I snowshoed in the same full moonlight.

2010 has given me many gifts, the greatest being gratitude for the here and now. I never lose sight of the richness and beauty that each day offers. I am thankful for it all.

North Shore -Oahu