There isn't anything left of the house now. It's like you hear about the old neighborhood and how it's not the same. Well, most everyone has moved away to some place or another. Faces change like seasons. The trees have grown. We lived at Tutu man's place in the valley on the river.
I liked to walk down the dusty road that turned at the river when you didn't expect it to. Summer was the best time of year. The days were long and hot. Had choke fish in the river. The Buffo frogs groaning their love songs in the cool of the evening across the water. Cows from the ranch would mosey over into the yard and eat Mom's favorite Ti plant. She would get on the phone and call the ranch foreman. He'd drive down in his old Jeep like a movie sheriff and den come in for coffee afterwards. I never could figure out how he could fit those big feet with puka socks into those pointed boots with the run down heels.
They filled in the low spots in the backyard. That used to be my hiding place. The hau trees grew wild along the wall. That's where all my bad guys lived. In the winter the huge pounding waves in the bay closed the mouth of the river where it emptied into the sea. The river backed into the yard waist high. Even the road to the falls was underwater ! That's when I would climb on the wall and follow it to the twisted Hau trees. It was "Pirate Time" ! I would swing up on branches over the water like a pirate on the rigging of a bandit ship. Ooh.. the adventures I had on the high seas of the Waimea River. They had to use a tractor to pull the trees down. There is no trace of it now in the back yard...except where it is safely tucked away in the video archives of my heart.
The Ulu tree grew along the tin fence by the falls road. You could tell the ulu was ripe when the pinholes of milky sap would come out and drip down the side. We had one kerosene stove and Mom baked ulu in it. She simply cut the core out and filled the hole in with butter and brown sugar. It's funny how the mind can store smells and tastes. Like coming home from school and smelling baked breadfruit in the oven. Eh..you can have cookies and milk...baked Ulu was "da bestest".
You could not mistake the smell the river. It was brackish and ran green in the summer. From Halloween until New Years it ran mocha. That was because in the winter time the rains from the mountain would wash down the soil. The river changed mood then. It raged into a rapid with white water crests. Cows from the ranch sometimes got marooned on the piece of pasture that jutted out onto the river. That is when you could hear the waves thunder and feel the earth shutter with each set. We knew the river would soon overflow into the yard. That's when it was "Pirate Time" !
Niimi Store, at the foot of Pupukea, was the place we would go for ice and kerosene. Twenty five cents for a block of ice wrapped in newspaper. Mr. Niimi would get his ice hook with a handle to grab the ice. Hmmm...that would make a nice hook for "Pirate Time"....We had a REAL icebox at the house in Waimea. It had a place inside on top for the ice block and underneath, racks for food stuffs. Under the door was a flap that hid the water drain pan. When I came home from school, it was my job to empty the enamel drain pan. If I forgot, there would be water all over the linoleum kitchen floor and that was bad news when Daddy got home. I wonder what happened to that ice box? It would be a collector's item now up for bid on eBay.com . Niimi Store is now Foodland with electric eye front doors that open when it sees you. I liked it better when Mr. Niimi saw us coming and said: "Hello Mr. Brown...how your wife and keeds?" looking over the top of his glasses and smiling. I don't think Foodland sells kerosene out of a 55 gallon drum do you? The only ice they sell is in the bag, cubed. No need hooks for that, eh?
There isn't anything left of the house now. In fact, the homestead on the river is no more. The dispute in the courts over ownership of the land ended with the sheriff removing our belongings from the land and the bulldozers left to do their work.
Nothing remains the same. I saw in the papers that part of the mountain fell on the Kahuku side of the Kamehameha Highway leading to the bridge and that they have built a temporary road across the sand for traffic. Auwe ! Everything has a purpose. My Tutu did say our Valley get plenty mana. I've taken that joyful carefree childhood and treasured it in my heart.
If you go the our Valley, choose a quiet evening near the river at sunset and when the light is just right...the shadows from the mountains cast shadows themselves. Our Valley remembers...under the coconut trees, if you look just right...when the day turns to twilight, you can see a tin roof house and a thicket of hau trees..if you listen carefully you can hear buffo frogs moaning forlornly... maybe get a whiff of baked ulu in a kerosene stove...and on special evenings Daddy playing the guitar and Mom singing in her awesome soprano echoing in the caves and ridges of our Valley...and there is laughter and the sound of children playing in the Hau trees along the river at tutu man's place.
About Author
Kamaka Brown was raised in Waimea Valley, Oahu. He now resides in Southern California and is a corporate trainer for a major telecommunications company. His passion is writing and performing as a comic at comedy clubs around SoCal. He has also opened for numerous Hawaiian venues on the West Coast and Las Vegas. He recently performed with Makaha Sons, Sistah Robi, Fiji, Dennis Pavao, Randy Lorenzo, and Ho'okena. He is also part of our editorial staff on "Hanaduddah Days."
