Our Last Day on Maui

Wednesday was our last day on Maui. We packed up everything from the condo and headed to the beach, where the kids immediately started looking for crabs. Without their boogie boards and sand toys, they got bored after an hour or so. But after an early lunch, they headed back out into the water and happily played for several more hours.

We then headed to the other side of the island to show them Hookipa where they watched a couple of dozen young people, some no older than the kids, surfing.

None of the Quads had been able to find a souvenir that they liked until we went over to the other side of the parking lot and examined the carvings this guy was making. Three of them found something they liked with their remaining allowance, each carving inscribed with their name and "Maui 2015." They couldn't have found better souvenirs.

Of course, they had to have Hawaiian shave ice in Paia before we headed back towards the airport.

We more or less survived the overnight flight to San Francisco.

By the time we arrived in Salt Lake, they were ready to collect our checked bag and go home.

A Tribute to the Kids

The kids had another great day at the beach yesterday. There were the inevitable moments when they terrorized each other of course, but those moments were few compared to how long they played together or separately for four hours.

I've written in the past few days of trials with the kids, but I owe it to them to say that, overall, they've been real troopers. They took their first flights on an airplane - including a 5-1/2 hour one - in stride and were very well behaved. We received compliments from three different flight attendants over the course of the two flights on how well-mannered our children are.

Then, as I've written, they embraced the ocean as if they'd grown up around it, playing in the waves for hours, day after day. The day we went snorkeling, they again showed no fear of riding on a boat for the first time or of getting in the ocean to snorkel, also for the first time. They were also well-mannered and respectful of the crew.

I'm proud of them. Considering all they have been through in the past five years, it's remarkable that they're turning out as well as they are. True, they can be mean to each other at times, but what kids aren't? I love them, and Mark does, too. He is to them as much a dad as I am, and he is a lot more funner (as Annie would say) than I am. I am grateful beyond words that they have him in their lives.

Snorkeling and The Great Crab Hunt

We had our big adventure of the trip yesterday when we went snorkeling at Molokini crater and at an area where sea turtles gather for "washing." I was a bit apprehensive as we set out across the water, not knowing how the kids would react to a boat ride. I shouldn't have been, however. If any of them were the least bit fearful, they didn't show it.

Then I was apprehensive about how they'd handle snorkeling. Again, I shouldn't have been. We had a crew member assigned to our family, and she was great with the kids - getting them fitted, going over safety issues and showing them pictures of fish they might see. 

We first went inside the crater, where I took the lead photo looking down into the water. There weren't, however, as many fish this year as there were two years ago when I made the same trip with the same snorkeling company (Seafire - I recommend them).

"There's too many," the captain, Don, said at one point as he surveyed the scene of a half-dozen or more snorkeling boats moored in the crater. "Too many people. They scared away all the fish. It used to be ten times better than this: flowering coral, amazing fish. But all the sunscreen, all the oil, all the engine fuel ... it's killing it ..." Don's boat accommodates about 20 people. Several of the other boats can accommodate three to four times that amount, if not more. Nevertheless, we all had a good time, and Mark and Aaron got to see an octopus.

From inside the crater, we went around to the back of it for more snorkeling then returned to a spot just offshore that had been my highlight of the trip two years ago and was again yesterday: the sea-turtle "washing station." It was a spot 50-60 yards offshore where turtles come to rest and fish come to eat the stuff that has adhered to the turtle's shell. We saw a couple of examples of that and at least a dozen different turtles of various sizes. The kids loved it. They also enjoyed feeding finches as we made our way back to the boat dock.

After a breather and some sandwiches back at the condo, we headed to Po'olenalena Beach. The kids had spent five hours in the water there on Saturday, playing in the waves and with their boogie boards. The water is much safer here than on Big Beach, which means that Mark and I can read a bit instead of having our eyes constantly glued on the kids.

I knew the day had been going too well. It was bound to happen, and it did: the boys started fighting over a boogie board. We had to allot times to each, but that system quickly broke down. I was approaching wrist-slashing territory (again), when Mark came up with a brilliant idea. 

"Ok, kids," he announced. "Tell you what. We will pay $20 to anyone who catches a sand crab." Eyes widened, and they were off. Each of the boys grabbed a weapon (a large sand shovel) and headed off toward mid-beach, while Esther and Annie staked out a territory near the end of the beach. 

Now, I should perhaps explain that we felt we had made a very safe bet. Sand crabs are notoriously fast. They pop out of the sand and scurry across the beach, immediately retreating if they sense they are threatened. But the kids were tenacious: for the next 90 minutes, they were hard at it. Mark and I, meanwhile, gloated a little over our successful diversion as we enjoyed virtually uniterrupted reading time. We knew we were tempting fate but couldn't help ourselves.

The boys, who were much closer to us than the girls, employed a variety of stratagems. These included the following: trying to set a trap with a pail; waiting for a crab to surface, then pouncing on it, scooping up the sand where the crab had dived; pounding on the sand with a shovel; jumping up and down on a spot where a crab had surfaced; and throwing a shovel full of a sand at a spot. We had not, after all, specified whether the crab had to be alive.

Above: Levi pounces. Below, Aaron waits, ready to spring

Finally, the boys headed down to where the girls were. Suddenly, there was a commotion, then all four came hurdling down the beach towards us, each grinning from ear to ear. Esther triumphantly opened her hand to reveal a teeny-tiny sand crab, only a fraction of the size of the crabs we had challenged them to find. But we couldn't very well back out of the deal then.

Of course, the boys immediately expressed disappointment and resentment. Both, but especially Levi, can be very competitive and aren't always (like, never) good sports when someone else wins a competition. We would now pay for gloating over our 90-minute repose. Things got ugly quickly. It was time to head back to the condo, where we would lock (we wish) the kids in their respective rooms.

The end of an afternoon on the beach

Or so I thought. We stopped at Safeway on the way back, where I went in to pick up a few things. I didn't feel the least bit guilty for leaving Mark in the van to deal with four sullen children.

When I came back out and got into the van, I thought I had stepped into a twilight zone. The children were talking happily with each other. I didn't say anything thing at the time, but later asked Mark, "What the hell happened?" 

"Well," he replied, "I had a talk with them. I told them that we're just a couple of old guys who are trying to provide them with a good time; but it's really hard on us when they start fighting with each other."

"And they bought that?" I asked.

"Sort of. Esther responded by saying, 'We know. But we're kids after all, and we're all different from each other.'"

Point taken. And so we face another day - our last full day here. We fly out tomorrow night.

"He's My Wife"

"He's my wife," I replied.

We had stopped at "Big Mama's" roadside stand a couple of days ago on the way out to Big Beach with the kids. I had first met her three years ago (pictured above), a very large older Hawaiian woman who makes and sells jewelry at her stand along with fruit and wood carvings made by her son. I bought some things from her that year, and we subsequently passed her stand dozens of times over the ensuing years. I wanted the children to meet her.

The woman's granddaughter was there to help. Grandma isn't mobile: once installed on her chair, she is there for the day. Both extended their aloha as we walked up to their tables laden with hand-made jewelry, wood carvings and tropical fruit. My eye was immediately drawn to some small woven fans. "A perfect Christmas ornament," I said to myself."

"Can you tell me about the fans?" I inquired.

"Sure," Big Mama replied. "Me and my sister make those." She then went into a lengthy explanation of how they are made, most of which I didn't absorb, except that they're hand-woven. I asked to look at them.

"Is this for yourself or your wife?" the granddaughter asked. I couldn't imagine why in the world it would make any difference - I mean, it's not like they had masculine-looking fans vs. feminine looking fans. I couldn't resist a reply.

"Actually," I said, pointing to Mark, "he's my wife." I immediately regretted saying it. That often happens to me. There followed what is usually termed an awkward silence. But granddaughter, if she even caught on, rebounded immediately. 

"Are you guys twins?" she asked, apparently unfazed or perhaps untouched by my quip.

Mark and I smiled. It never ceased to amaze us how many people over the course of our time together had asked if he and I are brothers or even twins. We didn't think we even remotely looked like each other.

"Several people have told us that," I replied. 

"Really?" she said. "Well, you do look alike, except that you," she added, pointing at me, "have braces and he doesn't."

Hmmm. I bought the fan.

Meanwhile, I thought it would be appropriate, given the theme of this post, to relate a conversation that Annie, age eight, had yesterday with Mark and me.

"Were you ever married before, Mark?"

"No, Annie, I've only been married once - to your dad."

"Didn't you ever have a wife?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm gay, Annie."

"Do you know what 'gay' means, Annie?" I asked.

"No."

"It means that Mark and I fall in love with men instead of women."

"Oh. What's for dinner?"

Of Haleakala and Hobbits

We thought it would be a good idea to take the kids yesterday up to the crater on top of Haleakala, Maui's volcano. It wasn't. We thought they'd be interested in seeing it and the surrounding views. They weren't. It wasn't fun. The kids moped, as the above picture captures. Mark kept reminding me: "Some day, the kids will look back on this and be glad they'd seen it." Hmmm. We learned: no more road trips of any kind while we're here.

We ate sandwiches when we got back to the condo. Mark and I thought it'd be a good idea to then take the kids to a beach in central Kihei where the waves are fairly gentle. We thought they'd like to boogie board there. They did - for about ten minutes. Then the complaints started. The waves weren't big enough. Levi and Annie bickered. Though the beach stretched for three hundred yards, they clumped together. I finally suggested that Levi stay on one side of Esther and Annie on the other. Then the bickering started about Annie not staying on her side. I momentarily considered slitting my wrists. We left the beach.

The rest of the day went in a better direction. Mark took Aaron and Esther to Big Beach and I stayed in the condo with Levi and Annie. It was quiet and relaxing (because they were in separate rooms). When the others got back, we had a nice dinner provided by Mother Kirkland (Costco). Then, mercifully, it was time to go to bed.

I realized yesterday that the kids are growing up. They have different interests. I had looked forward to one-on-one time with the kids on the beach during this trip. I had, for example, fantasized about sitting with Levi on the beach, building sand castles and talking. I've realized, however, that Levi would much rather spend time in the waves. The time for building sand castles has passed. 

A parent's fantasies about spending time with their children, I realized yesterday, are often just that - fantasies that have more to do with the parent than the child. I hadn't fantasized about sitting with Levi on the couch in the condo on a sunny afternoon watching The Hobbit. However, that's exactly what we did yesterday afternoon, and it was nice.

Falling Over

I fell over yesterday.

In a McDonalds parking lot.

It was embarrassing.

We had stopped in Lahaina to use their restroom. Upon exiting the parking lot, I made a sharp turn at a slow speed, lost my balance, and couldn't get my left shoe out of the pedal in time. Down I went. It was the drive-thru exit, for crying out loud. Right in front of a woman who had just picked up her cheeseburger and fries. She didn't ask if I was ok, but I avoided making eye contact with her.

Fortunately, I landed - hard - on the left side, sparing my bike any injuries. When it came down to it, except for a couple of scrapes, the main injury to myself was my bruised pride. Waaaaa. I thought about taking a selfie, but, no not really, I never thought of that.

We had intended to do another tour all the way around West Maui, but the head and cross winds were so strong that we turned around at 25 miles and headed back to our car.

I can't recall when I last fell over. It's so embarrassing. I did it a few times in my first season cycling - once at a stop light on Wasatch Boulevard, once at the end of my own street.

And then there was that time in Corsica a few years ago. It was the first day of my first cycling tour. The support van had set up on the side of the road mid-morning to provide us all snacks.

Our support van. (This picture was taken on a different morning.)

After a bite, Mark and I got back on our bikes. I, unfortunately, made the decision to lock myself into my pedals before confronting a 6-8" height difference between the dirt shoulder and the asphalt road. Down I went. 

The very first morning! My knee suffered the brunt of the fall and I had some very noticeable scrapes. Fortunately, everyone was still on the other side of the van and didn't see my little accident. When people asked about it later in the day, we told them a wild pig had run out on the road in front of me. They believed me. 

Corsica is known for its wild pigs.

The Shire

We cycled upcountry yesterday into what we have dubbed "the Shire." 35 miles, 3300 vertical feet, featuring a variety of landscapes. The first part of the ride was a steady uphill climb for about seven miles or so. When the road enters the Shire - so named because of the green fields, trees and lava rock walls - it starts down again, but becomes curvy and up and down. It made for a fun descent, but climbing back up provided an excellent workout for our legs.

Historic St. John Episcopal Church. 

Labyrinth in the parking lot of the church. What is it with Episcopalians and labyrinths, so that even this tiny church on a hill in Maui has one?

There were stunning vistas toward the ocean.

The Last of the Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie

Last night, we ate the last of the strawberry-rhubarb pie that we had bought at the natural foods store in Paia. With ice cream, of course.

While savoring the delightful mixture of the two tastes, memories floated into my mind. Memories of picking and buying strawberries in my childhood and youth ... and during the childhood of my older children in both Canada and Ohio. 

I don't remember strawberries in Salem, the town in Southern Illinois where I was born and lived until I was ready to celebrate my ninth birthday. The strawberries I remember were those that were picked, somewhere, outside of Carmi - another little town in Southern Illinois -but I also have memories of a vegetable and fruit shed/stand just outside of Carmi on the road to Crossville. I can picture the shed in my memory: a long, low affair held up by posts every so often and containing tables of whatever was in season. The floor, of course, was dirt. We used to drive out there, my mother and me, to buy sweet corn that I can only dream of today and tomatoes, the taste of which, alas, is only a memory, and those sweet, succulent strawberries.

I cannot, however, recall the name of the place. Perhaps someone who reads this will remember. (Cook's?) I recall the "stand" as well as the two-story white house that stood across a field, prim and proper. Tall, growing out of the land. Weren't those Victorian/Edwardian farm houses grand? It seems there are fewer and fewer left.

Back in the days when I plied the highways of Southern Illinois and of Indiana and Ohio, driving back and forth between my mom's house in Carmi and my dad's house in eastern Ohio, I saw those "pioneer cemeteries," lonely sentinels on the landscape upon which various interstate highways had so rudely cut, that consisted not of gravestones but of a tableau: a few large shade trees growing in close proximity to each other in a field, the house that was once shaded by these trees alas now only a memory ...

But I digress. Other memories associated with strawberries and rhubarb: Eating strawberry shortcake as a kid (we always had those little sponge cake things you bought at the store, topped with sugar-drenched strawberries and Redi-Whip). Picking strawberries outside of Vancouver when my older kids were little. Eating strawberry glaze pie made from fresh berries. Enjoying Auntie Kay's rhubarb pie, so tangy yet sweet.

We don't eat many strawberries at home, but we've been enjoying locally-grown strawberries here in Maui, taking some to the beach to savor throughout the afternoon. And then, of course, that delicious home-made strawberry-rhubarb pie.

Speaking of the beach, here are a few pictures we've taken in the past few days.

This picture was taken yesterday. Again, it is difficult to convey what we actually saw, the vividness of the colors, the line on the horizon where sky meets sea, the sweep of the storm clouds.

Cycling Around West Maui

We cycled around West Maui yesterday. 58 miles. 4700 vertical feet. The coastline around the north and east side of this part of the island consists of one deep ravine after the other; thus, the surprising amount of vertical feet climbed. By comparison, this number would be similar to cycling from our house in Salt Lake to the top of Big Cottonwood Canyon.

We drove to Ma'ala'ea, then rode north through Lahaina and Kapalua and on around to Wailuku, then across Maui's central valley and back to Ma'ala'ea.

Mark's go juice

Beautiful Honolua Bay

Stopping for a break near Kapalua

Moloka'i quite visible in the distance.

A steep decline leads into this inlet, and the steepest climb of the entire ride is visible on the other side. It is the most challenging grade I've ever ridden - at least 20% if not more.

I'm pretty sure this sign meant "winding," by it was also very windy. It seemed like the wind came from every direction - off the ocean, down the canyons from the West Maui Mountains, into the ravines that we descended into and climbed out of.

The ocean views were breathtaking. Kahakuloa Head is visible in the distance.

Retired snack shack at Kahakuloa. The lead photo was also taken at Kahakuloa.

One of the ravines past Kahakuloa. You can see the road on the other side, descending down to a one lane bridge.

It is nearly impossible for this iPhone photographer to capture the vibrancy of the greens and yellows we passed along the way. I enhance the pictures and often use filters to try to better convey what we saw.

Kahalui Bay and the shore of east Maui came into view (at long last)