The Phantom Stallion

July 1

I never thought I'd ride in a parade, and I couldn't have guessed I'd do it as a pa'u rider. Megan and Tutu have been working on me for weeks, though, and since I can't stop falling in love with all things Hawaiian, Navigator and I are going to do it!

Pa'u is the old-style way that ladies used to ride, and they didn't wear long skirts (the pa'u) to be fancy, but to keep their dress-up clothes clean while they were riding to parties. I totally get that, because the volcanic dust a horse can kick up along these trails drifts in the air until you're covered with it.

Cade knew I'd be writing about this, so he gave me a big lecture on SPELLING it right. And I guess, like lots of Hawaiian words, this one makes the little apostrophe important. If I leave it out, PAU, it means finished, or all done, like when Kimo says we're pau with work for the day.

Anyway . . .

We met at dawn in that circle corral in the rain forest, three women (me, Tutu and Meagan) and three horses (Navigator, Prettypaint and Tango). It's a magical place to me because of all of the happy and sad things that have happened there.

I can't ride through the tunnel of trees to get there without listening for rustling leaves, picturing that black boar that'd gone fierce and rabid. And there's his opposite, Snowfire, the beautiful wild white stallion, not to mention those creepy little happy face spiders!

The kipuna corral is midway between the ranch and Tutu's little sugar plantation house and she says the ground is sacred, watered by tears of happiness and grief.

The pa'u Tutu brought for us are twelve feet long! They don't look anything like skirts. I mean, picture the deep end of a swimming pool and imagine yourself holding one end of a rectangle of cloth (mine is red calico), and dropping the other end. It would unfurl through all that turquoise water and end up drifting along the pool floor.

I guess I must've looked like I was overwhelmed, because Tutu explained the length of all that material, "The pa'u must flow regally from your waist, over your stirrups and just graze the ground."

Aunt Cathy said the Pa'u riders she knows use lightweight rope to tie their skirts on around their waists and ankles, but Tutu insisted we do it the traditional way.

She showed us how to twist kukui nuts (!) inside the fabric to make it fit and flow the way it's supposed to. It works. Amazing.

As she taught us how to fold the pa'u, she told us how she'd gathered the materials from the mountains and the shore, the rain forests and the vines, to make the pa'u in the traditional way.

This morning, she gave us our final directions.

"Wet your hair and your horses' manes with rain water," Tutu told us, "And also the horses' manes and tails, and then weave the tightest braids your fingers can make."

I did it, and even though the skin around my eyes is pulled tight and my scalp aches a bit, it will be worth it. Tomorrow, we'll look great.

Megan's cherry coke hair, Tutu's silvery white and my black hair, will ripped around us, with yellow ilima flowers (no one's told me yet how we'll get them to stay in) and we'll wear red lehua leis. So will the horses. But that's all.

"That's all? That sounds like a lot to me," I said, but Megan rolled her eyes.

"You know Mele? She's a princess in a pa'u unit on the Big Island and, on Kamehameha Day, they wore so many layers of lei that they couldn't turn their heads to smile at the people who'd come to watch the parade."

"And they looked as if mischievous menhune had dumped flowerpots on their heads," said Tutu.

So, yeah, we're going with simplicity, skill and elegance.

Right. I had to bite my tongue so I wouldn't remind Tutu and Megan that I hadn't been riding all of my life like they had, and when I rode Hoku, sometimes I was lucky to just stay on her back! I don't think they'd forgotten about that, though, because the real pa'u riders went bareback, and Tutu's allowing us all to use saddles.

I've got to go to sleep, get some energy for tomorrow, because a lot is (literally) riding on my performance tomorrow.

Jonah had me call Mom to tell her what I was doing, and she got all teary.

"The paniolo culture would disappear without girls like you, Darby" she said.

And that made me proud.

This time last year



	*July 1* I never thought I'd ride in a parade, and I couldn't have guessed I'd do it as a pa'u rider. Megan and Tutu have been working on me for weeks, though, and since I can't stop falling in love with all things Hawaiian, Navigator and I are going to do it! Pa'u is the old-style way that ladies used to ride, and they didn't wear long skirts (the pa'u) to be fancy, but to keep their dress-up clothes clean while they were riding to parties. I totally get that, because the volcanic dust a horse can kick up along these trails drifts in the air until you're covered with it. Cade knew I'd be writing about this, so he gave me a big lecture on SPELLING it right. And I guess, like lots of Hawaiian words, this one makes the little apostrophe important. If I leave it out, PAU, it means finished, or all done, like when Kimo says we're pau with work for the day. Anyway . . . We met at dawn in that circle corral in the rain forest, three women (me, Tutu and Meagan) and three horses (Navigator, Prettypaint and Tango). It's a magical place to me because of all of the happy and sad things that have happened there. I can't ride through the tunnel of trees to get there without listening for rustling leaves, picturing that black boar that'd gone fierce and rabid. And there's his opposite, Snowfire, the beautiful wild white stallion, not to mention those creepy little happy face spiders! The kipuna corral is midway between the ranch and Tutu's little sugar plantation house and she says the ground is sacred, watered by tears of happiness and grief. The pa'u Tutu brought for us are twelve feet long! They don't look anything like skirts. I mean, picture the deep end of a swimming pool and imagine yourself holding one end of a rectangle of cloth (mine is red calico), and dropping the other end. It would unfurl through all that turquoise water and end up drifting along the pool floor. I guess I must've looked like I was overwhelmed, because Tutu explained the length of all that material, "The pa'u must flow regally from your waist, over your stirrups and just graze the ground." Aunt Cathy said the Pa'u riders she knows use lightweight rope to tie their skirts on around their waists and ankles, but Tutu insisted we do it the traditional way. She showed us how to twist kukui nuts (!) inside the fabric to make it fit and flow the way it's supposed to. It works. Amazing. As she taught us how to fold the pa'u, she told us how she'd gathered the materials from the mountains and the shore, the rain forests and the vines, to make the pa'u in the traditional way. This morning, she gave us our final directions. "Wet your hair and your horses' manes with rain water," Tutu told us, "And also the horses' manes and tails, and then weave the tightest braids your fingers can make." I did it, and even though the skin around my eyes is pulled tight and my scalp aches a bit, it will be worth it. Tomorrow, we'll look great. Megan's cherry coke hair, Tutu's silvery white and my black hair, will ripped around us, with yellow ilima flowers (no one's told me yet how we'll get them to stay in) and we'll wear red lehua leis. So will the horses. But that's all. "That's all? That sounds like a lot to me," I said, but Megan rolled her eyes. "You know Mele? She's a princess in a pa'u unit on the Big Island and, on Kamehameha Day, they wore so many layers of lei that they couldn't turn their heads to smile at the people who'd come to watch the parade." "And they looked as if mischievous menhune had dumped flowerpots on their heads," said Tutu. So, yeah, we're going with simplicity, skill and elegance. Right. I had to bite my tongue so I wouldn't remind Tutu and Megan that I hadn't been riding all of my life like they had, and when I rode Hoku, sometimes I was lucky to just stay on her back! I don't think they'd forgotten about that, though, because the real pa'u riders went bareback, and Tutu's allowing us all to use saddles. I've got to go to sleep, get some energy for tomorrow, because a lot is (literally) riding on my performance tomorrow. Jonah had me call Mom to tell her what I was doing, and she got all teary. "The paniolo culture would disappear without girls like you, Darby" she said. And that made me proud. This time last year Archive June 2011 May 2011 April 2011 February 2011 August 2010 July 2010 June 2010 March 2010 February 2010 January 2010 December 2009 November 2009 October 2009 September 2009 August 2009 July 2009 June 2009 May 2009 April 2009 March 2009 February 2009 January 2009 December 2008 November 2008 October 2008 September 2008 August 2008 July 2008 June 2008 May 2008 April 2008 March 2008 February 2008 January 2008 December 2007