That the whole world comes to Kauai is one of the joys of living here. The house up the Alexander Dam Road was remote but,  partly because of the kids, at least half the world ended up there. Also partly because this monster lava rock abode had five bedrooms, four baths, a huge living/dining room, and a mammoth ‘party’ kitchen, everyone Bill and I had  known since the beginning of time suddenly remembered us and came for a visit.

That’s one of the reasons why this house has one bedroom, one bathroom, and one interior door. I love people and house guests but after a while hotel keeping grows tiresome and tedious.  Now when friends come calling I say, “Bring a tent. Camping gear  You’re welcome to stay on the back forty.” I only have four acres but it’s a steep traipse to the back side and when you get  there you’d think you were a million miles from anywhere. No roads. No street lights. No sounds, except for the birds and the feral pigs snuffling. My neighbor to the east is the back-end of the National Tropical Botanical Gardens. When John Allerton was alive- the vast estate and the Garden was his baby-I teased, “You walk ten miles. I’ll walk ten feet. And we’ll fight over the back fence.”

The most interesting house we lived in was the house on Kukuiula Harbor. Our boat floated in the bay, our horses hung out across the street, and millionaire’s row was a bit scruffy. All the rest was green stalks of cane-grass at its tallest- and miles and miles of bridle paths called cane roads by others. Our air was the softest. Our  stars the brightest. The bay the cleanest. And it was  my country all the way to Shipwreck at one end and Allerton’s red gates at the other. I taught Beau how to open those gates. I wasn’t allowed to enter- but of course I did-and  was always getting caught. I’d flash the peace sign, wave a big wave, and gallop off  in all directions.

At this end of the road, too, is the Spouting Horn. One morning as we stopped to hear it roar and watch it burst and bubble, I caught sight oi a guy with his butt in the air and his head in the hole.

“Sir,” I hollered. “Don’t…”

When he stood up and turned, my heart skipped a beat. This was really good-looking guy. His name was Terry Mulligan, a Canadian Mountie and movie star, and he walked my horse and I home. He stayed with us. Sailed with us. Taught me Mountie horse stuff. We baby sat his daughter, met his girl friend, fed them Portuguese bean soup made in a tub and feasted on for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

This memory is for all my new-found Friday world-wide friends, Krista from Kalamazoo, Marlene from Hanapepe, Susanjane and Don from Canada, Mike from new York, Peter from Oregon, Sid from  British Columbia, darling Julie-who loved Scam-and came back to say so.

Hope you have a happy stay, a safe trip home and hurry back.


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