Different worlds, same universe

Musings on ordinary life

With Craig back at work, my son and I are finishing up the Oahu part of the trip. It's not overly exciting. We go visiting. When friends are at work, or school, we sand, prime and paint. Or prune. The object of our affection is a small, wooden cottage.

My grandparents built it, almost 60 years ago. Helped by sons, safely back from war, and almost-grown daughters. Toiling in spare moments, scrounging for building materials. The finished house became a very practical home-base for a Botany professor, who still published and traveled, well into his 90's.

The upper floor is rented out now. There's a garage bedroom, which grateful descendants borrow when visiting Oahu. Here's a long-armed photo, of my many chins, in painting duds, fronting the spiffed-up stairs.

I loved our occasional childhood visits to both sets of grandparents in Manoa. Green, peaceful--truly beautiful. Today, the Valley has a feel of "too many rats in the cage". There's powerful economic pressure to utilize every foot of land. Any spare nook or cranny will produce a casting-call of desperate, potential tenants. Parking's an endless battle near the University. Residential streets see traffic jams. Expect daily concerts of leaf-blowers and emergency sirens. It's sad!

One of the surprises of adulthood is flashes of recognition, after unconsciously repeating family patterns. My mainland-born grandparents all ventured to Oahu in the 1920's. They loved it and stayed. My island-born parents decided Oahu was over-crowded. The tried a few different places before opting for Maui, when I was a toddler. Eventually, I concluded the islands were over-crowded and dysfunctional. Seeking respite, we headed off to our Canadian adventure. Which we love. But will we stay?

Craig and I had only been renters in Hawaii's expensive market. Coming to Ontario, in our early 40's, we signed our first mortgage. On a place in the sticks. I spent a lot of time finding just the right varieties of dwarf fruit trees for our home orchard. Cox's Orange Pippin, Rhode Island Green apples. Northstar and Evans Cherries.

It took a few years to realize I was following in my Dad's footsteps. Only his special orders were all tropicals. Meyer lemon, Mexican lime, Kona orange, tangerine, grapefruit, kumquat, soursop, mango, avocado, fig, lichee. And more papaya (pictured) than we could eat.

The cul de sac of my Maui childhood consisted of four houses--also out in the sticks. A mile east of Paia town, between Hana Highway and the ocean, when that road was lightly used. We had a right-of-way to a small beach. Idyllic, if isolated. That childhood home became a casualty of divorce, decades ago.

Lately, someone has merged the old lots, removed the existing homes, and turned it all into large, ocean-front compounds. There have been hordes of construction crews working there for years now. Replacing hedges with high stone walls. Erecting massive homes.

The citrus trees are gone. The shade tree we planted was spared. In true monkeypod fashion, it spreads wonderfully. It looks so good they've thrown a spotlight on it at night. I can't say that I like the new structures. To my eyes, they look like houses that got into a bad batch of steroids.

It occurs to me that this story must be universal, told a thousand times in exotic places like Maui--and the North Country? Ordinary people, simple homes. Built without fuss, amidst natural beauty. Replaced, over time, by outsiders with money. Who, apparently, cannot exist without big mansions.

Is my lament about wealth? Outsiders? Or bad taste? All of the above, I suppose. Live and let live is a fine principle. Having money--or not--doesn't determine people's true worth. The problem comes from getting swamped by someone else's wake.

When when wealth moves in, things change. For everyone. Old-timers get squeezed out by skyrocketing property taxes. Wealth commandeers the waterfront. The locals scrape along on low-wage service jobs, hopes of home ownership evaporating. Too often, the "just folks" end up feeling alienated in their own territory.

Is there a solution? I don't know. I can’t really see one from here