Bettejo Dux has lived on the cosmic Garden
Island of Kaua'i for over 40 years.
Bettejo is a regular opinion writer in the Garden Island news
and is the author of the famed novella, "The Scam."
Her latest fiction"Children of extinction"is now released and available on Amazon!
Bettejo has a gift of mingling
the present, the past, and the future.
|Bettejo breaking bread and|
discussing life with her friend
and mentor, Richard Dawkins.
At 36 I'd spent as much time living abroad as I had living at home and Kauai was about as far out as you could get without a Passport.
It was a feudal state. Sugar was King. Sugar, that historically infamous dollar crop, held sway. Those glorious fields, that glorious crop, that long green, dancing- in- the- wind grass that worked two long years keeping our air the freshest, the healthiest in the world. (Maybe that's why so many of us who lived those years ripened so well.) Their beauty. Yellow tasseled heads stopped traffic as did a spectacular death in red/gold flames early in the quiet winds of morning. An occasional flume of gray throat- itching smoke belched by, but we forgave it that.
|Bettejo enjoys time with her|
There were hundreds of miles of bridle paths, maintained just for me and my entourage--one horse, two ponies running free-- and so many dogs I've lost count. We often encountered a cane truck or a helicopter and our jaunts always crossed with the field hands who greeted us with soft smiles and friendly greetings, "Good morning, Mrs. Bill Dux," they'd call and I'd smile back. They were as much a part of this enchanting landscape as the cane itself. The cane mules, during planting season, brayed love to my frolicky leopard--Beauregard the gaudy Appaloosa--who pranced by, head up, tail high.
Truly, I could not imagine a more delightful way to spend a morning. To begin a day. To face the coming hours of work and play and who- knows- what- else lay ahead.
Just as sugar was King, so were the managers. The department heads were lords and ladies of the manor. I was not much into the social life, women in America are much different from women who--excepting those in the military or Embassy world who were always the same-- lived in a cosmopolitan community abroad.
We lived on the water. Kept our beloved Warpath at anchor in front of the house, my horses in the red barn across the way. Somehow Bill and I managed to combine, successfully, the horsey and sailing set. Sailing these water--Bill and I--was too vast another world to describe briefly. But at night, beneath a sparkle strewn sky and moon wide wonder--no phones, no worldly distractions--was an experience that kept our feet planted firmly on solid ground when they had to be. We lost Warpath during Ewa and Flash, Beau and Billy are buried here. Bill's ashes scattered.
Today it's a third world. The rich. The poor. Cane is a dear memory lost in concrete- coated madness. I see more cars driving to Lihue than there were on the Island 46 years ago. We've traffic jams--engine to hatchback-- expelling so much CO2 it's a wonder any of us survive. Let's don't talk about toxic sprays.
Some people call this progress?