The Organic Squirrel Gets a Bike Helmet

Last week I visited my sister and her family in Molokai, the Wild West of Hawaii. Or, at the very least, the slow country cousin of the same.

But, alas, they have grown so old. And acquired new pets it seems. Averaging about 1.3 dogs annually over the years -- as most seem to meet an early demise either runned over on the dusty streets immediately outside their house or gunned down in some forlorn, whiskey soaked saloon in Kaunakakai proper -- I was expecting some sort of dog but not quite the household I was welcomed by. On arrival I was greeted by three lovely, and taller, young nieces (Moriah, Sarah, and Lily) and three cute, and excitable, young canines (Mash Potatoes, Summit, and Monkey Pod.) Add to that a bitey rabbit named DC, a kidnapped chameleon named Gus, and about 3.5 million ants of various shapes, sizes, and colors, and I felt right at home.

Once settled we then began my grand packaged tour. First a meandering hike to Haipuapua Falls in Halawa Valley (we shot for Moaula Falls but got lost,) then some time at the beach, followed by Easter at Lane's, a luau, a trip to the Kamakou Preserve (where we absconded with Gus), some more time at the beach, and lastly a brief bushwacking to the Iliiliopae Heiau (one of Hawaii's largest temples and a site of human sacrifice) which concluded properly with me climbing a tree in an abandoned orchard to wack down some oranges with a stick. Life was good on Molokai. Simple and satisfying.

There was also considerable hormonal moodiness, not nearly enough lunch meat, and too much Moriah horse collar tackling Lily into a concussion to be certain, but that is part of the family experience. You're not supposed to get what you want, just three square meals a day, a roof over your head, and a body in your personal space.

If I had wanted boring I would have stayed in San Antonio.

Molokai mo bettah.