Hawai'i Ways, Hawai'i Days
Shower trees herald summer
By April Ambard
Special to The Advertiser
Everyone has a favorite season, and for small kids (and teachers!), summer has a special charm.
In my own childhood, summer was heralded each year by one of the most glorious displays Hawai'i has to offer, the blossoming of the shower trees. Each afternoon as I took the bus home from school down King Street, I'd gaze longingly at the trees that lined the road, hoping to see the first blossom. First I'd start seeing the small sticks and leaves littering the ground around the old stadium. This was enough to make my heart pound just a little faster, because it meant that the trees were getting ready to end my school year. A few weeks later, the bright green new leaves would begin to sprout, a sure sign that summer was around the corner.
The days seemed endless in old Bishop Hall, as I waited for the first sign of buds on the ends of the new branches. Aunt Molly Lyman, our wonderful study hall teacher at Punahou, used to give me a daily report on the progress of the trees in her neighborhood. She shared my passion for the trees, and noticed each new leaf.
My excitement grew with each passing day, knowing that one day soon I would be the first to spot a flower. Would it be a golden one? Rainbow? Pink? I never knew, but my discontent with the bonds of the classroom grew right along with the progress of the trees. Soon, my concentration would begin to wander. Aunt Molly would bang her gavel louder and louder to get my attention as I daydreamed about the delights of summer; surfing all day, staying up late, reading all of the books in the 'Aina Haina library science fiction section, eating green mango with shoyu and best of all, lying under a shower tree, feasting on the sight of thousands of multi-colored blossoms under an impossibly blue sky. Soon, my other teachers would begin to notice: "April, I called on you twice! Are you the Statue of Liberty? Put your hand down!"
Mr. Van Dyke would lob soybean pods at me, trying get my attention, then finally give up and tell the class a surfing story, knowing full well that it was useless to try to teach anyone bent on summer vacation. Years later, he would remember what a spacey kid I was. "Only at the end of the year, Fred!" I would answer. He demurred, claiming that I was always that way.
Finally the magic days would arrive. The first flowers would appear and I was lost. My heart seemed to burst from my chest each time I saw more and more flowers cover those wondrous trees. Summer! The akamai teachers gave up at that point, knowing full well that no instruction was possible a mere three weeks from vacation. The tough ones would continue to attempt to pound knowledge in our brains, often losing all patience with us. Aunt Molly's gavel banged to no avail, Chaplain Warner decked the chapel with blossoming branches and talked about God's miracles of rebirth, and Mrs. Stratton would bring examples from nature of the magic number five, including of course, the five-petaled flowers of my favorite tree.
The last weeks would end in an agony of impatience. The trees on King Street seemed to vie for my attention, and I would watch happily as all of my favorites decked themselves with glory. On the last day of school, I would stand at the Beretania transfer point and gaze to my heart's content at the golden shower tree above the bus stop. Summer had finally come, and until the last beautiful petal in August rained upon my upturned face, I was free!
These days I am a teacher myself. My students start noticing the little mistakes I make on the board, right about the time those sticks start falling. When I start gazing outside the classroom, chalk poised in mid-air, they turn to themselves and sigh. Mrs. Ambard is watching the shower trees again. It must be almost summer!
April Ambard is a teacher at Mokapu Elementary School and lives in Hawai'i Kai.
