Even in paradise, time with family still prevails

On the Island of Kauai, Santa arrives by barge at Nawiliwili. There, on the dock near the cruise ships’ port and under the Lihue Airport flight path, he washes the salt of a Pacific crossing off his sleigh.

Instead of eight tiny reindeer, he harnesses a dozen wild Iniki chickens and sets off on his Mele Kalikimaka tour.

That, at least, is how it works for our family.

By the happiest of circumstances, our two daughters and their families are making their lives in the same town on Hawaii’s Garden Island. The grown-ups are an assortment of chefs, adventure guides and gardeners. The two keiki are tree climbers, rope swingers, hula students and scamps who are almost as winsome, hilarious and cuddlesome as your own grandchildren.

They are the reason we flew to the island for a week of the Christmas season.

They, and the harsh side of paradise, are the reason we send their Christmas presents by barge two months early. There’s also the adventure of driving to a shipping company on the Duwamish River to pack a pallet of new furniture no amount of wrapping can disguise.

We stuff the toys, books and a year’s worth of play clothes in all the crevices. On the morning of Oct. 27, those presents weighed in at 331 pounds.

The pallet may well have shared its barge with the baled evergreens that, like our packages, arrived on the islands shortly before Thanksgiving. In a brief and intense tree season, the Kauai locals pay $30 to $60 for the classics at Kmart, Costco, Home Depot and Walmart.

Big Boxes, not tree lots, are the game on Kauai.

When one of our daughters forked over $35 for the final bedraggled sheared fir at Walmart, the woman behind her burst into tears. Word had spread that these were the last trees on the island. They were not. My other daughter and I bought a prettier one at Kmart four days later. Though Costco and Walmart were sold out, we counted another three dozen trees elsewhere. It was only Dec. 5.

The lights nudge the trees toward the islands’ harsh side. Electricity is expensive enough to dampen the wattage. Jobs wax and wane with a tourism moon tethered to weather and the mainland economy. A tour guide will try to work a second job to keep up with the rent and the big gallon prices: $4.50 for gas and $5 for milk.

So, on the morning after we flew in, we were wrapping the practical presents from the barge: No fancy dresses for our granddaughter, but a year’s worth of play clothes that she’ll hand on to younger friends next year. Cookbooks for the chefs. Beach chairs, bought here at 90 percent off, to replace the ones that have rusted out since last year.

The rusted ones will be handed down, too, to other moms who frequent the string of protected spots locals in their towns call Baby Beach.

Handing down is part of life on an island where people live ohana – that is, family.

When we visit, we are part of that ohana. Our daughters’ friends are, for the time we enjoy their company, our other daughters. We are their adoptive aunties and uncles. No one arrives or leaves without a hug, without time spent catching up, without genuine affection.

It’s enough to make a person scratch touristy plans from the itinerary. Better to build a sand castle, with a moat and fish ponds and grandchildren at a Baby Beach, than to take off snorkeling at Tunnels. Better to admire a granddaughter riding her bike without training wheels than to learn how to stand up on a paddleboard. Better to cook an early Christmas feast, with turkey and a game of Apples to Apples and children opening just one present early, than to spot Ben Stiller at a hip bistro.

Better to sit under the moonlit palms watching the sky for a magic sled drawn by a dozen wild chickens, listening for a slack-key guitar and a jolly “Mele Kalikimaka.”

Kathleen Merryman: 253-597-8677
kathleen.merryman@thenewstribune.com
blog.thenewstribune.com/street