Clear Blue

   
This last, glorious Saturday, five of us piled into a car and drove the 2 miles to Nett Point.

The water was a wondrous blue.  Life is good!






Of course, many others had the same idea and picnickers and water fans were sharing their delight.  Where there is water, there are fun-loving kids.


Kids are quite happy to demonstrate their balance, their daring, their skills.  Flash a camera and they will perform any number of acrobatic maneuvers.

 

 

 And, like kids every where, there's always one or two who taunt and dare and scoff. . . until the big guy captures them for the appropriate dunking.







Though the water was clear and obviously refreshing, after an hour and a half or so of enjoying the antics of the kids, I noticed that some of our party were no where to be seen.  Thinking they might have swum back to the car, Becca and I gathered everyone's sandals, towels, bags, cameras, and miscellaneous odds and ends. 

We headed for the car, looking for our other members either in the water or on the sand along the way.  Of course they were no where to be seen.

 We arrive at the car -- alone -- with none of the others in sight . Obviously some miscalculation has occurred.

 But another 5 minutes, as Becca and I discuss the possibility of returning to the end of the causeway, off in the distance we spy our lost companions hobbling along.

What's a day at the beach without sand between the toes. . .

Just the Routine

 


Mornings begin with skies.  There is little transition from darkness to light.  The first greys begins about 5:40 and by 6:00 the world is well defined.  Some morning we are blessed with colors, splashed above our heads.

Three or 4 mornings a week find me jogging to the water.  Here the world is calm while moisture builds incredible towers and shape of silent power.  These constructs are quiet reminders of my insignificance: a call for a little humility.

 But it is a soft call that I can quickly dismiss as I hustle home to shower and gather my materials for the day.



Our apartment, as I have mentioned, is above the Samuels' store -- 5 S for the 5 Samuel's.  Laurie's is the window on the left, my is on the right.

 So it's out the door each morning with greetings to the dogs, to the cats, to the children off to their own schools, and to Papa Waltes who mans the store when Maryana goes to work.

Our home is only a short distance away from the school.  We pass the church with its inviting steps and its bell tower - with a bell which sets the dog population howling.  

  

Across the street from the church is one entrance to the elementary.



 We walk on the sidewalk, up the street to the regular entrance to the elementary school and then, just beyond, to entrance to COM Pohnpei Campus.

This week the school’s Blue Plate Café has opened for the semester, serving a selection of 3 meals each Thursday.  Some students man the kitchen doing the preparation and cooking while others serve as waiter/waitress, cashiers, or hostess.  This is a pleasant break of routine between classes.

 Laurie, Emma, and I were happy to see Tracy already had a table when we arrived.  How could she NOT invite us to join her?!

It's a hard life, but as they say, someone has got to do it. . .


 

Tree Climbing

Pohnpei is an island where much of the edible resources are from trees.  Developing a fearless sense of balance seems natural.   And in fact, youngsters do develop a lack of fear and an agility on branches that would test the hearts of mothers back home.

Tree climbing, though is the young men’s arena.

A large mango tree grows in front of our balcony.  These fruit (which are much smaller than other mangoes and tart rather than sweet), have been tempting Laurie.  They have called her name and teased her with their closeness yet still out of reach.  The largest fruits were, of course, at the top.

Last week end the call was too much.  We called for our local “Good Man,” Roswell.  

 

 

 He happily climbed, taking a sack with him.  This is one of the largest trees in our little neighborhood.  In less than 20 minutes Laurie received a plethora of mangoes from the highest branches!

 

 Breadfruit trees are another food stock requiring climbers.  In this case, the large breadfruit is dropped by the climber and assistants attempt to catch  them so they don’t split open on impact.  Jay Jay (our host son) and his friend were the chosen ones!  What became obvious very quickly, is that a breadfruit in the hand is lighter than a breadfruit on the air. . .(er… wing?)

Betel nut attract loads of attention from chewers but climbers are swift and tend to not wait for pictures in their furtive collection of nuts.

 

Of course, in our group of volunteers, we have a particularly talented climber.  Scot has successfully retrieved both coconuts and papayas! This insures him increased job opportunities in the future!

Waste Disposal

 On Thursdays mornings, back home, the question of garbage stands forefront and center with a series of distinctive, warning auditory cues.  By 7:45,  the stress of the previous night’s forgetfulness becomes a potential mal olor, and storage problem, until the subsequent Thursday.

Thursday never comes here on the island.  Smoldering 55-gallon barrels stand sentry duty at entry points to living areas along the roads.  In these rusted, blackened barrels, are the remains of the prolific sea organisms who have been transformed so many times, over so long a period, from living to sediment to hydrocarbon black gold.  Here, in these barrels, they make another transformation to aerosol. Non-burnables, such as cans, slowly accumulate at the bottom, replicating the geological process on a much diminished scale.

An aluminum recycling project had bright projections just 4 years earlier.  The intervening years have darkened the prospect of the 3 R’s.  Fenced cages with their bright and not-so-bright green, red, gold, and silver troves of cans still share duties with the 55 gallon drums.  There are still thoughts of reopening the recycling plant – or so I am told.  Action is slow on the island.  Thoughts. . . are . . . glacial.

Waste food products are the simplest of disposal issues.  What is unwanted or deemed unfit for human consumption becomes feed for pigs.  If a few morsels escape the slop bucket, ubiquitous dog units maintain patrol duty.  Questions of leadership and rank occur when inordinate amounts of perishables are discovered undefended by a sufficiently strong unit. Skirmishes are common.  Rank and file are disrupted, adjusted,  and realigned.  Order is reestablished, sometimes with fatal consequences for the displaced.

 

But what of the big items, those moving conveyances which invariably break down or meet an unmoving object. Walking and jogging about the town, my attention has often been encouraged to develop possible solutions. 

 

 

Along the causeway, a relatively new addition turned up one Saturday, probably a Friday night encounter.  By Saturday morning, the most obviously viable components had been stripped.  By early afternoon, the remains were towed away by a handy trailer.  

Further down the causeway, an experiment in fencing creatively utilized body parts.  

 My name-sake -- another forgotten import.

No dogs patrolled the auto grave yard, though.


 







 
 





 Nothing deters the natural growth, however;  which is really a  positive indication that we humans have a limited detrimental totality to our presence.  We, too, shall pass.. . .