December 25, 2020
I always thought my mom's tradition of putting an orange in the bottom of everyone's stocking “a waste of perfectly usable stocking space”, and I told her as much relentlessly. She explained that growing up oranges were a special treat, and as a child, one of the magical joys of Christmas. That actually makes sense to me now - in an era before refrigeration and mass transportation, everyone ate locally. You knew your farmer, and you ate what was in season, and I can certainly imagine how exciting something as exotic as an orange, grown in a far away place, by total strangers would be to a small child. I'll likely never know the thrill of such “exotic” food, as now everything is shipped everywhere and available anytime of year. Probably the closest I'll come to that kind of culinary thrill is tasting something that is just absurdly expensive...
On one of the first Christmases that I spent away from home, my mom sent me a small package, labeled very clearly “not to be opened until Christmas morning”. I should have known what it was but it was small enough, and light enough, that I didn't think about it, I just stuck it in the bottom of my backpack as a friend and I headed out to hike the Kalalau Trail on the NaPali coast of Kauai.
The hike in was strenuous but the views and the beach at the end of that hike were just magical. A mile of pristine sandy beach nestled between the ocean and the cliffs of the Kalalau Valley.The place was completely deserted except for a couple we could see setting up their tent at the far end of the beach.
It was a surreal spot for a New Englander to spend Christmas eve... I fell asleep on the beach, under the stars, to the sound of a 600 foot waterfall thundering into the ocean below.
I awoke, just before dawn on Christmas morning, when the unnerving sound of waves coming in way too close and way too fast, pierced my consciousness. We quickly moved all of our stuff onto the elevated safety of the dunes.
As the sun came up we could see that the couple down the beach had not been so lucky. They lost everything to that rogue wave. It had swept away their tent with them, asleep and zipped up inside. They managed to escape, but lost everything. They were completely traumatized, but very much alive.
The four of us walked the beach trying to retrieve anything we could find in the roiling surf. We recovered a tent pole, a hiking boot, and a couple random things, but there was actually very little the ocean was willing to give up. At some point we sat down and sardonically wished each other a Merry Christmas...
Eventually we left the couple there on the beach - shoe-less, and still wearing their wet pajamas- promising to contact the park ranger as soon as we got back to our car, so that a helicopter would be sent in to air lift them out.
But before we left I opened up the package from my mom. My “Christmas Orange” looked kind of pathetic, alone in that box, with no stocking, wrapping paper, or gifts to keep it company - but split four ways, that orange tasted every bit as exotic, as my mom had always claimed them to be.