Musings: Grieving

I went up to the stream yesterday, craving its cold immersion, curious to see how it had been affected by the flood. It was full and clean, the rocks scoured right down to their grayness and blackness, all the algae gone, all the cans and rubbish and fallen logs, and hopefully that horrid pink hybrid ti, night blooming jasmine and other invasives planted by well-being idiots trying to pretty up a native stream.

I'd already witnessed the shocking results of the flood on the ocean end, at one of my favorite sections of windward coastline, where blocks of what could pass for modeling clay still litter the white coral sand, raging torrents cut deep troughs in the beach and mud blanketed the reef, causing me to wonder just how long life can survive under that suffocating blanket.

Yes, some of it was “just nature taking its course,” to borrow the words that a corrupt state DOCARE officer used to blow me off a number of years ago, when I complained about runoff from the “agricultural subdivision”— aka luxury houses now used as vacation rentals and second homes — that was being developed above the beach. But a lot of it stems from human activity.

Fortunately, county planning inspector Les Milnes did come and look and made one of the oceanfront owners, Norm Caris, change his drainage plan. This caused Norm to get so pissed off at me that he grabbed me by the neck on the beach below his house one day and threw me down on the sand, then threatened to shoot me and my dogs if he ever saw us again. By the time the cops finally showed up, well over an hour later, Norm had already found someone to back up his lie that he never touched me, and he threatened to sue the cops for false arrest. So nothing ever happened, except the cops said maybe best to avoid his stretch of the beach, which was public, last time I looked.

Right.

Unfortunately, things did continue to happen to the beach, both below Norm's house, and on either side of it, where all the drainage from that subdivision is funneled into two channels that dump directly onto the beach. I've watched with alarm how the beach was degraded during previous big rains, but nothing so horrid as this.

You can see Norm's house off to the left.

Here's where the water comes down on the other side of his place. This land is owned by someone else. I love how they post signs telling us not to trespass, but what of their trespasses, by way of mud and vege, onto our beach?

This is what was flowing directly off of Norm's property. Wonder how messed up it would've been if I hadn't bitched and Les hadn't followed through?

Of course, because of all the crap flowing off the land, this is how the usually crystal clear water below Norm's house now looks.

In Googling Norm, I found this article about him and his house in Architectural Digest. Like so many of the `aina rapers, he claims to love the place he's helping to destroy:

The couple also have become very involved with Kauai charities. “We were here in the aftermath of Hurricane Iniki,” says Norm Caris, “and we saw firsthand how strong and resilient people on this island are. We moved here for Kauai’s beauty—and in this house, we certainly experience that—but we also wanted to be part of this incredible community.”

Yeah, just so long as you don't call him any of his shit.

And people wonder why I, and others, get so furious at some of the clueless rich pricks who move here. As a therapist on New Dimensions recently noted, “anger is always covering grief.” U no dat.

But one day, when he's on-island and the wind is just right, I may just have to put some of that wet drift wood to good use and make a big smoky bonfire right below his house.