Maunawili, Hawaii, 1960’s. Imagine if you can. Towering volcanic mountains surrounding a valley of lush green grass swaying in the tropical breeze. The mountains are the Koolau Mountains and the valley is the Maunawili Valley on the island of Oahu, in the State of Hawaii.
A dairy farm once occupied our valley. My dad used to work at the farm and I’d cross the stream, climb the stream bank up to the valley, and take him his lunch, on occasion. You see, our family owned a smaller valley surrounded by a beautiful stream, within the larger Maunawili Valley. There was a corral on the way to Kaimi Farm that housed my childhood’s “Black Beauty”. He was beautiful, spirited, and my personal friend. Oh, I never got really close because he’d charge the fence, but we communicated. I talked from a distance and he listened. Who he belonged to, I never knew. While I always envisioned that “Black Beauty” was mine, he probably belonged to a paniolo (cowboy) that worked at the Farm.
Dr. Chung, a physician who had an office in the nearby town of Kailua, Oahu, Hawaii, purchased a good portion of the valley. From whom and how he purchased the valley, I haven’t a clue; but Dr. Chung developed our valley when I was but a young girl in the 60’s. The beautiful streams full of frogs, catfish, crayfish, opai, and colorful sword fish were flattened and cemented, the lush green grass was dozed for tar, cement driveways, and single-family homes, and our ohana (family), who had lived in Maunawili for generations, was being torn apart by assimilation, greed, and ignorance. But that is another story.
One of the first homes built in the new development belonged to the Lindsay family. The Lindsay family had two girls, Lynelle, who was my age, and LeeAnn, who was a couple of years younger. The Lindsay’s also had horses to occupy their horse-crazy daughters as well as their horse-crazy friend. Lets see, there was Flame, a beautiful sorrel who belonged to Lynelle’s aunt. I remember him picketed in the verdant grass, muzzle down, munching. We never approached Flame, I don’t know why, but we never did. Then there was Penhalo, the sway-backed palomino who was just fast enough and patient enough for three unsupervised young girls ages seven and eleven. Lynelle’s grandpa had his horse in the valley as well, and I got to ride him once in awhile in what I now know to be grandpa’s roping saddle. And later, there was Jet, a light palomino pacer that Lynelle’s daddy bought for LeeAnn. While the Lindsay’s had other horses, these were the horses that captivated our attention in those days.
The Lindsay’s home was about a half mile from where the horses were kept at the base of the mountains and Uncle Urban would drive saddles, blankets, bridles, and young girls to the base of the hill where the grass remained untouched and the horses grazed. This hilly area not only provided the perfect up-hill track for running the horses, it also boasted enough of a slant for mud sliding with ti leaves when it rained and we couldn’t ride the horses because the mud was too slick.
Our mount of choice was Penhalo, he was sway-backed, older than dirt, and we loved him! Even though Uncle Urban brought saddles and blankets we normally hefted each other on Penhalo’s bare back, leaned forward and told Penhalo to GO! He’d lope up the hill, walk down, and patiently stand while another girl was hefted onto his bare back for another run up the hill. For hours, this patient gelding entertained us. Eventually lunchtime arrived and we’d all walk to the top of the hill where the fence stood, Penhalo included. There he’d stand while three girls climbed aboard for a walk through the development to the Lindsay’s home. Tied to the Lindsay’s deck, he’d stand so patiently while we made lunch. Then, using the deck we would climb aboard Penhalo for a return trip to the grassy hill. Afternoons of lying in the grass and watching the clouds, riding Penhalo up the hill, talking about horses, and just being young will remain in my memory forever.
Occasionally, I was included in the Lindsay family’s riding events. The most memorable were the camping outings at the beach. How the horses got to the beach, I never knew. Where the beach was…I had no clue because we never paid attention to where we were going being too intent on who we’d ride when we got there! But the memory of sleeping in Lynelle’s mom’s porche while the other family members slept in tents is ingrained in my memory. Talking about horses till we fell asleep and waking to ride the beaches in the morning was euphoric. Racing through the surf spraying each other and laughing as a wet tails sent slender tendrils of salty, seawater towards us. Waking up at dawn to the sounds and smells of the ocean, climbing aboard bareback and riding as the sun peaked the horizon. A match made in heaven, young girls, horses, friendship, and the freedom only experienced on the back of a horse. The stuff memories are made of….
I thank God and Bless the Lindsays, wherever they may be, for showing me how much richer life can be when shared with horses...today our horses are my friends, confidants, and companions.
|
