The Tale of the Grand Puba and the Traveling Sarongs
By Karen Adamski of ShamaMama.com
A couple of years ago, my friend Michelle 💐🌻🐰🐇 and I co-facilitated a workshop with a beautiful group of women. Every few weeks we’d gather in a local park for exploration, movement, and a little bit of magic. One of those outings was at Los Gatos Creek Park—yes, the one tucked between the creek and the hum of Camden Avenue and Highway 17.
The night before our gathering, I sent the group a playful story about the Grand Puba—a legendary local groundhog who (according to “word on the street”) had been spotted in the area. I told everyone to keep their eyes peeled… just in case. 😉
Something else important: at the very beginning of our workshop series, every woman received a special sarong. These sarongs became our little badges of sisterhood—draped around necks, tied at waists, flowing behind us like colorful tails. They came with us to every outing.
On this particular day, our trail briefly popped us out of the peaceful creekside and sent us up and over the overpass. So there we were—a single-file line of grown women—walking above rush-hour traffic, holding our sarongs high above our heads like joyful, fluttering kites.
It was a moment of delicious discomfort.
That playful nudge outside the comfort zone.
You could feel the shy giggles… then the sparkle… then the full-belly laughter.
By the time we crossed the overpass, every single one of us was glowing.
Back down by the creek we went, sarongs still waving, eyes peeled for the elusive Grand Puba. And wouldn’t you know it? We found him! A giant groundhog statue tucked among the trees, as regal as ever.
We played a little song for him (as one does). 
And then, in full ceremony, we presented him with his own sacred sarong—a gorgeous purple one. He wore it well. The Grand Puba became an honorary member of our circle that day.
We finished our hike, hearts full, not thinking much beyond the moment.
But here’s the magic…
The sarong stayed.
Days passed. Weeks. Months.
And now—more than two years later—the Grand Puba still wears his purple sarong.
People have honored it.
People have played along.
Sometimes the sarong is tied like a kerchief… sometimes a scarf… sometimes a jaunty little skirt. But no one has taken it. No one has vandalized it. Instead, the community has quietly chosen to tend this bit of whimsy.
A silly, simple gesture has become a tiny monument to joy.
And every time I drive past that spot on Highway 17, I look for him—our Grand Puba, still proudly wrapped in purple. And every time, I smile.
I never could have predicted that this little act would ripple out the way it has. But that’s the thing about joy—it’s contagious. It catches on. It travels. And sometimes… it stays put in the most unexpected places.
Even around the neck of a giant groundhog.
