The teenager youth I am raising based on my lesbian perspective, these decades-long values, I am hoping for him to evolve into a male adult who can belong in and contribute to a community—and, well, at one time he was 14 months old. In a few weeks, he achieves thirteen years. Go ahead and pinch me for I can barely believe time's passages. What eases me as the Mama in our family is one day at a time immersions in nature.

When the kid is fourteen months old, I lean over to the jogging stroller (many miles traipsing on those tires) and bundle him in my arms, turning around to place him a few feet away from the steps. These are sturdy metal steps, a one foot high riser (vertical) and one foot tread (horizontal), an easy bound for an adult, yet when still crawling, and being three feet high while standing on wobbly legs, the height is a challenge for my son.

Darien crawls to this tall structure, placing both hands on the bottom step, swings one leg up and over the tread surface, and hauls the rest of his nimble body all the way. He does so step by step and there are maybe seven stairs, an ascent to this playground swing and slide and climbing set.

The seven ascents take him forever, maybe 15 minutes or so, and once in a while he simply throws his hand high in the air knowing I am nearby, and so I reach over and provide some assistance. Yet the accomplishment is his. That powerful smile when he reaches the top level and crawls around there. Success at last.

I join him in that outdoors joy at a San Francisco urban park—some trees and shrubs and grass lawns. Being here gives the entire day context as in despite other family travails, we went to the park, a sure win every time. For several months, Darien keeps crawling up the play set stairs. Way at the top is a slide and he goes solo and often he beckons that I go as well. Holding him in my lap, we make the trip safely.

One afternoon he arrives to the steps and notices the side railing. He stands and holds this newly discovered walking support for a few seconds, yet returns to his crawling method. Little surprise that the next day he relies on the railing support to take one step sideways with both hands gripping tightly. Plop he returns to crawling—yet in that one step he teaches himself how to walk.

This learning process continues for one month and then he keeps going. This day though he stands up and walks so slowly like he is a hundred years old, carefully taking each step—having to swing his legs way to the side for the step incline is still very tall in relation to his 15-month-old standing height and walks all seven steps clinging until the top tread arrives. Here he turns around beaming and finds my celebratory smile.

In this outdoor urban park, the sky caches blue colors—various shades behind and then in front of clouds—sunshine filtering through the overcast (San Francisco, after all), birds hollering and winds fussing—Darien learns to walk. This nature immersion conduits his confident first steps leading next to running on the wide expanse of lawn adjacent to the playground.

Nature's generosity is that we humans get to breathe well and explore and laugh and celebrate health, ours and what she provides. We need to look though. And as a Mama, I have been known to give a lecture or two or a hundred—so here is another: go find your nature. Scold, scold.

In a densely populated urban city of one million folks, my toddler son and I could find this park while walking—he in the jogging stroller and I as the content (read frazzled) Mama. Every August the blackberry bushes, being pruned some by city workers yet mostly wild, bring delicious harvested fruit into our lives. The blackberries are several hundred feet from where he learned to walk on those metal steps. We discover this park and then we discover the nature inside and outside the park because we looked beyond the fence line to where the blackberry brambles thrive.

Keeping the hope for connection to the outdoors as a family value, I invited the toddler to not wear shoes, a direct relationship to the earth. He didn't wear shoes his first two years—and later we worked through a few challenges when, say, at the San Francisco Main Library a requirement was made. Darien couldn't fathom why shoes made sense, especially indoors when flooring is so easy to walk on.

After moving to Hawai'i when he was four years old, like many keiki (children) here, he began walking on lava rock for long hikes as if the surface is that SF grassy lawn he learned to run on. Picture throwing any gravel you might have around to the ground, let the granules bake in the sun, then walk across barefoot. An easy path the walk is not. And Hawai'i keiki routinely adventure outdoors this way. Kinda cool.

Today my son is now taller than me and I am 5'5”; he achieves 13 years old in a few weeks. And after many years into my learning project—how to remain a reasonably thoughtful parent (oxymoron?) —I have grown—and continue growing—to value the stay-cation. In this instance, the solace a few Mama days gift me are happening at Kohanaiki. While I am away, the teenager opts for a stay over with one of his besties back in Hawi, the rural village next to the one where we reside, Kapaau.

And that is the story within the story as the backstory of what I wish to share meaning that Hawai'i earns a reputation as especially immersive in nature's beauty yet when looking for nurturing respite from life's decibels, how well we can find incredible oasis, right in our back yards. I am not sure if going to the park is political, but concur we can on definitions: political is who gets what, when, where, how—and that divisive word—why. If I am raising my son on lesbian ethos then anecdotes I bring from staycations back into our home will matter. Stories count. On occasion, real-life ones persuade best.

Going into nature is a choice I make for our family and Hawai'i scenarios are idyllic. So I don't presume to compare tropical winds on a delightful beach to snow packed tundra on vacant plains. The ease and comfort sandy beaches provide are starkly contrasting. Even so, standing in an empty parking lot buoyed by a can of soda and bag of chips, at times my mindset claims this scenario as heavenly oasis. How good can life get, anyway? For just beyond the parking lot edges is hint of a walking path if I seek that adventure. And who knows where that access to nature will lead? Reminds me of the San Francisco park's blackberry brambles that I rarely saw other families go discover. Am I a fool to compare beautiful Hawai'i to discovering pockets of nature wherever we are? Probably. Let's see how foolish I git.

While first arriving to Island of Hawai'i, I make decisions to maintain grace inside nesting dolls of economy (read tight budget). One day job that discovers me is as Tutoring Coordinator for students being raised in farm families, what the US federal government calls Migrant Education. And on Big Island we have real-live farms—coffee, coconut, pineapple, papaya, banana and more, much more.

After the Konawaena High School shift, I drive the family jalopy (our car that we call Mauna Kea, a 2003 Pontiac Vibe now with 232,517 miles) to a housekeeping gig. Quite common to work several jobs as method to ensure living economy on island. The jalopy has shine for the tropical sun can sting metal something fierce, so I apply soap, water and an industrial strength car wax. Even so, a few spots of paint are missing, a rusty spot resides where the antenna used to be, plastic sidings are fading and more evidence exudes. We got a beater car.

The anything but froufrou car abounds on island, good to go there—meaning I am at the gate. In Hawai'i we are often at the gate where the security guard has questions and as he—or often enough a she—will assess my personal value based on the material car. The automobile signifies all kinds of low life as I make entry into the millionaire's compound. House prices are in the millions, so, more accurately, we got billionaire's who treat the millions like you and I would treat a hundred dollar bill, a ton of money, yes, but there is more where that came from, even inside the upside-down of that political why.

“Where you going?” guardian of the gate asks, wearing a blend of smirk and snarl on his face.

When the Hummer “car” (original design arrives from the US Army as a deft tank) behind me arrives, the facial expression changes remarkably. Who knew?

Gleefully I reply, “Oh, the Swansons are expecting me. Today is my day for our visit.”

No spoken comment. The stink eye continues.

“Name?”

Each letter I carefully enunciate. “My name is K-a-r-o-l-i-n-a (pause), G-a-r-r-e-t-t.” Taking several minutes to complete the spelling—accurately—we have launch. The coveted written piece of paper goes on my jalopy's dashboard (all that prestige at once). Goal, the soccer announcer hollers! The gatekeeper activates the horizontal road-security arm—a flimsy piece of wood that I could have driven through if I am seeking police arrest. Alas, calmly driving our family car forward, I am one step closer to continuing grace inside dire economy, my own, the personal kind.

I drive forward a half mile or so on this wealthy enclave path where mansions built from scratch, rising on cement foundations poured wide and even over lava rock ground to rubble. Her historical origins are formed centuries ago when Hualalai and Mauna Loa volcanoes actively poured splendid molten earth. Kilauea volcano is still active today and splendid is not the word as human perspectives assess, true enough—parallel honesty remains that Hawai'i volcanoes gift earth creation.

In spring 2018 Kilauea decimates 700 homes as lava flows from moutainous perch to ocean beach side where she removes an entire community beach locale. Also, the concrete pillars, massive structures constructing the harbor, are now sunk into the earth a few feet juttying visible still. Given nature's backstory I chuckle and wonder how lasting the McMillionaire McMansions will remain. Bitter? Not so—realistic on how feeble far human ego can go.

The driveway is the full circle kind where you stop at the entrance, the valet takes care of the rest. Yet even as the mansion is nearly complete, we have myriad carpenters and electricians and plumbers and housekeepers milling around. The valet has not been hired quite yet so I park my own car to the side. You and I have one entry door to our dwellings that we unlatch with a key. Yet this mansion has two intricately carved 20 feet high and seven feet wide koa wood art projects that swing in to welcome the start of the interior experience. These are the front doors and would qualify as an entire wall for modest abodes.

And once open they reveal a chef's kitchen to the left—an eight burner state of the art stove (seems fickle to apply the word stove for all the other side gadgetry happening) plus two fridges ten feet tall or so on either side of the stove. Why just one when two is always an option? The depth to the kitchen sink and the quality of the marble inside would qualify as a child's crib for the first year or two in most cultures. Which now brings the writing slowly, ever so tangentially cranking the essay writing handle a millimeter or two squeakily to the point.

Remember a few paragraphs ago when my son was learning to walk at the playground being immersed in nature? Now we are standing at the kitchen sink, soon to be mopping floors. What is happening?

At the risk of readers tufting more chunks of hair from your scalp, I will indulge another tangent. Comforts me that Rogaine for men and Sephora for women always available for your hair loss. Beyond the mammoth front doors is the kitchen, yes, to the left and then immediately in the center walking path an expensive (will anything in here not be?) wood table for receiving business cards and so forth, also hosting an intricate flower decoration several feet tall in a crystal vase, as the center piece.

Directly on the right is a square blocked C shaped sofa comfy and ample enough to sit 15 folks, most likely 20 if you know them well. The C shape intentionally faces a fireplace, the hearth ten feet and surrounding artistic lava rock design makes for most of an entire background wall. A low level coffee table stretches wide enough to reach you wherever you sit for placing a porcelain coffee cup or iced tea crystal tumbler.

What is missing? Consider what I have described. A fireplace (not wood burning, more decorative) for social gathering, a kitchen for meal preparing (hired chefs are ready and waitresses on standby), but where to sit while dining? Right, in Hawai'i we often eat outdoors because when can, can. That is, if you walked briskly from opulent front doors, across the foyer, you would quickly reach the pool setting. And adjacent to the pool, where eating meals outdoors may occur, is a table for such a purpose. The wealthy want access to organic environment, too.

Warm tropical trade winds facilitate immersion in nature at this income level. Sitting at the outdoor dining table, the view is panoramic—expansive ocean and sunset and artistically designed swimming pool perspectives all seeking, guess what, a relationship to nature. The human impulse, that humble yearning to unfold in nature's patterns, applies to interior space, too.

Ceilings are so tall and pathways so wide to scramble around in, going from room to room compares to hiking a forest path. The master bathroom has her and his, in this case, yet could have been her and her or his and his, shower stalls spaciously qualifying as rentable studios in San Francisco. The master sleeping room takes five minutes to cross when walking from one side to the other with a dust mop. The clothing closet could make a decent sized urban office space. Suffice to say that the mansion is huge and voluminous and elegant and after a few years housekeeping in San Francisco, especially in Victorian domiciles there, I have never seen anything like this dwelling. Breathtaking.

And that's when I get that even at this wealth level the replication is to nature. The pool sides precisely meet even with infinitely careful stone tile design on the walkway—similar to how ocean waters lap evenly with beach sand, flush-flush, one nature dynamic greeting another at equitable levels, as nature tends to do in ecosystems. Walking into the swimming pool water, the exertion is as familiar as taking a step from sandy beach into ocean water, effortless. Recently I learned through coconut wireless (often true talk, mostly gossip) that these stylized swimming locales are called infinity pools. Infinite design natures gifts us.

Clearly, I never swam in that pool, simply observing carefully is the zone I occupied rather than into handcuffs police might provide given the daydream I had to bust through the security gate and then cruise a few laps in the millionaire's pool. Live and let live is a better motto that I attempt to bring into each day. And on this housekeeping afternoon we three women share the experience since the homeowner, an easygoing woman having earned her moolah through record albums, singer she be, does not mind at all if we have no work. When our cleaning team arrives, the house is mostly immaculate. For several hours, we simply walk around.

I am earning $35 an hour so the cleaning company probably $50 and at $150 an hour, the homeowner seems to appreciate our team as social back up. Having bought the place for $25 million (the contractor shares the sale price during talk story) perhaps some weight lifts for her while we friendly women are milling around, happy to help and we did do some actual cleaning along the way. Maybe exquisitely rich folks are learning how to take their own baby steps in this brave new world? Good news, and this is 100 percent truthful (if you can believe me after this long story) is that the singer millionaire is totally chill as in super friendly and down to earth.

This mansion day occurs in spring 2016 and presently the long winding road of an essay tangent arrives center focus to the Mama stay-cation that has no coincidence as being exactly walking distance over from the McMansions. On a tropically sunny October 2023 afternoon, I am still driving the same jalopy car. This time though I steer the car on a path that leads to the immediate ocean shoreline—a practical lava rock's throw from the Kohanaiki mansions and the gatekeeper.

Rules keep aligned mana (energy) flowing well for all.

This Hawaiian acreage is home to political dispute going on heartbreak for many when developers won. A sign posts on the road I drive to the beach—RIP Pine Trees, the nickname locals give to the popular surfing spot. When the McMansions are built in viewing distance from the beach, many declared nature's freedom as the death at an environmental funeral. The long-contested public fight to keep all Kohanaiki all public is lost, true, yet a concession exists. A Hawai'i County state park now forever remains as in several miles along this breathtaking coastline are devoted to community (public) enjoyment, an immersion into nature that is free and makes you feel like a millionaire.

Reserving a camping site is easy online and costs $7 for Big Island residents. Kohanaiki community region fills with “locals,” meaning those living on Big Island year round (as opposed to those who arrive on jets when snow begins in their homeland). Surfers arrive early for friendly size waves open to all ages learning the sport, one that research shows Hawaiians invented. For da kine family and friend groups who stay a few days (Friday to Sunday is common) beach accessories deliver: durable canopies for day shade, tents for night sleeping, stoves for cooking, lights hung for evening parties, boomboxes blare pleasant beats, and plastic tables with plenty chairs for lolling around snack foods and beverages. Leisure time is a fine art in Hawai'i (notice I did not say “lazy time” as the stereotype goes—for all will return to active work once holiday recedes).

For me, nature's immersion means light and wind and sand. When I arrive in the afternoon, the jalopy family car travels careful and slows for tall speed bumps slowing our roll on a road several feet away from and parallel to the ocean. Along the way is an organized space to shower and to rely on the bathroom. I usually avail myself. Once my basics are cared for, I return to my vehicle then locate a parking spot near the end of the public park. The light in the sky begins turning faintly orange as sunset emerges. So, I take my beach chair and flop in the sand next to a swaying tree, coconut fronds now quadruple the volume they were several years ago. This fading daytime means the wind changes and I like to sit and measure that. Late afternoon arriving to Kohanaiki intertwines light, wind, and sand sensory observations. Ambient air drifting from the mountains behind and the ocean in front swirl together an earthy scented warm breeze, a soft hug, that also smells sea creature briney, salt and fish spritzes.

Nature's influences on my experience are these. And as I have staycationed at Kohnaiki more than a few times, several rituals I bring while going into humble (hopefully?) human mode. Maybe I bring a book to read. Or perhaps a journal to scribble in. Freshly brewed coffee might be a cup I am holding for a coffee house is only a mile or so away. Deep fried fish sticks pillow in a flour tortilla with raw onion and cabbage plus hot sauce is what the convenience store sells for my fish taco dinner. Can eat this way for $7 and that works. An organic tobacco cigarette might be lit. Whatever the detail surrounding, the sitting is the event.

For I am looking around me on the beach to my lateral sides and then far away into the ocean horizon I stare where various locomotion happens on ocean waters. Tourists are on fishing boats, expensive sail boats catch the wind, huge metal ships carry containers (main delivery of all island goods), and a simple jet ski flies up and over waves. I watch. Closer still on the sandy beach are families preparing dinner for the sun has now set and in dusk enough light to continue ordinary with the day's business. A few youth are on the coastal lava rocks having cast fishing lines. Or parents are there with younger keiki demonstrating how to fish, eventually with night lights for dusk disappears soon. More than a few surfers will stay in the water optimistic the perfect wave will carry them in and mostly no-need light for that.

Hawaii trade winds (kamakani) bring continual delightful since changes dance on your skin hour to hour. On this staycation afternoon, I perceive a lighter tropical breeze for the day had brought much direct sun, as in after dry Kona heat the wind rebalances later in the day. Yet in the dark now in October, a cooler brisk air flow happens so I even wear a jacket, which rarely happens. That continual fan, nature's air currents, drifts air tinging salty humid ocean mists. That is why I sit in the sand beach chair on this Kohanaiki beach.

If I stay slow like that simply absorbing the environment feels like I went to a fancy spa, and rejuvenated I am after. Nature anywhere, anytime gives anyone this chance. A freebie if we slow our pace to go there.

Into the evening I can sit in my beach chair for a long while. Bright stars in all kinds of patterns are well-lit above me. The cool night time wind keeps breezing along and laughter murmurs along the airwaves, so I listen. Is a sense of nature's infinity cycles, dawn to dusk, and humans merely on the surface experience, briefly taking in as we can. Inside I feel a sense of heart-freedom, so I organize a tidy sleeping space on an air mattress tucked well inside the jalopy's hatchback space and get one of the best night's sleep available. Windows are lowered and the car's back door kept open, so breezes filtering all through the night. Ocean currents and tides are the steady low drum-beat for sleeping and for the instant I wake up.

Those fleeting first few seconds are a soft pillow to welcome the new day through my alert senses: warm air floats ocean scents into the car, whisps of grayish dawn light are an even line on the horizon, birds chirp and squawk sounding in awe that another day is the celebratory gift. Wake up, already, my avian friends holler. I love this mellow state of light and wind and sand and mountain suggesting such promise. On this particular morning I decide to start walking even at 6 a.m. when often enough I will sleep for another few hours. Today I get up to check out discoveries. Who knows the birds flying around me screech.

And that's when I find an equivalent to the blackberry shrubs in San Francisco. I am wandering onto a walking path that treads beyond the familiar beach zone. What a happy discovery! In this area an entire growing park full of learning on Hawaiian plants—endemic, canoe, and indigenous. Signs are posting everywhere so I can read and study and appreciate. Thrills me to wonder at all the soil microorganisms thriving invisible to what the eye can see, yet visible evidence is in green above that the soil produces.

An outdoor walk on public land on a real budget—what is not to value? These are green spaces well-preserved and curated by dedicated Big Island citizens to continue historical and sacred and purposeful Hawaiian plant growing and practicing. Lauhalla, for example. Whenever I see lauhalla growing, I get happy. The tree has streamlined design, a nature's symmetry making me grin to see simplicity at work. And the leaves are ideal for weaving myriad life essentials: hats, mats, walls, and far more. Native Hawaiians could count on lauhalla for so many purposes.

From where I stand on the pathway to reach this garden-growing area, I look across a long and wide pond, a complex water ecosystem, and there on the other side is the same McMansion where the housekeeping afternoon unfolded seven years ago. The literal distance is so close. And perhaps the extravagance one is far, far more? How material much is necessary to sense alignment with life? I don't have any answers. This morning I woke up blissful on a $10 taco meal the evening before (includes an iced coffee) and sleeping accommodations for $7. The intriguing morning walk—chalk full of history and culture and immersion learning—is free. That McMansion and I are so interconnected and so separate still.

The gift that keeps giving—if I only look closely—is nature's outdoor expansiveness. A choice to look around no matter where I am in which geography and observe the beauty there. And maybe share a story or two with family on discoveries made. My son Darien is a teenager in our family and grateful I am that he still enjoys listening when his Mama returns from Kohanaiki camping and I talk story some, the often too tangential method (yet really?) to build an essay point. Happily the basics keep our family in continual conversation on healthy life.