Bound for the Mountains

     When we first moved to the Big Island, jobs were scarce. That hasn't changed, except to get worse. I know that's true everywhere, but Hawaii Island has long been notorious for its dearth of decent paying employment, unless you're an astronomer or work for the government. It's a challenging place to start a business, too, more expensive and arduous than any place in the nation. If you want to be an entrepreneur here, you've really got to want it. Perseverance and plenty of capital is crucial, for it's more likely to take years than months to acquire all the permits and open the doors. I can think of three large, empty buildings -- two new and one restored historic site -- sitting empty right now, waiting to open their doors for business. It's disheartening how many people who live on the windward side make the three-hour drive to work the upscale resorts of Kona and Waikaloa (a.k.a. Haolewood) on the leeward (west) side. One of my neighbors, just up the road a piece, works as a waiter in Waikiki. He flies over to Honolulu and sleeps for a few days each week in a camper he keeps there.
    Yes, people do extraordinary things to get by, let alone get ahead. Here's an example: It was an early morning, last summer, six a.m. I awaited the shuttle to take me to the airport, returning home from my Alaska/Colorado and one night in Phoenix adventure.  I struck up conversation with the pleasant, personable young desk clerk. It was August, and at that hour already getting hot in the desert.
     "Whew! How do you handle this heat?" I asked.
     "You actually get used to it," he said. "Physically. Your blood changes after awhile and you can tolerate the heat better."
     "Are you just starting your shift or are you still here from last night?"
     "I'm the still here. One hour to go."
     "Graveyard. That's tough. Do you sleep in the morning when you get home, or do you stay up for a few hours and sleep in the afternoon?"
     "Usually, I crash as soon as I get home, but today we have a mandatory one o'clock staff meeting."
     "So you have to come back in the middle of the day?"
     "No, I have to stay. I ride the bus two and a half hours to work. It's impossible for me to go home and come back. Then I'm on again tonight, so I'll just stay here after the meeting, too."
     "Can they at least give you an empty room so you can snooze and shower before your shift?"
     "Yeah, I just found out they're going to do that."
     "Two and a half hours. That's a long commute."
     "It's not so bad. I can sleep on the bus. And it's better than no job at all."

     The resiliency of the young is impressive, isn't it?  But older people are making big sacrifices for their paychecks, too. Later that morning, the middle-aged TSA ID checker at the airport commented on my Colorado Driver's license.
    "My wife lives in Denver," he said. "She said it rained pretty hard there last night."
    "She lives there and you live here?"
    "Yeah. It's not the best but we talk every day. Gotta do what you gotta do."

     I've applied for scores of jobs here over the past few years, dozens in the past few months. In most cases I don't even get a reply saying thanks but no thanks. So recently, I've been sending applications elsewhere, most notably Gunnison, CO, where we still own a cool, historic log cabin, biking distance to town, that nobody wants to buy. I have yet to land a job there, either, but I've at least gotten a few positive responses and have scheduled a few interviews, so prospects look good. The cabin needs an inhabitant, at least through the coldest part of the winter, so it makes sense that I should go there. There's a glut of rental property in Gunnison these days -- ours is not the only house not selling -- and we're just not up to being long-distance landlords again. Are we destitute and desperate? No. But sitting around unemployed has not been good for me. So off I shall go to bring home the tofu (we no longer eat much bacon at out house), to shovel snow and freeze my tush off in a new middle place, the middle of the Rockies, while my family remains in the middle of the Pacific tending to the coffee farm, basking in the liquid sunshine of the rainforest and keeping our cozy hovel from biodegrading into the earth. I'm confident we can withstand this skosh of adversity. Americans everywhere are working much harder and doing much crazier things. Plus, there's iChat, Skype and Magic Jack. We'll be fine.

I'm also looking at this as a writer's retreat. How can I help but be productive there, alone in a cabin in the mountains, fire blazing, snow piled up against the windows outside? And when I'm not working or writing (of course, writing is also hard work), there might be time to squeeze in a few turns. I dug my skis out of storage today, and while they're a bit outdated, they're still OK. A quick run over a base grinder, a squirt of silicone spray on the bindings and they'll be ready to slide. I just hope I remember how to ride 'em.

A hui hou. Aloha!