Damp with sweat and still panting from the steep ascent, I passed the picnic table at the top of Sleeping Giant to head for the east facing bench that overlooks the sea. It’s a work of plain construction with two
Damp with sweat and still panting from the steep ascent, I passed the picnic table at the top of Sleeping Giant to head for the east facing bench that overlooks the sea. It’s a work of plain construction with two sturdy legs and a worn plank across the top for a seat. Before sitting down, I read the word carved into its surface. R E S P E C T, seven letters traced then cut by a stranger. Someone took the time to hump lumber, hardware and tools to the Giant’s chin to build this simple monument that possibly every hiker who’s made the trek up has set their grateful bottom upon.
Anonymous deeds.
On my drive to the Giant that morning I’d passed a couple orchestrating their own quiet offering. On the reservoir road in Kapahi I spied a man mowing a patch of grass on the side of the road opposite the water. Across from him, reaching over the guardrail, was a woman in a straw hat arranging rockets of red ginger in a five gallon white bucket.
Roadside monuments to the dead are scattered across our island and their visibility growing — with 11 casualties of car accidents already this year.
My mom introduced the concept of doing secret good to me when I was 8 years old. After two months in rehab she joined the ranks of the “clean and sober.” From that point forward my sisters, brother and I were marinated in the philosophy of Alcoholics Anonymous. She drove us crazy with her bumper sticker wisdom with sayings like: Live and let live; easy does it and one day at a time. But the one piece of literature that spoke to me was from a palm sized pamphlet called, “Just for today.” In it was the advice to do one good turn for someone without getting caught. If you got caught, it didn’t count.
There’s an art to giving selflessly. It’s hard to do good without a desire for acknowledgment.
Another recently found gift is near my home. Since adopting my dogs from the humane society, I hike Ho‘opi‘i Falls regularly. Part of the trail hugs the bank of the creek and my eyes follow the water’s course as I walk along the muddy trail. In a wide section of the stream there’s a spiral made of stones — river rocks of varying sizes span six feet across. For months I admired this intentional sculpture that the water tumbled over.
It’s the element of surprise that interrupts my thinking. I am invited into some else’s story. My own redundant thoughts are replaced by the delight of the unexpected.
These images steer me away from my self-centered thinking. I start asking questions: Who is that couple caring for the spot along the reservoir and who did they lose? Who schlepped the wood to the top of Sleeping Giant and what is the story behind their choosing those seven letters to carve into the seat? How long did it take that person to collect the rocks and then assemble them in running water?
This is my mahalos to secret do gooders. Thank you for giving gifts to strangers. Yours is a story I will never know, but your untold story is now part of my story and the mystery of it is my fuel.
• Pam Woolway is the lifestyle writer at The Garden Island. Her column “Being there” appears every other week.
