Our Dream Now
Doug Visits ‘Awapuhi
January | 2025
Last year, my husband Doug trusted me, often when I did not even trust myself. As the possibility of becoming the caretakers of a labyrinth in Hawaii evolved from a January fever dream through a thoughtful proposal to a by-owner closing with the title company less than 10 months later, he stood by me.
During this time, I visited the property twice, bringing back reams of photographic evidence and compiling bewildering lists of questions about tax law, residency status, zoning regulations, solar panel wattage, and composting toilet specs.
We sat at a local brewery one summery afternoon, and I insisted he visit the land himself. By himself, in fact. Without me as agenda-setter or cultural translator. This represents an entirely new chapter of our lives, and I believed it would be important for him to experience the place on his own terms.
I asked: “Who IS Doug on the Big Island?”
Doug takes vacations sparingly. His career as a research and development chef means that he’s sensitive to the ebb and flow of kitchen life, and the hourly wages that make taking time off financially painful. He was reluctant and maybe even a bit irked at my insistence.
Our bartender intervened: “She’s trying to send you to Hawaii? In January? Say yes, dude.”
Two days after he left, Atlanta was blanketed by snow.
I marshaled just-in-case emergency supplies and crunched through ice crusts while he texted me photos of sea turtles and ocean spray…
I got the first picture below after he’d finally made it to the center of the labyrinth for the first time. (An earlier attempt was cut short as a shower swept through.)
He experienced the same magical full moon energy I felt in November, joined a weed-and-walk, and became fascinated by small labyrinth details. And my avocado tree is looking fabulous!
His favorite parts of the trip were the hikes he took along the Puna Trail. One was a 4-hour round-trip to a sandy beach where ground springs and a channel from a lagoon meet the ocean in a brackish, shallow, sandy bay. Sandy beaches are rare along the lava cliffs of the Big Island, and Doug exclaimed over the temperature differences between the warm runoff and the chill Pacific.
As the trail led out to this secluded spot, he spotted honu everywhere, sea turtles sunning or waddling in the waves.
Once Doug arrived back in Atlanta, I caught all the stories of his adventures, working up my nerve to ask whether he had any regrets: “Can you see yourself living here?”
His response was emphatic and affirmative.
Relief from tension I hadn’t known I’d been holding for months seemed to slide off my frame. This isn’t just my dream now. It’s our dream.