Toxic SO2 cloud over our farm
One thing I have learned about lava is that it is unpredictable and unforgiving. Even the hurricanes we fled from in Florida are not comparable to lava. When lava comes your way, you can’t hunker down and withstand the storm. It’s totally a save yourself situation. You lose everything you have and your home ceases to exist covered in 30 feet of lava.
I’ll have to admit, when I bought my land, I never thought it would ever be in danger of lava. Just like coastal flooding from global warming; it’s happening whether you like it or not. Who knew the icebergs would melt during our lifetime? Or that lava would be flowing out of a volcanic fissure in my district at about 100 cubic meters per second.
I told my sister, when we first moved to Hawaii, that we bought a lava blower attachment for our lawn tractor. She went as far as to search Sears’ website for such a device before she figured out I was only joking.
Glow from lava at night
For almost a week, we were experiencing earthquakes and watching the sky turn red at night from the glow reflecting off the toxic clouds of sulfur dioxide. As the lava approached, we prepared mentally and physically. That night, it was headed North from Leilani Estates subdivision and was moving at 700 yards an hour. I was exhausted from relocating animals, moving things to storage, and trying to find the most current news on my phone.
People who are near hot magma, need to know precisely where it is at any given moment. I don’t want to see yesterday’s flow map or be told by an unnamed source that lava is coming. A civil defense man showed up on my property to tell me that lava was now under Railroad Avenue, which is very close to my farm. (He was a nice man, and I’m sure he was doing his best, but I found out later that the lava was instead at Noni Farms Road, a more comfortable distance away.) In spite of this gut wrenching news, my husband and I went to bed. We had already packed our cars with things one would take if going on a long vacation.
Everything sounds like lava approaching your house when you are in a semi-conscious, exhausted sleep mode. I woke up about 11:30 pm and read on my phone that our road was being evacuated. Hardly believing it, I reread the message. I shook my husband to give him the alarming news. We started to get dressed and I reread the message again. This time it read Noni Farms Road instead of Papaya Farms Road. I was sure I had read it correctly the first and the second time! Then about five minutes later a police car with sirens and lights stopped at our gate. I turned on a light and then they drove off. I guess to warn other neighbors but I really wanted to know exactly where the lava was to make an informed decision on what to do next.
Since we had nothing to go on except fear, we left. We arrived around 1:00 am to our rental home just outside of Pahoa. Just that day, I was trying to justify keeping the rental when so many people were homeless. Our friends, and soon to be roommates, who had already evacuated and moved in, told us hours earlier, she’d leave the gate unlocked for us. We fell asleep fast from pure exhaustion.
The next day, we attempted to go back to the farm, driving the only road that wasn’t under lava to get there. We were stopped by an officer at the entrance to Papaya Farms Road and he told us that we were not allowed to pass. I didn’t know what to say, I was still in shock. I really did not know if it was safe or not. I didn’t offer any pleas or reasons why I had to get there even if there were plenty. We turned around and went back to the rental. (Later, I found out that some of my neighbors were given permission to enter.) I feel that since we were never under mandatory evacuation, we should have been able to get in. This also created a sense of panic, despair and a waste of precious time.
I was able to discover that the lava was a safe distance away, but potentially approaching from three possible directions. We geared up with reinforcements to take what we could from the farm. We had a backup plan with permission to go through either one of our two neighbor’s properties bypassing the road block. We tried the easiest route first, Papaya Farms Road. This time the police allowed us to go in but we were given a deadline to be out.
Fully loaded what we could
The neighborhood was placed under advisory evacuation and we had about three hours to move. During this time, helicopters often hovered over us. I wasn’t sure why, at first, but I was grateful that none of them landed to warn us to get out. Later, I found, that it was site-seeing tourists and I was very disturbed by this intrusion of my privacy at a very personal time.
I caught myself saying things to my friends such as, “…take this book it’s worth $200, and this juicer is $600 and this antique vase is worth hundreds!” It really hit me hard that the things I thought to take first were the things that had monetary value. That’s not me, that’s not who I am.
The last things to pack up that day were the remaining animals on the farm. I had already relocated my four cows, and seven goats. Also, there were two sheep the humane society were coming to pick up. I just didn’t have the energy to run them down. I later found out it took them two hours for them to be captured. Mostly what was left were chickens, bees, turkeys and quails. We moved two beehives that day. Leaving behind six hives to hopefully pick up later.
Loading up our four cows
It’s kind of a blur to me now because it was during this time that the stress had gotten to be too much. I was physically ill and was taking one to two pain pills a day. Something I never do. I was in terrible pain from a bladder infection that I had mostly ignored because there was simply too much else going on. So, with the help of pain medicine, I kept up the pace.
We planned to move the beehives the following day and it was decided among my fellow beekeeper and friend to do it at dusk to get all of the returning bees into the hives. If we weren’t in an emergency, I would have prepared the bees to take that night to pick up first thing in the morning. Nothing like a bunch of tired, grumpy bees at dusk. We were stung everywhere.
I had managed to recruit a friend with a large truck, and other friends to help prepare the hives for moving. I mentioned on Facebook that I needed help and two volunteers I had never met before signed up. Everyone was to meet at the new check point at Hawaiian Shores (maybe 2 miles from the farm). The volunteers would be in a rental, moving van.
When we all arrived the police waved us in and somewhere along the way, we lost the volunteers in the moving van. I tried to call them but no one answered. I imagined the worse case scenario, that I just let in burglars to rob vacant houses. They finally called and I could tell at least one of the men was on something and when he asked for directions, I decided it was best just to hang up.
As we started to prepare a hive, the moving van pulled in. Somehow they managed to find us. They went from possible robbers, to very drunk or high beekeepers. I was unsure of what to do, but decided to accept the situation and see what they had to offer. It turned out that they were on mushrooms and the one who wasn’t driving was very drunk.
A few times the inebriated one did something outrageous like almost topple over a hive. Nothing like thousands of pissed off bees. Soon, I took charge and made sure my new drunk friend wasn’t doing anything too precarious. The other one was sober but under the influence of psychedelics but soon we were chatting and getting to know one another. They both seemed very nice in spite of their condition.
Rescued hives
We loaded up five hives into the truck and attempted to secure them with the least amount of stings in the quickest way. We soon were on our way to the rental. I was so exhausted by this time and I knew that I was really pushing myself unloading the bees but I had no choice.
We finished unloading and my new roommates had prepared a nice feast for us hungry, tired beekeepers. By this time, everyone was friends including the moving van men. After the good meal, we were soon hugging and kissing everyone good-bye.
I slept like the dead and completely melted down the next day. My husband and I both had the flu or at least bad colds. My husband became sick during that night with a pain on his right side and in the morning we went to the Hilo Medical Center Emergency Room. As he was being examined, I told his doctor, I was going to check myself in too for a bladder infection. She asked me a few questions and wrote me a prescription instead. When she left the room, unstoppable tears just ran down my face.
Luckily, everything was going to be okay and we both went and picked up prescriptions and immediately went to bed. I’m not sure, but I don’t think we got out of bed for almost two weeks. Later, I got a full exam including tests from my health care practitioner.
I contributed a lot of how I was feeling to stress. There was so many things left to do. I was getting calls from the people who were caretaking my animals. I felt awful that I couldn’t help with anything. Even after the antibiotics took care of the infection, it took a few weeks to feel better and regain my energy.
Today, we are well and often go to the farm to work. We decided the stuff we didn’t take, we didn’t need and we are purging and reducing our load. Even downsizing our animals. We sold two of the cows, a few of the goats and recently some of the chickens.
Us very close to fissure 8.
What a turn of events but we feel very fortunate. Many things are positive. Our farm is still designated as in an advisory evacuation zone. They say that if the lava breeches her channelized flow it would be minutes before it would arrive at our farm less than 1-1/2 miles away. Everyday we are thankful and we still have hope.
Many, of my closest friends have lost their homes. I hope my farm survives so I can help my friends transition, so I can continue to supply organic fruit to my town, and so I can remember to appreciate my farm every day.
Mahalo for reading one of many stories my town has during this crisis. In Puna, we stay proud, classy and strong.