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Irises on a Spring Day

Hot morning sun bathes me as I walk quietly around a wide grassy garden. Oh, my feet are sinking in the mown grass. I am stepping carefully; mud threatens them; rain has come and gone in the past week. Today the air is alive as if the passing coolness of early morning were being jostled aside by life itself. The storm is gone, and all the countryside is Ireland green.

Irises are everywhere, and I am filled with thoughts of van Gogh who saw the high stone walls of his asylum enclosing long rows of lavender, poppies and twisted pear branches. Iris leaves and buds rose in insistent, urgent clusters along paths and walks where he painted. He saw the radiant surges of color every spring and painted them over and over again. How could he not? I feel inept as I try to focus on their delicacy and subtlety. Mostly, I just stand and gaze at them.

Sparrows and red-winged blackbirds dart from tree to bush to fence post, their ebony eyes sparkling. The irises dance  when the breeze comes by, their flirting tongues lying on soft veined lips. These irises are named:  Boudoir, Scarlet Fever, Midnight Moon. I am seduced by their colors and curling shapes, ladies on stems, turned out in alluring finery.

I step closer and lean in. The hot midday sun is caressing that one's soft cheek, this one's gentle tenderness. Oh, they are lovely and fine. My camera cannot possibly do them justice. I touch their cool softness, fear the slightest touch will bruise them, but I cannot resist. Are they edible? I dare not.

Everything in an iris evokes mystery and sensual pleasure; each blossom is exquisite.

I am not thinking about their short lives, the ravenous insects that will gnaw at their leaves, or any other squalid thing that may befall these impossibly perfect creatures. They exist simply to be beautiful. It is Spring. That is enough excuse. Heaven does exist, say the ladies as they bob and sway, vividly, gloriously. Behold, it does exist.

A Brief Pause Before Onions

There's a light breeze ruffling the color-drained air. It's twilight and the bay is restless with wind.

I am thinking of onions and time to make dinner. My thoughts are too long and my writing too short, all over again.

I have not forgotten you. The onions cannot wait and call me to them pungently.

Eastward to Hana

We left Kahului yesterday, pointed our car east and began to drive. First stop was in Pa'ia for breakfast at a place recommended by our trusty guide book "Maui Revealed." Charley's, it said, is one of two places for a hearty breakfast good enough to begin any day. It's a pretty large restaurant and bar where a stage provides performance space on occasion. Once, three years ago, Willie Nelson played there for free. A huge oversized guitar stands against one wall, a ten-foot version of an acoustic instrument that looked tempting to strum.

It took a very long time for a waitress to arrive, even longer for our order to reach us, and it was just okay. The apology for slowness was nice, so we tried to be forgiving and actually succeeded. It's Hawaii, it's Maui, and the place was understaffed. We took our deep vacation breaths and just gave in to it. You can't rush things here. The whole point of coming here is to leave your old ways behind and discover that there are other, perhaps better, styles of living. Patience is key.

The fabled road to Hana was described to me once as "the Big Sur coast on steroids." Looking back on it now, I don't want to compare the two coast drives. They are so different that the only thing in common is that you are on a roadway built on a  winding coast with cliffs.

I dreamed last night that a man was rushing to get from Hana back to Kahului and was more and more frustrated because the road deliberately slowed him down; it had a mind of its own and would not allow him to move quickly. The drive itself from Pa'ia to Hana town is about 37 miles and it takes hours. It skirts the corrugated profile of the vertical terrain as if it were a maze that you follow, the yellow line the trail you follow as evidence that the road does go somewhere eventually. The road is overhung with immense growths of tropical plants growing between, on and around other plants and trees. Ravines are hung with waterfalls and steeply flowing streams. Far in the distance are stretches of ocean whose mist rises up to the road and mountains above. It is mesmerizing to weave and turn, rise and fall as the road does. There are many one-lane bridges and yield signs to heed. You are driving at 25 miles an hour at best with an infinite number of distractions and unimagined lush beauty abounding. We could have stopped more, hiked more, explored more. There are myriad side trails off the highway to see and more waterfalls than you can ever hope to see. We saw beauty and were satisfied, as if drinking a long cool sip of refreshing water. We had just enough.

By the time we actually reached Hana, we were in a bit of a drunken fog of amazement. The memory of the individual features had become a blur, but one stop was memorable along the way: Wai'anapanapa State Park. There, we saw a black sand beach awash with white foaming waves, a lava tube, a blow hole or two and dashing storm-tossed ocean currents that looked as wild and exciting as any ocean I've ever seen. The park is free to the public and provides ample parking, so we got out of our car and walked, gazed, and admired the scenes as if we'd never seen a seascape before. It was far too easy to be thrashed to death in the churning cauldron of water we saw from the black lava shore cliffs, so we kept our distance. Apparently, there are calm days in the dry season when the underwater views are beautiful. It was the Hawaii that has existed for all time and will never be tamed. The elements are always something you are aware of in this remote area of this little island. I feel small and happy again, in nature and far from any city.

We have a convertible so that we can appreciate the overhead views of nature as we explore Maui, but about half our drive along the coast required the top to be up. We stopped two or three times at on-your-honor fruit stands and bought some mango bread so fresh we could hardly touch it. It had literally just come out of the oven. Locals sell fruit and goodies for reasonable prices. Delicious bananas, avocados, mangos and papayas are all available.

The dream about driving wildly has faded now. No need to rush anywhere. We feel off the grid here, even though we are in a very fine resort area with full amenities. The wide night sky is adrift with clouds and the constant rush of trade winds blowing in from the east across the wide blue Pacific, the only thing that rushes anywhere in Hana.

Wow, we landed. Aloha Maui!

I am writing from a Starbucks in central Maui, and this is the beginning of a new experience in the Hawaiian Islands. I've never been to Maui before, but it seems like everyone else has.

We took off from the San Jose Airport yesterday morning after a stay overnight at the Raddison near the airport. We like to stay overnight there on the night prior to a vacation trip as it begins the unwind from daily concerns and work a little earlier. We keep our car, sleep and get shuttled to and from the airport, all for the price of a room. By the time we set foot on the jet, we are already slowing down. Do you hear me sighing? I am.

The flight was smooth as glass. Fran and Fred Farkle sat in front of us, each with a heavy thud. They spread themselves out with wide smiles, perfumed the air with the aroma of last night's dinner, pushed their seats all the way back into our faces and fell asleep until breakfast burritos were served. We countered by reaching between their seats when they were away and putting their seats more forward. When they came back, they never knew and we were happy. The children were all happy, another big plus.

Everyone clapped when the pilot landed at the Kahului Airport, all of them delighted to begin their fun, island style. We grinned and felt it was a good sign.

Kahului is the center of Maui where business is taken care of. People bustle and move, get their chores done and go away to their smaller towns. It's not where the island's magic resides, we've found, but it's a starting point.

We've rented a car, stayed overnight at the Maui Beach Hotel (my rating: 2 stars for being a basic utilitarian hotel with a pool you can almost swim laps - 15 yards long). It's safe, clean, good enough, and the staff at the desk got us taken care of in a jiffy.

We drove south to the coast, turned the corner and saw whales in the distance, flukes sparkling in the sunlight. Catamarans moved on the glittering ocean, and their passengers jumped overboard to snorkel in the quiet lee of tall cliffs. We found a petroglyph site maintained by a local nonprofit group, a site that is one of the few available to see on Maui, we read. Small as it was, the spiritual connection to the ancient Hawaiians is unmistakable.

This morning we are heading east to the other end of the island, lining up with the one or two thousand cars that rumble along the famous Hana coast highway. We got a taste of it last night when we went to Pa'ia for the Friday Night Celebration. Four small towns in this region of the island all have a Friday night when they stay open late, play music along the streets, and welcome visitors and locals alike. Pa'ia was fun, noisy and jammed with cars. Buskers on the sidewalks played everything from Hare Krishna chants to Irish traditional to New Orleans jazz. The sidewalks were buzzing with conversation and cafes stuffed with revelers. After a walk up and down the streets, we found Mana Foods, bought delicious deli salads to go and went back to our hotel where we pretty much did face plants and slept until morning.

Tension is wiped away, the sun is rising over Haleakala in the east and we are bound for Hana.