At the entrance to the park, the stellas formed a golden carpet leading to a profusion of pink dog roses behind the benches.  At Strawberry Fields, the ferns fought with red-leafed corral bells.  Daniel Webster oversaw a newly mown lawn, with clouds of incipient clover blossoms rising to the sun.  After the heat and rain of the past few days, the park was lushly fecund.

A buck from a man and wife walking by got me started.

“Has this group got time for a hula dance today?”  There were 8 teenage girls in blue tees from a high school in NJ.  The leader, similarly dressed, was enthusiastic.  They had come to the park to smell the roses, she told me.  “And to hula.”

They danced to 2 verses of “The Hukilau Song,” then walked off.  I saw them stop at the bottom of the path, where they smelled the roses, of course.

While singing “I Wonder Where My Little Hula Girl Has Gone,” I looked to my left and saw a toddler bearing down on me; her dad proudly followed.  “Are you my little hula girl?”

“I think she is,” said dad.  I gave her the baby lei, and off she went to an arm-waving, foot-stomping, body-turning hukilau.

A young woman, who had been watching from the bench, came up with a dollar in her hand.  She was interested in ukes, and peppered me with questions about tuning, string types and the various sizes ukes came in.

A stylish woman photographed me from afar.  When the song ended, she smiled and walked away, but she soon came back with a dollar.

At the end of my set, I sat down to count my take:  $5.  A young teen, who had been sitting near the water with her family, came running to make it $6.