Dawn over Pearl Harbor
"Walking is the perfect way of moving
if you want to see into the life of things.
It is the one way of freedom.
if you go to a place on anything
but your own two feet, you are taken there too fast
and miss a thousand delicate joys
that were waiting for you by the wayside."
--Elizibeth von Arnim
Copyright © 2020
by Ralph F. Couey
I love to walk. It is such a peaceful way to spend time, even when the reason for the exercise is cardiac health. At one point in time I was running nearly every day, usually about 5 miles or so. Then one day my doctor told me that if I didn't want to be in a wheelchair before age 70 that I'd better take up something less harmful to my joints. I took up hiking, and over some five years, did about 200 miles of the Appalachian Trail. It was more than exercise. It was my time away from the world. When we moved here to Hawai'i in August of 2019, much of my extra time became committed to caring for my 93-year-old mother-in-law who, while in excellent health physically, is suffering a steady inexorable degradation of her cognitive faculties. Hiking requires an commitment of at least half a day, so I had to be satisfied with tours around the concrete jungle.
One of my most common walks starts at home and heads up a 300-foot ascent to the top of Waimano Home Road which ends at secured gate to the State Health Department facility draped across the top of Waimano Ridge. From there, the view is breath-taking, looking out across Pearl Harbor and Ford Island and the endless Pacific beyond. No matter how many times I've been up there, it never ceases to amaze.
This morning I left very early, just before sunrise. I have to work tonight, as my "weekend" will end. Hopefully, I will have tired myself out enough to sleep this afternoon.
It was very quiet this morning, the traffic still limited by the current set of stay home orders. I've noticed, being out walking almost every day, that a lot of people have taken up this recreation, no doubt because exercise is one of the few exemptions allowed. I can hear the steady tread of my shoes on the sidewalk, something only heard when things are very quiet. Occasionally, I stray into the street as I encounter someone coming down the hill. We smile and wave at each other, each knowing the real why we are out doing this so early. Walking up that long hill, I see many more of the feral chickens that populate this part of O'ahu. While the hens are generally drab, the roosters have brilliant plumage, those colors even more vibrant in the early morning light.
There's very little breeze, the trade winds taking a few days off. The puffy cumulus clouds float above me, their edges turning gold as they catch the rays of the rising sun still low over the Ko'olau mountains, really the remains of an ancient volcano, the eastern half of which lies scattered across the ocean floor after a massive collapse a very long time ago. On a normal day, or what used to be called normal, from this elevation, I should be hearing the sounds of traffic on the roads and freeways, but the air is still and almost silent. Now and then, I hear the sounds of birds awaking and voicing their particular sounds. I remember how welcome that sound was in the spring in Virginia and Pennsylvania as winter finally released its iron grip on the land. To me, it always sounded like celebration, and the return of life.
I start downhill through the old neighborhoods. A few people are out working on their lawns, washing cars, or just sitting in the car port. We smile and wave as I pass by. There are dogs here as well, all safely behind fences. At first, they rushed to the fence, barking loudly as they defended their turf. Now, most of them trot up to the fence, wagging their tails as we exchange greetings. Probably helps that they remember the bacon treats I've brought them in the past.
Now that they are home, people have more time to tend to their gardening, and it shows. Flowers are blooming, their colors brilliant and their delicate perfumes scenting the air. The lawns are healthy, clear and green. Here and there, people are working on them. Only in Hawai'i will you see people on their hands and knees using small, delicate scissors to trim each disobedient blade of grass.
The sun is higher now, and in the still air, the humidity is beginning to make itself felt. Without the trade winds, it's going to be kinda uncomfortable this afternoon. But it's still quiet. In the distance, the freeway has a few vehicles on it, but not nearly what is customary for a Saturday morning. Not surprising, since everything is still shut down. All the beaches, including now the State-owned ones have been closed. As far as I know, there's only two beaches left that are open. While on the mainland, state governments are beginning to relax restrictions and open things up. In Michigan and California, citizens took to the streets, protesting the bans. I don't think we'll see that here for awhile. Even with everything shut down and a mandatory quarantine in effect for arrivals, some 2,600 tourists still came to Hawai'i in the past four weeks. A few have been arrested and put in jail for breaking quarantine -- I guess there's always a few who think the rules don't apply to them. Most people here seem to be a little frightened at the possibility of a new outbreak if the usual 30,000 arrivals per day flooded the state. It is quiet now, but everyone knows that too soon, life will be busy again, and we will all suddenly have places to go and things to do. While that is necessary to get the economy back healthy again, I know that in a small place inside, we will miss these quiet, restful days.
But those concerns are burdens I've shrugged off today. My mind has taken a bit of a vacation, and as I climb the last hill towards home, I feel relaxed and recharged, ready for whatever the coming week will bring.
Okay, life; bring it on.
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