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Why not go chasing waterfalls? Sometimes, you’re just ready to go home instead.
Featured photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/1U9t8dWSHTuZYVGM8
January 6th, 2024- Hawaii Day 11
Rain drizzled on our hair, not quite matching the intensity of the waterfall we faced. The water of the river blasted over the stony edge, forming a tumultuous column descending to a quiet pool. I squinted my eyes and peered up at the drippy sky. I couldn’t help but resent the grey clouds a little. That morning, we had booked a helicopter ride to circle the volcanic town of Hilo. However, it turns out that Hilo is designated the rainiest city in the United States. It receives 129 inches of rain a year! With this said, there is little surprise our helicopter tour was canceled due to weather. It was disappointing, but not surprising.
Fortunately, Tyler is great at readapting plans! With time to spare, we visited a flock of wild chickens at the overlook of Rainbow Falls. A cluster of fluffy chicks bounced after the hen, who clucked with warm maternal love. We found ourselves wandering into town, ending up at a local market. Situated under tents, each vendor’s table was piled high with unrecognizable produce. Some were purple, some were spiky, and all looked like they’d been plucked from a Dr. Seuss book. Hardly any of the fruits were labeled, furthering my Ohio confusion. I had no idea so many interesting plants existed in the world! Feeling like a tourist, I obliged a vendor and bought an $8 coconut. With skilled precision, he balanced the green oblong fruit in his palm, then slammed it down on the table. A machete quickly followed, slicing off the top with a few efficient slashes. The vigor of his strength was startling, especially paired with his inscrutable expression. Meekly, I accepted the decapitated coconut and retreated. Safely removed from the machete-wielding man, I inspected my purchase. Ohio is much too cold for coconuts, of course, and I had only ever seen the bags of shredded white flakes on the store shelves. This heavy fruit was much different. Its flesh was, well, fleshy. It dripped with oil and flapped where the machete had torn through it. The milk, too, was different than expected. It slipped through my straw and into my mouth with a slimy slither. The taste was mild and unextraordinary. Somewhat sad, I concluded that I must have purchased an oil coconut, not a coconut coconut. Coconut oil is good for soaps and lotions. It’s not very good for eating!
Our coconut and helicopter disappointment was soon overshadowed by our day’s next excursion. Bathed in the chatter of rainfall and excited tourists, we donned the thick straps and confusing buckles of zip lining harnesses. Our entire group then climbed aboard a van for a wildly twisty ride into the jungle. Only a little carsick when we disembarked, we were soon soaring over a 300-acre ranch brimming with sugar cane, banana trees, and waterfall-laced valleys. The waterfalls were especially beautiful. Each a fingerprint of the water cascading over it, we glimpsed them for fleeting seconds as we whizzed by overhead. My favorite waterfall was the last one, a long ribbon of white hemmed by curtains of palm branches. Still laden with clanking harnesses, we heavily stumbled to an overlook accompanied by a girl named Natalie. Natalie was a college student from Texas who was visiting the islands on her Christmas break. We chatted about school, life goals, and, of course, the ziplining course. By the end of the day, we had exchanged social media handles and lots of smiles. It’s always fun to make new friends!
After we were freed from the cumbersome ziplining harnesses, we tracked down some delicious açaí bowls for lunch. As we ate, the anticipation of our later plans gnawed at me. The hulking curve of Mauna Kea, Hawaii’s tallest summit, lurked in my mind’s eye. We were going to drove up that beast. Sitting 13,600 feet tall, the inactive volcano is a little shorter than the Pike’s Peak Summit we’d driven in 2023. Despite this, the internet is rife with warnings about Mauna Kea. Horrible tales describe snaky gravel roads, unexpected bouts of elevation sickness, unconscious drivers, and brakes hotter than molten lava. Like those fast-talking pharmaceutical ads on TV, the worst case scenario is death. And like a gullible fool, I got scared. Thankfully, it turns out that the internet was just abundantly cautious. The road up Mauna Kea was indeed gravel, and the air was thin. But Tyler is an excellent driver who isn’t prone to elevation sickness. We ascended Mauna Kea with no fatalities. Our chip bags, on the other hand, didn’t fare so well. About halfway up the volcano, the crinkling of a forgotten chip bag in the backseat drew our attention. A yellow package of Lays chips had swollen in the changing altitude and was growing larger by the second. Enraptured, I stared at the bag. It grew larger and larger until… pop! Slices of crispy potato scattered across the backseat!
The scenery from the top of Mauna Kea was stunning. Fluffy cotton clouds lazily drifted beneath us. Regal telescopes slept in metallic silos. A sunset, as brilliant as a volcanic eruption, came to rest on the distant curves of mountains. When the sun’s brilliance retired, the stars emerged to dance across the night. The stars were a final gift from Hawaii, gently lighting our pathway home.
Home.
The thought was appealing after nearly two weeks away. It was the longest trip we’d taken since our honeymoon. Despite all of the lovely experiences we had, I found myself ready to return to simple comforts.
What does home mean to you? They always say that home isn’t just the house that you live in. Romance movies posit that home is the person you feel safest with. In my estimation, home is where you can be yourself. In public, we are only mimicries of ourselves. We cherry-pick elements of our personalities to put on display. Home is where you don the ragged sweatpant parts of our personalities. The cozy parts of yourself. The real you.
Our home is surrounded by hundreds of flowers that Tyler helped me plant. We earned the badges of dirt-filled fingernails and calloused palms to accomplish beauty. Our home is where a fluffy corgi with Yoda ears greets us after every trip. Home is the warm embrace of the smell of freshly-baked bread every weekend. Home is the croon of Frank Sinatra records on rainy days. Home is my grandma’s backyard gazebo where we were married. Home is the little white church on a hill. Home is family dinners, mini golf, and ice cream. Home is the wonderful marriage that Tyler and I are building.
Home.
What a thing to be grateful for.
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