jumpingfish

The frogs are croaking along Onion Creek. I know this, because we were there yesterday.

We walked through the woods in the shade with the dogs sniffing at the trees and bushes and pokey things along the path. And we came to a trail that we hadn’t taken before that went back and forth and down across a bridge and though a poison ivy infested woods down to the creek.

We stood there and looked out on the water, amazed that in this heat in this place in summer so much water would be there, amazed that there would be frogs croaking.

But they were. And they are. And they do. 

1.

There were five of them: three boys around 7 years old and a younger boy and girl. Their parents were on the other side of the playground. The kids were playing with a yellow tennis ball.

The oldest of the three boys told the other two where to stand.

“Here,” he said to one, “you stand here.”

And then he walked over to the other and told him where to stand. They formed a perfect equilateral triangle.

The little boy and girl were waiting to be told where to stand, but that’s not what the oldest boy had in mind. Instead he told them to go over to the other side of the playground. The little boy was particularly unhappy with this and began to pester the big boys. 

The little girl was willing to play by the big boys’ rules. “You stay away,” she said gently to the little boy as he kept reaching for the yellow tennis ball. And she began to push and pull him to get him out of the triangle.

At this point, the game changed for the little boy. It was no longer about the ball. Instead, be turned to the girl with a big smile on his face and began to chase her. And when she ran away, it just made him chase her more. So in that way the three older boys finally got to play fetch.

2.

They weren’t very good throwing or catching, and the ball would frequently roll off into the gravel beneath the swings or onto the grass on the hill. But they were enjoying themselves and enjoying the fact that the little kids were gone.

And then an errant throw, and the ball rolled into a thicket.

All three boys dashed up to the trees and shrubs and looked poised to scramble in, but they pulled up short. The Juniper and Oak and stabby things mastered them, and they stood there puzzled. Two moms came up to help, but they were of no help.

This was the scene: three boys, two moms and the two little kids all gathered at the edge of a thicket peering in, all seven trying to figure out how to retrieve the yellow tennis ball.

“The yellow ball!” one of the little kids shouted to one of the mothers. “The yellow ball!” But neither mom was up to the task.

3.

I stood up from where I was stretching on the sidewalk. 

The sun was getting low. I had cooled down from my run. And it was time to drive home anyway. So I got up and walked over to them with sweat running down my face.

“I’ll get it,” I said.

I turned around and backed into the Juniper and Oak and stabby, leafy margins of the thicket into the dark leafless interior with snapping branches and poking limbs grabbing at my shirt. And I picked up the ball which was all of five feet away.

The moms were grateful. The three boys were grateful. And the little kids ran around cheering and proclaiming that I had sticks and other stabby things in my hair.

“Dude, where you been?”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you know. I mean where’ve you been. I was beginning to think something was wrong on my end.”

“I’ve been here.”

“Been awfully quiet.”

“Not really, just not at the keyboard.”

“Why not.”

“Tired, I guess. And it’s a mess in here. And … well there’s this pile of books beside my bed that somehow seem more inviting than … than this.”

“Sorry, man.”

“No, it’s ok. I do need to try to reboot this thing.”

Boing.

1. At The Starting Line

They won’t tell you how far back they stood when they stood at the starting line, although if they did, they’d also have to mention how relieved they were when they realized they were initially standing way, way too far back in a crowd that made them feel more like geezers and plodders than in truth they are.

No, they won’t tell you about that. And neither will I.

But I will tell you that the Mockingbirds were singing in the trees, hidden amid the spring green leaves and orange-brown tassels of Oak pollen. Yes, I know I always say that about the birds. And I always say that the sun was shining and the sky was blue. But on this day, the sun wasn’t shining nor was the sky blue. Indeed, the sky was overcast and gray as they stood waiting for the race to start.

But it wasn’t a long wait. And it was made easier by the happy murmuring of the crowd, an Austin Maroons banner held high by a runner with a maroon afro, Scooby and Shaggy milling about in the crowd, much taking of cellphone pictures and great music.

And then the announcer cried, “Go!” as Stevie Ray Vaughn (Who else?) boomed out the speakers.

Far ahead, heads began bobbing. A surge of moving bodies worked its way from the starting line back to marker 1 (6 minutes per mile) to 2 (7 minutes per mile) to 3 (8 minutes) to 4 to … well back to where the two of them were standing. And for a moment they were jogging, but then of course the surge passed behind them as they came to a stop.

And then the crowd began walking. Walking. The two of them began walking from … well from where they had started, walking all the way up to the starting line. For 15 minutes they walked as thousands and thousands of runners crossed the starting line and began the race. 

2. Around Mile 5

Somewhere around mile 5, they were running on the left side of the crowd, because frankly most of the crowd was moving pretty slowly.

This was mostly his fault. At the halfway point he had waited in line at a porta-potty, and of course she waited for him. It cost them 10 minutes.

So by the time they got to mile 5 they were far behind the real running crowd. And it was here that he looked up and saw a man ahead of them with a hand-written sign taped to his back: In Denial — 90 years old.

The fair and industrious Trudy was trying to pick up the pace, but David (Yes, they were them.) moved right up to the man’s left shoulder and held out his hand as they passed him.

The man looked over and smiled and gave David five. David smiled and then turned back to run at Trudy’s pace. But then he did a double take. He turned back, leaning to get a look at the man’s face.

“I know you,” he said to the man.

“Yes,” said the man. He was smiling and very relaxed. “I’ve seen the two of you at a Turkey Trot or two.”

 “And I taught you in a computer class at the library a couple times.”

“Yes,” chuckled the man. “I finally figured out how to get on the Internet.”

“I’m David.”

“I’m Jim.”

“See you at the finish line.”

3. Not In Denial

Maybe he was in the front of the crowd at the start and so got a 15 minute head start on them. And certainly he didn’t wait in any line at the 5K mark. But think of it: he was there running along at 90 years old, and it was not until mile 5 that the two of them even caught up. 

He’s not in denial about anything. He’s doing just fine.

We woke to the green glow of the rain forest outside the cottage windows.

And after a decadent shower with tropical air blowing in the windows, we wandered around the grounds of Volcano Garden Arts.

It was a foggy, cloudy day. Wisps blew thru the treetops. We had a simple breakfast of bananas, bread and cereal, and then we drove the mile up the road for the first of what would turn out to be many visits to Hawaii Volcanoes National Park.

There were steam vents beside the road with white steam rising out of fern-lined holes in the ground. The mist and the fog and the steam were all around us. The forests stood silently in the distant haze. The grasses waved in the humid air. Behind a stand of green trees across a field, large clouds of steam billowed out of the ground and were carried away by the breeze.

At the caldera’s edge, we gazed out beyond the grasses and ferns and trees obliviously growing at the brink of destruction. In the distance thru the haze and clouds and blowing mist, steam rose from beyond the edge of the inner crater.

Halema‘uma‘u. Pele’s home.