Box 505, Honolulu, T.H.,
July 3, 1919.Dear Miss Turner,
Today, in writing to Miss Smith, I feel as if I had returned to some far away previous incarnation. It occurred to me that the same long - hopelessly long - file of (unanswered) letters which yielded up such a delightful store of reminiscences under the letter S. might discover still more, under the letter T. Enclosed in one of Miss Smith's, I found a very pleasant note on one of your cards. That ante-dates even my last remote visit to South Hadley in 1914. But in their correct place in the alphabet I find also two more recent and very dainty Christmas messages from you, - one of 1915 the other, of 1916. If it isn't too late, I'd like to thank you for remembering me, - and tell you how much I appreciated also your full and lively description of the Williston fire, which Margaret Shaw, if I remember rightly, read aloud to our little band of Mt. Holyoke alumnae here.
I was glad of the mention of Elizabeth Porter Wyckoff, - for she also belongs to the previous incarnation of which I remember a few things as in a distant dream. I haven't written to Elizabeth, any more than to the others. Perhaps I will, some day. I have always clung to the idea that some day I might renew at least the nearest of these old acquaintances.
Life in Honolulu has been very much a part of the world wars environment - we have been through the same hopes and fears, and drives and appeals, war movies and censorships, and suspicions of our neighbors, and sieges of Red Cross work, - and all the bewilderments of re-construction, - just as anywhere else. We have seen some very picturesque phases of the war, - as when detachments of wild Fiji Islanders spent the day here on their way to the Front, - and they were not without discipline in marching if they did have wildly bushy heads and short scalloped skirts and bare feet.
Personally, I have spent the last few years in a desperate alternation of hard work of many and insistent kinds, - and several imperative and enforced periods of rest. Last year, when I went up for my second operation within three weeks, I was so tired I didn't care what they did to me as long as I didn't have to do it. Twice pleurisy has set me back for months, and twice a siege of plain nerves, - this year due to more eye strain, having discovered which I am most happily hopeful of getting strong again, someday. In spite of these handicaps, I think the recording angel will find a few items on the credit side for these years, and I surely have been glad to have a share in some activities which are really worth while.
If you were here, I would want you to go up to the Kauai mountains with me in August, where we live a strenuous and glorious life under canvas, - or in the case of our hearth fire, - under an old paper umbrella in the hands of the unfortunate cook's assistant. It doesn't always rain while dinner is being cooked, but if it does, - one must act accordingly. We work hard hauling wood and carrying water, and sawing hard logs of ohia wood, - cooking for hungry campers, - and always when possible, - going off on every good day for a new exploring trip along the forest trails. And they are very beautiful along the way, and they lead us to views of great charm, by streams and waterfalls and ferny banks, - and generally in the end to views of thrilling grandeur, as we come out on the rim of the great Waimea canyon, or on the narrow rock-ribbed precipices toward the north west side of the island, where we can watch trade wind showers drifting lazily across the blue ocean, which lies four thousand feet below. On the canyon side, the chief interest is to watch along the knife like ridges below for the tiny moving specks which are goats. One's eyes must learn how to see them, and it is of no use to shoot where the game is inaccessible. At times hunters who know how, can reach their quarry in certain spots. Friends sometimes bring us gifts of fresh meat, - wild beef, - wild port, - or goat meat, - and they are all delicious. Except for this chance, - one must subsist on canned varieties. We sleep on mattresses filled with dry grass, - if there is such, - if not, - on the cross-bars of our camp cots.
You very likely know Mrs. Doane, who was Leigh J. Bemis 1894. I am fortunate enough to have her as a camp-mate this summer. She is full of fun, and of fine appreciation of outdoor beauty, - and I imagine she must have been a strong character at college. She stands out here, to those who know her, as one of the most wonderful and fine women of the community. Honolulu has been fortunate to have her. She has worked in a quiet way, with the Chinese church people, and in more cases than we will ever know, has performed the miracle of changing the nature of an Oriental. This year she leaves the Womans Board of Missions, (one of my chief interests) - and is to be a teacher and house-mother to a family of local theological students, - studying with the Hawaiian Board of Missions, to be leaders among various races of these islands. Her fine ideals and influence will be multiplied as she has a chance to work with these students.
I hope somehow, somewhere this summer you are getting good rest and refreshment and change. Yours with good wishes,