Archive for April, 2015

April 24, 2015

Post 59 – The Hurricane: Aftermath (Part 4)

 Larry
April 17, 2015

Post 58 – The Hurricane: Aftermath (Part 3)

The final resting place of the banyan tree.

The final resting place of the banyan tree.

The three older girls stood in row and stared at the death of their childhood before them. Riding out the storm on soaking wet mattresses with a yowling cat giving birth in a closet was nothing compared to this, the first huge loss of their young lives. Leaves were everywhere and there seemed to be an increase in the now homeless bug population scuttling about. The once mighty banyan, proud surveyor of Tafuna and the jungle whose perimeter it had guarded, protector of secrets and troll dolls, had finally met its match in a wind gust clocked at 120 miles per hour. Large chunks of branches were strewn about perilously close to someone’s house.

“This is so terrible. Should we sing something in its honor? ” asked Carolyn, racking her musical data base to try to come up with a song that had the words “banyan”, “hurricane”, or “pulverized” in it. Being her father’s daughter, she had just decided on a parody called “The Best Things in Life Are Tree” when a shout rang out across the littered sand. “Hey, there’s free ice cream!”

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April 12, 2015

Post 57 – The Hurricane (Part 2)

The banyan tree goes down. (photo courtesy of Richard Carter)

The banyan tree goes down. (photo courtesy of Richard Carter)

The sheet metal sails seemed to have momentarily stalled and the power had gone out around 4pm, so the children cautiously left the humid bathroom and came back out to the living room. Lack of windows made the room safer but it also contributed to lack of oxygen. Their next door neighbors had come over and the adults were sitting around the Coleman lantern drinking. The wind had died down a little but now picked up again, and after a particularly powerful blast, there was a series of booms that sent them rushing to the windows to peer around the beds to see what had gone down. The air was suddenly filled with swirling waves of leaves and splinters and vines that wrapped themselves around any still standing object.

“What the hell was that?” shouted Jean.

“The only tree big enough around here to produce that much mulch is the banyan on the edge of Tafuna,” mused Larry.

“Oh, no,” moaned Chrissie, for the banyan tree was her favorite place to hide and climb. There were several troll dolls stored there for later use, or had been. Now they were apparently in the upper atmosphere somewhere, swirling through the clouds toward Tonga.

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April 10, 2015

Chapter Eight (1966): Post 56 – The Hurricane (Part 1)

The storm starts to move through Tafuna.

The storm starts to move through Tafuna.

Chrissie blew cautiously on the spoonful of creamy, yellow soup and then slurped it into her mouth, followed by a gulp of ice cold orange Fanta  pop. The combination of salty and sweet exploded on her tongue and she closed her eyes in gratitude for the opportunity to try new and exotic foods. Her mother never served Campbell’s Cream of Chicken soup.

The children of Tafuna spent a great deal of their free time living at friend’s houses. Groggy parents had grown used to listening to a strange kid complain about powdered milk while wearing their actual child’s pajamas. The Broquet girls never tired of abandoning their home and familiar lives to assume the position in someone else’s family.

Chrissie was on day one of a three day home-swap, and this one had started off with a fabulous lunch. Her friend Nancy’s dad was a manager at the Coca-Cola bottling plant and that meant an unlimited supply of Coke and Fanta soda. The weather was windy and rainy and the two girls were considering a Monopoly marathon when they were interrupted by a pounding on the door. Chrissie was disconcerted to see her father standing there, and even more upset when she realized that he was there for her. As much as she pleaded and pouted, she could not convince him to let her stay. He kept saying something about a hurricane but all she could think of was that so far she had had only one orange Fanta.

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April 4, 2015

Post 55 – Going Under Kava

“Your head is affected most pleasantly. Thoughts come cleanly.
You feel friendly…never cross…you cannot hate with kava in you.”
-Tom Harrisson, Savage Civilization, 1937

dedication1The borrowed jeep sped straight up the mountain, straining in first gear as the angle became more pronounced and the ruts became as wide as the pigs that frequently wandered across. The island had been living up to its 200 inches of rain per year promise and the road was more of a suggestion at this point than an actual thing. Jean held on to the window edge but it was canvas so it didn’t afford much stability. She was grateful not to be in their clunky rusted Datsun, for it would have given up miles ago. Larry had commandeered a neighbor’s four-wheel drive for today’s visit up the mountain and it was currently the only thing keeping them from falling backward down the rutted path.

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