With My Papa at Cowboy Pond

By RK Lindsey

With My Papa at Cowboy Pond is an abbreviated autobiography.

"I probably will not live to see our grandsons graduate from high school. This story is for them. Cowboy Pond on Waikoloa stream is where my story is set. It is a real place from where I impart grandfatherly advice via Lalamaikai, share tidbits about me and their Tutu

• Language: English
• Publisher: RK Lindsey JR
• Release date: Oct 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798890219633

RK Lindsey

R.K Lindsey, Jr. is a native Hawaiian. Writing is his passion. This is his fifteenth book and first children's book. A graduate of the University of Hawai'i-Manoa. Lindsey holds a B.A in Sociology and certificates in Executive Leadership. His interests are writing, music, people, politics, community service, and world affairs. His wife Kathy, has been an early education teacher for fifty-two years.

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WITH MY PAPA AT COWBOY POND

WITH MY PAPA AT COWBOY POND

Sonny Kaniho

Copyright © 2023 by Sonny Kaniho

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner and the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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With all my Aloha to:

Kathy Ann Dunn Lindsey

Lono Kahikinaokala & Kara Lindsey

Samuel Kamaile

Elliott Kahikinaokala

Imiola Ian & Bianca Lindsey

Lalamaika’i Brennan

Kuikamaoli Caio

1

When I reflect on my Life.

PAST & PRESENT Then & Now.

Then . Kid days. Those Fun times. Filled with laughter. Reckless horseplay. Nonsense chatter. Impish innocence. When I was as free as a meadow lark. Floating in a wide Hawaiian sky. Drifting upwards. Gliding over the Kohala Mountains. Doing cartwheels. Taunting, harassing, teasing the cattle and horses quietly grazing on the Waimea Plains. A human drone bobbing on a gentle northeast trade-wind. With no responsibilities. No worries. And, definitely. No concerns about tomorrow. Next week. Next year. The future. Heck! The future was way out there. Beyond the horizon. The fringing reef. A mystery not worth exploring. Not worth the bother. The future? Let it remain a ‘mystery.’ I could afford to allow it to remain so. Time was on my side.

Fast forward. To where I live.

Now!

In Time.

The present.

In Place.

Waimea. Our beautiful quiet picturesque high country town at 2400 feet elevation. Snuggled up against the lime green South Kohala foothills. And, cloaked in Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa’s shadow. Mauna Kea. The world’s highest mountain. From the Pacific’s massive floor to it’s high summit. Mauna Loa. Planet Earth’s most massive mountain in surface area.

Waimea. Whose inhabitants are some of the most thoughtful. Kind. Generous folk in the entire world. Imbued with this special spirit. Called Aloha (Love). Where cattle still navigate its verdant pu’u (hills), emerald slopes and grassy meadows. Pu’u irrigated by the kipu’upu’u (slanting) rain. Often draped in thick clouds. Or shrouded in mist. Cattle. A prime component of our rich paniolo (cowboy) legacy. Four legged immigrants brought in a tall ship to the Sandwich Isles. From California. Without their consent. In 1793. By British sea captain. Richard Cleveland. A gift to Kamehameha I. Unifier of the Hawaiian Islands. Ravaged by conflict for centuries. Until Kamehameha showed up. And, brought peace to our pae’aina (islands) with the help of western technology and pale faced strategists. Islands spawned from molten magma spewing from fiery cauldrons boiling within Earth Mother’s womb. Thousands of years ago. Creating an archipelago stretching fourteen hundred miles. Hawai’i, serving as one book end. And, Kure Atoll, the other. Christened by Mark Twain to be. The loveliest fleet of islands anchored in any ocean.

I could continue with my love fest for my beloved homeland. With what is beginning to morph. I’m sure for you. Into a monotonous tirade. For your sake. As well as mine. I’ll stop here. Because I have a story to share. A story to tell. And. I want you to hang around. You see. I don’t know how much time I have left to tell my story. How long I have for this world. Time waits for no one. Some wise person crafted this pearl of a phrase a long time ago. So. Best I get going with telling my tale of fond, personal, private memories. Of this place that I love. That I will forever be loyal to. And, to these memories especially for our grandsons four. I will attach a few manao (thoughts) that I’m passionate about. And, have strong feelings toward. The Overthrow of the Hawaiian Kingdom. The Thirty Meter Telescope. Hawaiian Sovereignty.

The setting. Cowboy Pond. A pond I’ve been retreating to and forgive me for pilfering the words of the Psalmist but I could not say it better. ‘To restore my soul’ beside its ‘still waters.’ For seventy years now. I first went there as a boy of twelve with big man dreams. I was ‘wet behind’ my extra large ears. For me.The pond is a sliver of Heaven. It became my Garden of Eden in Happy Times. A shelter in Times of Storm. A nursery in my youth. To incubate rocking chair memories. To reflect on in the Winter of Life. When Social Security, Medicare Advantage Prime. Amnesia. And dementia come knocking on my door.

The cast. Me and my grandson, Lalamaika’i. I will refer to him going forward as Lala. Kathy and I have been blessed with four grandsons. Samuel. Elliott and Kuikamaoli. Lala. He’s grandson No. 2. And, the stranger who appears in Chapters 2 &16.

My purpose. To tell the four through my story (not others) who their paternal Papa was. A Storyteller. Most of what follows is fact. Some is fiction (Headers 1,2, & 15). But the bulk is real. I leave it to you Lala, Samuel, Elliott and Kui. To separate ‘the wheat from the chaff.’

2

"In the beginning in Waimea….

I went to Cowboy Pond for the very first time when I was twelve. On a day very much like today. A ‘see forever’ day. With our Imiola Church Youth Group. It was a time of inspiration. And, fun. Singing gospel songs. Reading Scripture. Sharing testimonies. As ‘brothers and sisters’ in Christ. We ‘broke bread’ along the pond’s grassy shore. Listened to the soothing, pleasant sound of water dripping over Cowboy Falls. Observed ‘Castles in the Sky.’ Shared with our collective body. Our dreams though tentative. For the future.

Howard was going to start a rock band. Be its lead guitarist, And, back up drummer. Someone. I forget who. Told Howard, he definitely should not sing. I think it was Harry. Wise cracker Harry Baggerman. Harry’s jab made us erupt with laughter. Howard included. He was such a good sport. Nothing anyone said about him. Bothered him. Harry. He was going to play football for the LA Rams in this place called Los Angeles. His bubble got popped in high school. Harry got cut after two weeks trying out for the Junior Varsity. The coach told him he needed to 1) put some beef on his skinny frame. And, 2) get rid of his fear of being hit. Sylvia. Sylvia was going to be an elementary school teacher. First grade. I cringed when I heard her plan. She was dumber than dumb. A teacher of young minds. My gosh. How scary! Like Harry. Her bubble got popped to. She quietly left Waimea early in junior year for an unknown destination. Why? We were never told. But we had a hunch. And, it sure wasn’t because she needed braces. We never saw her again. Patsy. Poor ‘boy crazy’ Patsy. She was hitching up with Sam right after graduation. She just wanted to play house and have a pile of kids. Sam, who was sitting next to her left just rolled his eyes. Stared at this boots and nervously twiddled his thumbs. But said nothing. He told me the week before at morning recess. That he had a big crush on Doris. She was cute. And, carried a lot of peas in her bonnet. Doris was sitting in the circle to his right. In fact, he was going to take Doris to our prom. Which was coming up in two weeks. Doris. She to was going to teach. Second grade. Why? She idolized Miss Lydia Toledo. Our second grade teacher. Who lived five miles from town. At First Gate. We knew where she lived. She was damn lucky we couldn’t drive. She was a witch. Doris was Lydia’s ‘pet.’ I won’t reveal what we did to Doris’ chair to humble her in second grade. She loved to flaunt her special ‘pet’ relationship with ‘Miss Lydia.’ I dared Bernaldo one morning before school to put a tack on the teacher’s chair. Dangled a block of bubble gum in his face. To incite inspiration. He was so docile. So easy to convince. The problem was. Bernaldo had very ‘Loose lips.’ Instead of pleading the Fifth. He admitted to the dirty deed. He ratted out the rest of us. She whooped our little butts in front of the entire class. With a yardstick. Bernaldo, did not get his bubble gum. And he kept his distance from us for the rest of the school year. Doris spent a lifetime teaching. But not second graders. You see! Doris was a nerd. After graduating college. She taught physics at some university back east. She and Sam. They became an item for a short spell. He did take her to the prom. But she didn’t save the last dance for him. She saved it for Mike. Big Mike. Bernard and Mike. They were toughies. Loved guns. Loved to scrap. Loved football. They were going to enlist in the Marine Corps the day after graduating high school. Which they did. Both served twenty five years and retired. Mike as a ‘full bird.’ Bernard as a Gunny Sargent. Bernaldo. He followed in his dad’s footsteps. Cow-poking for Parker Ranch. And, ended up with bowed legs from years of being in the saddle. And, a missing thumb. The result of a roping injury. Maile, Jade, Rudy and Fat Albert. They had no plans in mind yet. I was going to become a criminal defense lawyer. Like Perry Mason. And, find someone like Della to handle the front office. When I learned later on in life. How hard a competent, top notch, succesful attorney has to work. The long hours. Researching case law. Preparing briefs. Memorizing legal doctrine. Prepping for trial. I threw the idea in the trash can.

Our little group spent many fun hours at Cowboy Pond. Singing to the sky. Praising the Lord. Jumping. Diving into. Swimming in the pond’s cold, clear, icy water. The pond grew on me. I fell in love with the pond. It became a personal friend. A buddy. Kin. Part of my Ohana-a family member. Our youth group after a couple of years. Disintegrated. All this happened because Rev. Thomen, who brought us together. We lost our reason for being. He left Waimea and our church to go back east for more learning. His replacement was not an out doors man like he was.

There was a void to fill. So I formed my own