The Rain

I've lived in places that had a lot of rain before—I'me talking to you, Florida!—but those were sandy places. This is the first time I've had to live, literally, in mud.

Of course, I've never lived this close to the land for such an extended period, before.

Zach has been renting campsites via AirBnb. These are isolated, primitive sites along the eastern boundary of the property. Yesterday, a nice couple in a rented Jeep stayed with us. The campsite area cannot be reached by car, but in the dry season a 4-wheel drive vehicle can and, of course, the quad can go any time. Zach usually puts a trailer on the quad, lets the campers load their stuff into it, then he ferries the stuff to the campsite where they unload and he leaves them to set up.

However, this time, the camper really wanted to have their vehicle near their camp. And, for some reason, I was convinced that, since they had a Jeep, I, with my decades of driving experience, would be able to get it to their campsite safely; yes, and back up in the morning.

I promptly not only got the Jeep hopelessly stuck in the mud; every attempt I made to extricate it only caused it to slip closer to the edge of the gulch, currently rushing with water pouring down from the slope of the volcano. I realized that we would need Zach's truck to pull it out. But Zach (and his truck) were in Kahului overnight.

So we had to leave the Jeep where it was. And I spent the night worrying about it, and how furious the guests must be, and how dreadful a review they were sure to leave.

As it turned out, however, it wasn't that bad. Zach got back; and in the morning we did succeed in pulling the guests' Jeep to safety. Plus, they good-humoredly saw it as an island adventure and were not, in fact, furious or even mildly disgruntled.

But I've learned my lesson. That's the last time I'm ever going to volunteer to get a guest's vehicle stuck in the mud.

Even if it is a Jeep.