The night sky seen through papayas

My husband and I started to move back to our farm before the lava on the Big Island subsided. We were in an advisory evacuation zone and the lava was flowing in a predictable path that seemed secure except for some minor spill overs. It was erupting from the most active fissure, number 8 (F8), in Leilani Estates and meandering over route 132 towards 137 (four corners), around Green Lake mountain and over Kapoho to the ocean. We were wanting badly to leave the rental house and go back to our home. It seemed like the right time and a lot of our neighbors stayed or were back by now and were urging us to return. 

The morning after our first night back, the lava stopped pumping out of F8. The stars returned at night and the constant red glow in the sky for three months was gone. Our farm was going to make it even if we weren’t sure we were. At first, it was hard to believe that the Kilauea eruption was ending especially after a recent USGS report that stated the flow could go on for months and possibly years. 

There was really no celebrating when it stopped. We were all unsure of whether it was going to start-up again. The USGS said that it was a lull and they fully expected it to continue to erupt. No one wanted to utter the words it was done. If we did, we always followed up with “hopefully.”

One of the flows that was heading to our farm.

It had become extremely difficult to follow the news of the flow day after day. On a typical day, one would start to hear the helicopters at dawn and see their photos coming in around 10:00 a.m. on social media. After that, the new USGS flow maps and infrared images, the Civil Defense messages, community meetings, the local news and the hugely, popular locals who would report and explain everything live on Facebook.

We were exhausted from trying to keep up to date on the news coupled with the stress of possibility losing our farm. We were also carrying the burden of friends who had lost their homes, check points, new access roads, roads that were gone; a school inundated, agricultural land and beach access covered over in lava. Our town had disappeared.

During this time, there were a lot of physical aliments me and my husband went through. There was an emergency hospital visit, physical therapy, plus many medical and dental appointments. I went to more doctor’s appointments during this time, then I had in my entire life. I also had a persistent cough from a cold that was fueled by the heavy sulfuric dioxide or SO2 gas in the air coming from the 22 fissures.

USGS Flow map

In spite of the toll our bodies were taking, we had a lovely 2-story, 4-bedroom rental near town that was solar-powered with all the amenities. We shared it with close friends whose house is on the backside of F8 in the mandatory evacuation zone at Leilani Estates. A friend helped us acquire it and we were lucky to get it when many people where staying in tents and tarps. It was an old, 10-acre flower farm where many wild, tropical flowers were growing. I would go on excursions to relieve stress and bring back torch ginger and anthuriums.

Many of the neighbors were known to me and long-time acquaintances. I should have been happy there but we felt like refugees. There was no decorating to be done, no dinner parties; it was temporary, we were all waiting to leave.

Days, weeks, and months have now passed and still no active lava flow. It now seems like we are on the rebuilding path. Road are being made, mail routes returning, people moving back to their property (with or without homes intact), people rebuilding, gatherings, and a sense of normalcy returning.

Dormant F8

We finally got all our solar power up and working in two structures. All our stuff is here though not entirely put back where it once belonged. My greenhouse is flourishing and alive with fresh, food growing again. The trees are bearing fruit. Most of my lava animals are back although we did suffer the tragic loss of our dog, Noble; our goat, Clover; a sheep, two female turkeys, two beehives, a number of chickens and quails. All would have stayed alive, if we never left. We sold some of our animals as well.

We still feel very fortunate to have our farm when so many do not. More than 700 homes were inundated. Not being able to return home is very hard on a lot of people here. My friends are still struggling and trying to accept the loss. They remiss about what they left.

Still in the back of our minds, we feel, we can still go to those places that are gone.  I often visualize driving to town on 132 or going to a friend’s house on Kapoho Bay. As if there is a parallel universe where those places still exist.

View from the upper cabin

I now feel a sense of gratitude that I had lost long before the lava came. Before, I was overwhelmed, but it turned out to be only in my mind. It had seemed that I couldn’t get anything done, though, I felt I was always so busy. I put off doing things, made excuses, ignored my health. I was totally unhappy. I was spinning my wheels and getting nowhere. The threat of losing everything, made me reevaluate my situation. I had forgotten that this is the life I chose and I used to love it.

I think maybe everyone can relate to that. It seems when one is stuck in a rut, something takes over and it’s not who we really are and everything is a burden. Being able to keep my farm, having lived in a real house with modern appliances, made me realize that I’m more than okay with living simply and close to the earth in my small house on nine acres. I learned, I have to own my space and I need to make it what I want.

I posted something on someone’s Facebook page during the aftermath of hurricane Michael in the Florida panhandle. I said, “At least you can rebuild.” I see now the people of Pahoa can too, even over lava. The only thing stopping us is not to try. There’s no magic, turn-key step up. We have to make that happen. That is the fun part. Starting over and rebuilding; mentally and physically.