Before I came into being, Tutu was a widow and lived with Uncle James, the oldest son who took care of her, or she of him. Uncle James was pretty much a confirmed bachelor. At least that's how I remember him, and there wasn't anyone around to call Aunty. Nope, he worked for the sugar plantation and that is how life proceeded there on the slope of the mountain where Tutu lived. I should mention that the housing area probably had a name, most likely such as "Pake Camp." After all, Grandpa was Chinese, but Tutu was Hawaiian. In the home next door live two Filipino men, Tealso and Andres. There were families living in the area also but these are the ones that I remember the most.
The next oldest son was Uncle Melvin, who was married to Aunty Laverne. They lived in Honokaa. Uncle Melvin was a hard worker and led by example in such areas as education, military service, family responsibility, and community/civic service. He also rose to the position of Fire Chief for the Honokaa Fire Department. He was great to talk to and very encouraging to make the most of ourselves and pursue our education and obtain good honorable occupations.
Tutu had other sons that lived abroad or off island. Uncle Herbet was a Korean War Veteran who worked on Johnston and Kwajalien Island while Uncle Robert worked on Wake Island. They worked for government contractors and would come home every so often. They were single young men. Uncle Herbet had a Korean girl friend once but I don't recall what happened to that relationship. Uncle Robert was the youngest son, tall and handsome, and fun to be with. Later he would die at a relative young age. All of the daughters were married living elsewhere. There was Matilda and Uncle Bill on Oahu, Mom and Dad on the Hamakua coast, Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Joe in Keaukaha, Aunt Geraldine in California, Aunt Harriet and Uncle Kalfred in Kaimuki, and Patricia, a cousin on Oahu.
Tutu lived in Ookala on the side of a hilly slope. Her home was at the end of a cluster of three or four homes and bordered a cliff that dropped into a ravine or gulch. Surrounded by several large trees that provided a wind break from the often cool breezes, it made for a constant race of the imagination of a primary age youngster. In the broad daylight, it was a paradise of a large mango tree overshadowing a vegetable garden that was lined with papaya trees, banana bushes, and a variety of plants and trees. On the side of her home was a water catchment tank that caught the rain water from the roof and stored it for later use. That catchment tank was a necessity because in the dry months, it wouldn't rain for long periods of time. It also supplemented the local water system, which was often taxed beyond capacity.
The most vivid recollection of the area was the steep road to get to Tutu's home, where her home was at the top end. Could you imagine riding a wagon or today's skateboard down that hill? The road itself was paved and steep. When our car would start climing the hill, we'd all pray that dad wouldn't have problems shifting gears with our manual transmission car, because the thought of stalling or even rolling back downhill was simply terrifying.
Once you got to her home, it was a fun and exciting place. With my brother and sister, we would play with the neighbor kids such things and cowboys and indians. It was there that I really started to learn and appreciate playing baseball. We used an old broom that was cut to make a bat and a tennis ball that someone had found. No gloves, just bare hands. We marked the bases or stomped our heal in the ground to gouge out a dirt marking as the bases. Yeah, when you're a kid, you can do anything.
While mom and dad visited Tutu in the home or sitting on her verranda, we played and played until it was time to wash up and eat dinner. Meals at Tutu's was often filled with vegetables mixed in with some meat or pork or fish. We were always thought to eat what we took. So, by the time I realized the protocal, I had already experienced the embarrassment and discipline of wasting food. At the time, I could conclude that no mercy was spared for such action.
There was an outhouse or lua or privy or whatever about 25 - 30 yards away from her home. If you had to go, you took a lantern or flashlight with you. When you got there, you did your business and left. As a kid, I made the discovery that "oh, I don't have to flush!" My imagination would run wild at night with fears of an old Boris Karloff movie. During mango season, when the wind would blow, mangos would fall off the tree hitting the roof of the outhouse or Tutu's home with a loud bang! That was enough to frighten anyone.
Tutu's home was always well kept. The beds were nicely made, neat and clean smelling. They were the type with metal frames as bed post with single rack springs holding the mattress. The floors were single plank 1 by 12 boards covered with nenolium. Being bare footed in doors, the floors were cold, especially during the colder months. The windows had screens to keep the bugs out so you could open the windows and enjoy the breeze. Because of the shade from the large trees, when the wind would blow, you get the rustle of leaves. That home was filled with good memories.
Today, the road leading up to where the old home was located is closed off. Gone is the sugar industry that once was the life blood of the community. If you could travel from the beginning of the road to the end, which was located at the top, you have to see the big trees that covered the road with shade. They were big trees and it was always a pleasant drive, of course, Dad would drop the gear shift into second and ride it up the hill to the top. On the way down, he would drop it into second gear to help slow down the car while pumping the breaks. We'd hang our heads out the window to ketch the cool breeze. Along the way, we'd wave to the neighbors and friends, it was a great community.
My Mom would recall her visits to the family by taking the train that travelled the Hamakua Coast. It was an exciting time. Today, gone are the trains and tracks. Over time, they've been converted to highways, yet, it was a great 24 - 26 mile ride for her.
Yep, Grandma Mary Pawela Ah Ching. Uncle James as far as I recall was married to Aunty Emily. And then there is cousin Gwen. Plus my Dad was never fire chief. He became fire captain of Waimea Fire Dept. in the 1970s.
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