How to chase rainbows 🌈
And why what appears as imminent doom might just mean beautiful things are coming our way.
In Kaneohe, on the windward side of O’ahu, it doesn’t matter what your weather app says. If it says it’s sunny, it doesn’t last long — the rainy “season” is 11 fucking months. Even Seattle’s is only six, for comparison, which is just half the year. During the week I stayed in Kaneohe, exactly during the one month when it wasn’t supposed to be rainy, it rained almost every night. We slid tarps over the tents on the farm to keep all of our belongings from getting soaked. On a separate excursion there to visit my friend Nelson’s late grandparents, his mom adamantly made sure we bring cautionary plastic bags before leaving the house, to stow away our muddy shoes once we returned to the car.
In most cities and suburbs, rain typically means cancelled (or ruined!) plans, stormy waters and skies, and slippery, more dangerous drives. But for the week that I spent planting papaya and kalo, harvesting lilikoi, and weeding pohinahina to clear the bed for more fruits and veggies, the overcast skies and intermittent showers were a welcome relief from the hot, overbearing sun. We could get more done during the day. The crumbly orange clay turned soft again, making it easier to remove stubborn roots after a short soak. It also made me think of how happy all the choux would be in the French countryside.
Because I live in New York City, and although we do see healthy spurts throughout the year, it doesn’t rain here nearly as much. Which lessens the chance of seeing rainbows. But in Hawai’i, I saw more rainbows than I ever had in my entire life in such a short span of time. They swept across lush green valleys between rugged mountain ridges, over fields, against flat walls of cement-colored rocks when the light caught the water a certain way, for split seconds at a time, in pairs.
Native Hawaiians have a wealth of different words to describe the arcs: Pūloʻu describes a rainbow arc that doesn’t touch the ground; kahili is a vertical fragment, shafting up to the sky above; and punakea is a bow that barely appears, made of tiny droplets that create only a faint smear of colour.
They might be indicators of increased chaotic weather patterns and climate change, as data shows and scientists say — but rainbows make moments more precious. We savor them, we stop whatever we’re doing, we exclaim and smile and share glances and make sure the person next to us doesn’t miss them. Rainbows remind us of how fleeting and happenstance our once favorite things can be and come to be.
A brief guide to chasing rainbows
I realized that, not only had I seen the most rainbows I ever had over the last three weeks in Hawai’i, but I had also seen the most rainbows I ever had in the last year than in any other year.
My findings:
Be outside as often as possible! This could be a hike, a creative retreat, a walk in the park to break up the day.
Tough out the showers. Hiding inside sometimes means missing magical moments. Lately, I’ve taken to posting up wherever I am with a great rain jacket and a super compact umbrella, while waiting for the rain sheath to subside.
So, definitely get a light, packable rain jacket. Be adventure ready!
And a really, really small umbrella. My friend Ella recommended this store to me by Jardin du Luxembourg called Parapluies Simon, and I found this handy one there that I take everywhere — though it’s also available at the MoMA Design Store online.
Find good, observant, nature-loving company :) because with more people, more eyes to spot the elusive arcs around us.
This made me realize I haven’t seen a rainbow in a while. Love the compilation of rainbows! So beautiful 🌈
Loved this!!!