To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.
—Ecclesiastes 3:1
Our first three trips to Hawai‘i were all in the winters. In 2012–13, it was just a week in January, after Internet2’s Techs-in-Paradise meeting. (That’s when Davey first went gaga over lava.) In 2013–14 we came just before Christmas and stayed about four weeks. In 2014–15 we came a little later, and stayed into February. At the end of that trip, we bought Bramalani.
In 2015–16, we came for three months, December through February, to renovate it into a vacation rental. As you know from previous posts, we didn’t quite make it.
We stayed from November through mid-March in 2016–17, a full five months. But still mostly winter—or maybe late fall through early spring. I think the fact that we had always left a gray, cold Michigan and entered into a lovely, green, warm, sunny (when it wasn’t raining) environment made us think that the Big Island was a place of perpetual summer. But as our first full year of Hawai‘i residency ticked away, we started to suspect, little by little, that there were seasonal forces at work here, too. I thought I knew the seasons. But I was very wrong.
Once springtime really started to swing, we began to notice things we’d never seen before. Trees adorned themselves with blossoms and seeds we’d not yet been here to see. Some of the bromeliads under the banyan tree suddenly developed purplish, divided blooms at least two feet long. One of the heliconia we planted—and had forgotten the name of—produced a large, drooping, fuzzy flower, thus identifying itself as a King Kong. We’d seen only one gardenia blossom last year, because we left as it was just beginning to flower. Now there were many blossoms, a few in places where we hadn’t even noticed there were gardenia bushes before, honeying the air as we walked anywhere closeby. A few weeks later, the Hawaiian magnolia began its long blooming season—how beautiful those flowers were, as if carved out of porcelain! We picked the first of many papayas from our very own tree. We noticed pineapples growing on many plants we’d uncovered around the place, and picked our first one—where we’d planted the top of a pineapple from the market a couple years back.
And while we’re talking about pineapples, have you ever heard of a white pineapple? We hadn’t either. Turns out they’re white inside (duh) and an order of magnitude sweeter than the golden variety. And we have several of them growing right here at Bramalani!
Then there is The Tree That Once Was Dead. That was the pseudo-scriptural name we’d used to describe this tree that baffled us on the first couple trips. It lost all its leaves, little by little, until it looked like it had died. Not expecting this kind of behavior in Hawai‘i, we were quite concerned. But now we’ve seen the entire transformation: about March, it started growing leaves again, and as of the end of June, it was entirely leafed out once more into a beautiful tree, which we gave a new, more fitting scriptural name: The Tree That Once Was Dead And Is Alive Again. We’ve also noticed there’s one type of tree in the area that changes color in the fall.
And yes, the weather was different, too. They’d told us the seasons change a lot from year to year, but this first year, the summer has turned out to be absolutely beautiful, and much drier and sunnier than the winters have been. The pool has been between 80 and 90 degrees for months, and we’re finally starting to realize why people told us we live in the “sun belt.” Many, many times, we have been enjoying a beautiful, sunny day, while just a little bit mauka (up the hill), the clouds are roiling and the rain is pouring.
But even though winter, spring, summer and fall normally get most of the attention, there are larger-shaped seasons at work here, too. In fact, from a certain point of view, there are really many seasons going on all at the same time. Like the Bible verse says, there’s a season for practically everything—and that verse is followed by quite an impressive list. The thing about seasons, though, is you have to get to know them, don’t you? You might not recognize them at first. Each season has its own cues, its own characteristics, its own timetable.
We might not have been very aware of it on a daily basis, but Kīlauea, our very own local—and active—shield volcano, has seasons, too. And while the changes from spring to summer may have been more subtle than we were used to, the changes in Kīlauea certainly were anything but! We’d already been made very aware of its seasons when looking at real estate in 2015, when the 2014 Pahoa flow was still in progress, thus ruling out any purchase or insurance in Lava Zones 1 or 2. But since that time, Pele had settled back into a more predictable rhythm, and Kīlauea was erupting more or less according to expected patterns. That all changed as of April 2018. Unbeknownst to us, it had been approaching an important turning point. The lava had been slowly building up in the reservoirs of Pu‘u O‘o and Halema‘uma‘u for a hundred years, reaching its highest point in April. Just a couple days earlier, David and I drove up to Hawai‘i Volcanoes National Park and joined thousands of people to witness the overflowing of the lava lake.
Only a few days after that, on May 4, 2018, seismic activity went through the roof (or below the basement), the lava lakes in both crater and vent fell precipitously, and we were rocked by two earthquakes: a magnitude 5.4, followed an hour later by a 6.9 earthquake felt as far away as Oahu, and the first in a series of crater collapses. Then a series of vents opened up along the Lower East Rift Zone (LERZ), right in the middle of a beautiful subdivision named Leilani Estates. Evacuation orders were given, dangerous gases and lava started pouring down residential streets, “lava bombs” could be heard in the distance (even from our lanai, about eight miles away as the ‘io flies), many homes—over 700 in all—and beautiful, beloved recreation spots were totally destroyed. Luckily, Bramalani was not in Pele’s way, and because of our windward position, our air remained very clear compared to other spots on the Big Island. But a strong orange glow began to visit us every night, visible from our lanai through the forest. I’ll never forget one night, going for a swim in the still-warm pool, gazing up at the starry heavens, with that eerie glow lighting up the southeastern sky behind the forest.
During the course of all this activity, we were slowly beginning to learn the signs of the season. We regularly checked websites that reported the seismic activity according to magnitude, latitude, longitude—and even depth. An increase in seismic activity usually meant that lava was on the move, under the surface. We bookmarked sites with evacuation announcements, SO2 percentages, wind direction, and the Facebook pages of local experts who donated their time and expertise to keep the rest of us informed. (A few of their photos are included here.)
Then came hurricane season, and Hurricane Lane. Yes, as few realize, Hawai‘i is in a Pacific hurricane zone, much like Florida’s Atlantic/Caribbean one, and both hurricane seasons occur in parallel. You don’t hear much about Hawai‘i’s, because not very many hurricanes actually end up having a big affect on the Big Island. In fact, no hurricane has ever made landfall on the Big Island. The most memorable have either passed by closely, or been downgraded to tropical storm status before landfall. But every once in a while, yes, when the season is just right, they can cause havoc. One named Iselle did that in 2014, toppling an amazing number of beautiful but dangerous and invasive albizia trees—the same ones with the lacy tops we’d admired so much when we first visited—stranding many people and causing power outages lasting for weeks.
As of this writing, Pele has stopped spewing lava from Fissure 8, LERZ, the air is cleaner than it’s been since 2007, Hurricane Lane passed by to our west, dumping over two feet of rain on us—and as much as 50 inches elsewhere—in the course of three days. Hurricane Olivia threatened, too, but passed us to the north. We’re starting to learn the signs of a couple of new and very exciting seasons.
As we finish up our very first year in Hawai‘i, we’ve been lucky enough to experience the coolest, wettest winter in 30 years, the biggest quake in 45 years, a re-enactment-and-then-some of the 1960 LERZ lava flow (58 years ago), during which friends were displaced and gorgeous nature spots that drew us here in the first place were destroyed forever, two hurricane near-misses… And if that wasn’t enough to unsettle us, another new season had arrived in our lives, too.
Both David and I had gone back to the drawing board to figure out what our lives in this new season might look like. We had some ideas, but there were so many unknowns. It was time to leave my day job for a new “retirement calling” (see https://creativemeasures.com/retirement-career-or-calling/ for much more on that). David finally got his national Realtor license transferred from Michigan—in true “aloha time”—and began studying to take the Hawai‘i-specific exam required to get his license here. After having the testing date canceled due to Hurricane Lane, he rescheduled and passed with flying colors.
We reached new milestones on the house renovation, too: the last remaining windows were replaced, the last exterior walls were painted, the yellow room was yellow no more, and as it was being prepared for possible rental, the one-time carport was slowly but surely becoming a media room. The gardens began to take better shape. (And back in Michigan, a new season was beginning at Hawkswood, too. We got an exciting report from the new owners with an incredible list of improvements they’d accomplished in their first year, including a garage-building project, along with some photo highlights.)
New things are happening. Thank goodness, the change of seasons doesn’t just mean the old are gone. It also ushers in the new! Pele had left much destruction in her wake, but somehow, at the same time, she’d also created a long list of new beauty spots to be beloved for years to come. There are several large black sand beaches where there had been none, just waiting now for happy travelers to arrive. Gorgeous Kapoho with its spectacular tidepools is gone, but a new, gorgeous Kapoho beach has been created. Two more scripture verses come to mind: “it has not yet appeared what it may be” (see I John 3:2); “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning” (Psalm 30:5).
And though I said goodbye to my day job, I’ve had a wonderful time getting up to speed in my new studio space. I’ve even got two new song recordings to show for it already, with two more following close on their heels. (Listen on YouTube if you have a moment to “The Lord’s Prayer,” and “Everything I Am.”) It’s a new season, and there are new signs to learn.
How do the seasons affect you? Are you even aware of all the seasons going on around you in this moment? I think how the seasons affect our lives depends partly on our view of time. Our perspective on how long the seasons are in the whole scheme of things, and what purposes they serve. Our sense of where we “fit” in the world around us—not to mention our actual, physical location.
You must chart your own journey through the seasons, of course, but for my part, I’m trying to recognize more fully the many seasons that make up my life. Trying to pay closer attention to new cues, new tips, new characteristics, new timetables. Trying to get a better sense of my place within the many seasons flowing around me. Am I an unwitting puppet, or a participant? Mover, builder, helper, guide? Am I riding the wave, tossed to and fro by it, or helping to set it in motion? Heady questions on such a beautiful, sunny day as today.
Yup. We’re residents now! And boy did they make us work for these license plates. But it’s all worth it to live in a place where they actually put rainbows on license plates.
A photo by Harry Durgin, our beloved Puna photographer and weather expert. It’s always best when a meterologist can post stunning photos to illustrate his informative forecasts.
We hired Manny and crew again to come do some final tree work. The white koa on the heliconia pu‘u were the final ones to go. Just too tall and too close to the house (not to mention leaning over it).
Joseph Vigilanti’s blacksmithing handiwork is now ensconced on the edge of the heliconia pu‘u.
Our fifth Christmas in Hawai‘i was our first as residents.
First project was finishing my studio. We replaced the large front window (that overlapped the existing roofline) with three casement windows.
After replacing the studio windows, we added some horizontal siding and applied the final, crowning hue to our external color palette. The orange we originally chose (Joyful Orange) didn’t quite work. The next one we tried didn’t either. We finally settled on Emergency Zone. Fitting, wouldn’t you say?
One of David’s best ideas since arriving here was to extend the roof of back porch, lanai and front entry. Here you see the first two of those projects. We used translucent panels, so as not to lose the light. Because of this project, the lanai has become like another room for us, and we’re able to walk around the entire house when raining and stay completely dry.
As much as we hate to kill these beautiful albizia trees, they are dangerous and invasive. We’d only killed small ones before, but David took on these tall ones soon after the tree work was done, and within two weeks, they were dead. When two of them abruptly crashed toward the house a couple months later, we realized the wisdom of eliminating them.
The first orchid we planted in our poolside ohia tree has been blooming almost continuously all year. About the time one stalk is done, another appears, buds and flowers into gloriousity.
We cleared the area by the pool and began planting something besides vines.
Had to order some dirt, as there is precious little to plant anything in around here. The spade hits rock about 1-inch in!
Thanks, Alysa and Brad. Remember that little papaya you gave us? Look at it now. We’ve been enjoying a steady stream of papayas for months.
For those not familiar with papayas, here’s what they look like. They taste very similar to musk melons, I think.
Starting on the roof extension over the entry.
New lanai setup under the roof extension. We’ve been entertaining quite a bit here. Want to join us?
Yet another gorgeous view from the cliffs, on one of my daily morning walks.
One section of my usual walk passes through a wooded area teeming with chickens. Several new chicken broods have appeared over the last year. Here’s one example. Makes me feel like I’m back on the farm!
A couple local nene geese I often see on my walk.
The fragrance of gardenias, right in our front yard.
Davey heard high-pitched whining in the heliconia one day when we were relaxing on the lanai. One of the feral cats, the one we named Bootsie, had had a litter. Al E. Cat showed up at our door a couple weeks later almost dead, and he’s been hanging close ever since.
Turns out Davey isn’t the only one who’s nuts over gauzy curtains.
Our first pineapple.
Eating our first white pineapple. Yum, yum, yum!
The King Kamehameha heliconia has been blossoming like crazy this year.
See the little kieki (little ones) forming in the crotches of this bromeliad?
These blooms were certainly a surprise to see one day underneath the banyan tree.
If we wanted a guest room, David had to come up with another solution for his shop. He decided to build a roof over top of the old catchment for now. He’s getting good at building roofs.
Some friends from Holy Apostles helped me celebrate my retirement from Day Job City in February at Chapter 27, downtown Hilo.
A pianist needs a place to stash music books near the piano, and this old smoking stand I inherited from Unc. George made the transition nicely! I left his pipe in there for ambience, though.
David wanted to cut this bush down at first, but after he saw (and tasted) the Surinam cherries it produced, he’s decided he kinda likes it.
King Kong heliconia. Glad it flowered, because we’d forgotten its name.
The Tree That Once Was Dead is just starting to leaf out again in this picture after becoming almost totally bare…
And here it is a couple months later, all lush and vibrant.
Hawaiian Magnolia. What a gorgeous, elegant flower. The bush is free of vines now, and getting more sun. We had never seen it bloom before. It put on a show for over a month.
We’ve gradually been propagating ti plants and getting donations from friends and neighbors, and we love the variety of foliage they produce. And a blessing, too!
Our Holy Apostles choir. It’s sure been fun singing with these guys under the direction of our organist, Rick Mazurowski.
David celebrating at Holy Apostles. He supplies from time to time on Sundays and Wednesdays.
Davey celebrating again, this time in his precious pool! He’s been keeping it in beautiful shape, and it was between 80–90 degrees for the last four months. I sure love jumping in every morning after my walk!
This is what greeted us as we approached the Kiluaea crater to see the overflowing lava lake in late April. You have to look close, but you can see the lava glowing at the edge, just right of the rainbow.
Here’s how Kiluaea crater looked from Mauna Kea, with a time-lapse camera. Photo by G. Brad Lewis, volcanoman.com.
Soon after we saw the lava lake overflow, it fell precipitously, the crater collapsed, and the lava we’d seen was on the move underground. It erupted in Leilani Estates just a few days later. Photo by Harry Durgin.
This photo was in the news, taken from Leilani Estates during the height of the eruption.
Here’s the entire line of fissures along Kilauea’s Lower East Rift Zone from the air.
And here’s what a few of them looked like closer in. Photo by G. Brad Lewis.
Another photo by G. Brad Lewis. This one shows the horrifyingly huge lava channel, a river of fire flowing from Fissure 8 toward Kapoho.
Another shot from Mauna Kea during the eruption period. Pretty awesome.
People began to go down to Pahoa for dinner just to see the red glow. If it wasn’t for that attraction, the merchants of Pahoa would have had an even harder time surviving the tourism downturn.
One of the many breathtaking helicopter viewpoints of the lava inundation of Kapoho. As each beloved site was destroyed, you could feel the sadness rise.
The first day they reopened highway 130, we drove down across the steam fissures (with windows rolled up!) and headed toward Kalapana. We just had to see if these beloved sites were still here. Thank goodness they were, but looking back you could not escape the ominous plumes: one from Fissure 8 (left), and one from the ocean entry (right).
David had crafted a catchment bypass system before the eruption started. That was very good timing, as we were being warned not to allow volcanic dust and Pele’s hair to get into the water.
We helped rescue some plants from a nursery in Kapoho. This is a licuala grandis.
Every so often, there was an exciting sight mixed in with the destructive onslaught. The old, beloved ponds were gone, but new ones may be created!
The lava flow halted, just short of destroying all of Pohoiki. Pele took the NE half of the park, but left the rest, and created a huge black sand beach in the process.
Moonscape? No, lavascape near the end of the eruption, back where it began in Leilani Estates. (Photo by Harry Durgin.)
No sooner had the eruption ended than new dangers were stalking us across the tropics. This is a satellite photo of Hurricane Lane passing by to our south. It brought us torrential rains, but not destructive winds.
Damian just couldn’t stay away. We got him back to help us finish up the window replacement project.
Replacement windows along the side of the bedroom, and a new window arrangement in the front, with casements replacing the worn-out jalousies.
Front view, after studio reno, roof expansion, and new windows and door in bedroom and guest room.
Watch out, Puna. David C. Glaser has passed his state real estate licensing exam with flying colors!
David will work as an agent with Ed Reiners as his broker. There are two other agents besides David.
Just in case the real estate thing doesn’t work out, I decided to try David out as a background singer. He helped me with background vocals on a new track coming out soon.
Finally, after a year, the kitchen is totally done. We’d been dusting around that pile of mosaic tile for a long, long time!
What better way to close our gallery this time than to show how Al E. Cat has grown and become more comfortable around us. Anytime we sit outside and talk, he shows up, and after his dinner, he jumps up on the lava pu‘u, looks around, and curls up for a little nap. We’re glad you found us, Alley.
It has been almost a week since my last update and for us, it has been more or less status quo until this morning. We have had good trade winds that have kept the volcanic gases blowing away from us and towards the southwest. Several new fissures have opened—we are now up to 20—but only #17 is producing any lava flow at present. It has flowed about a mile and is following one of the blue lines on the map (see below). The blue lines indicate the paths of steepest descent. Eventually if it remains active, it will flow to the ocean around the Ahalanui Hot Pond beach park—one of the nicest parks in Puna. The pond is next to the ocean and is heated geothermally to around 90 degrees (33C) with stairs leading down to it so everyone can get in and soak. It is quite heavenly! Let’s hope the lava stays away.
Last night the winds died and so we had to shut up the house and remain indoors. The smell of sulfur was thick in the air and that is still the case as I write this at 8:30 am. We have been hearing loud explosions coming from the rift zone area—the area around Leilani Estates—all night and they continue this morning. USGS has confirmed that it is gas emissions blasting from the rift zone cracks and since the winds are gone, those gases are slowly drifting towards us. We may have to leave the house for a few hours until the wind kicks in today. The trade winds are supposed to return later today. I sure hope so.
This is the view of the fissures from the Hawaiian Volcano Observatory overflight. Note sulfur dioxide plumes rising from the fissures along the rift and accumulating in the cloud deck. Winds are calm today.
The earthquakes continue at a slower rate, but the ground is still deforming in the rift zone: roads have cracks that are widening and uplifting, some have steam coming out so people are cautioned that further eruptions are likely, especially in those areas.
The explosive event we had been waiting for all weekend did not happen then, although there were several rockfalls into the crater that resulted in ash plumes. This photo is of the one from May 16 in the afternoon. Everyone pulled over on the highway to take pics!
This morning however, there was a huge explosive event at Kilauea that hurled ash and rock upwards of 30,000 ft in the air! With no winds to speak of, Civil Defense has warned everyone to beware of ash falls as far as Hilo (which includes us). They say we could get up to one half inch. Any news stories you have heard about refrigerators or refrigerator-sized projectiles is a bit of an exaggeration. Most of the big rock blown out of the crater will end up within a 1/2-mile radius. I have taken the precaution of disconnecting our catchment tank so we won’t get any ash in our water supply. As of this writing it has been over two hours since the explosion and so far no ash has fallen at our house. If you want to view the almost-live webcams follow this link: https://volcanoes.usgs.gov/volcanoes/kilauea/multimedia_webcams.html
The Red Cross, I am unhappy to say, has been less than stellar in helping in this crisis. Please do not donate to them for this event. There are a number of better local groups that are actually doing good work for the people who need it. If you want to donate something, and are not sure where to send it, you may send your donation to Church of the Holy Apostles, 1407 Kapiolani St. Hilo, HI 96720, and mark it “Volcano Disaster Relief.” 100% of the donation goes to the relief efforts. To date we have supplied necessities to those displaced, funded portable toilets for the people working in the eruption zones, and offered our church parking lot to people who are too scared to stay at home and wish to live out of their cars while this event takes place.
Know that we are well and taking necessary precautions. We appreciate your love and concern and are touched that so many of you have reached out in concern. Please continue to pray for the people of the beautiful place called Puna as sometimes it’s hard to see your way forward when you are in the middle of such an event.
Since my last update on May 8, three new fissures opened, the latest east of Pohoiki Rd in Lanipuna Gardens. This fissure number 15, fountained lava for about 3 hours before quieting down the evening of May 9.
May 9th at 830am saw a huge rockfall into the lava crater at Kilauea that sent a spectacular ash plume into the air. I’ve attached the pic. Earthquakes continue along the rift zone moving east although we have not felt many here in HPP. It seems to indicate the lava underground is moving east toward Kapoho -one of our favorite swimming areas – even though there have been no new breakouts. Most all of the fissures, however, continue to spew toxic Sulphur Dioxide.
The concern that past few days has been the Sulphur Dioxide levels increasing. Everyone in the Leilani and Lanipuna areas are all wearing gas masks as they survey the area. We have not smelled the sulphur here since Saturday May 5, but several of our neighbors have complained of sore throats and itchy eyes. If the winds continue to blow in from the ocean (Tradewinds), they will continue to cleanse our air and blow the SO2 out to sea. We pray for that to continue.
Back on April 27, a truly spectacular event was taking place at the Overlook Crater at Kilauea : the lake of lava was rising to the point it overflowed the crater and onto the floor of Halema’uma’u. This hasn’t happened since 2015. (The Overlook is a crater within a crater within a crater). See it here: https://volcanoes.usgs.gov/vsc/movies/movie_170598.html. Several days later, quite suddenly, the lake began to lower and seemed to accelerate draining after the big earthquake on May 4. Today the lava lake in the Overlook crater has dropped over 900 feet!! This has been unprecedented. Scientists are now concerned that the lake may drop below the water table and cause explosive events, spewing out large chunks of rock up to 1/2 mile.
Please know, mainland folks especially, it is not a dire as the news is saying – you know how they like to exaggerate everything. Our friends live in Volcano Village about a mile from Kilauea and also work in the park. The geologists from HVO and USGS held a public meeting to inform everyone about what is happening currently and what could potentially happen. We have been assured by HVO(Hawaii Volcano Observatory) and USGS that we are NOT in danger from the explosion. They have cautioned us that levels of SO2 may increase and we may experience ash fall depending on the way the winds blow. At the rate the lake continues to fall it is estimated that the water table would be reached sometime May 11 through the 13th. This weekend becomes a ‘watch and see’ weekend. Our good friends, Dave and Chele, have offered us a place to stay up the coast if the gas and/or ash becomes too bad.
I was teasing one of our friends in Michigan that she should be on the lookout for any homes that might be suitable for us! We have even joked of telling Patrick and Jodi that we wanted our house back! But seriously, we are more in love with our adopted (Hanai) home than ever. Even with all the uncertainty looming in everyones mind here is all of East Hawai’i, people have been kind and caring, setting up donation sites( since the Red Cross has been less than stellar), goin back into the lava zones to rescue pets and livestock that have been left behind in haste. The zoo is housing any livestock that was evacuated. Ordinary citizens are manning the comfort/information stations. Everyone of us knowing that this event could last some months.
Our church, Church of the Holy Apostles has also been assisting and Pastor Katlin has attended the community updates and offering help. If anyone on the mainland would like to donate and are not sure where, you may send your donation to Church of the Holy Apostles 1407 Kapiolani St Hilo, HI 96720 and mark it Disaster Relief.
All of us here in Puna and East Hawai’i are grateful for all your concern, support and prayers. Please continue them.
Aloha, D&D.
Update May 8th 2018 morning.
We are well and not in danger. Yesterday has seen a slow down in the lava and no more homes destroyed (officially 35 homes have been lost), in fact, lava has stopped coming out of most of the fissures. And as of this am, that is still the case. Although there is still gassing coming from many of the fissures. May 7 saw 2 more fissures opened up, which brings the total to 12. They opened in the forest south of Leilani and seems to indicate the lava underground is flowing away from Leilani estates. But as in all things, as good as that seems for Leilani, it has not been so for the main highway (130) into lower Puna which has been damaged by severe cracking. Although no lava or steam has come from the cracks in the highway, most geologists feel it is only a matter of time as it is directly in the path of the retreating underground lava.
There is, however, a guarded optimism that the lava flows may be ended in Leilani, but everyone is still vigilant knowing that this could be the calm before another major event. Residents are being allowed in to check on home and retrieve belongings knowing that a change in the winds could blow toxic SO2 their way and they would be forced to leave immediately.
I am amazed as ever by the true spirit of Aloha in the people of East Hawaii and in fact, the state. Command centers have been set up and food and supplies collected and distributed, Dr’s and Nurse’s and Vet’s donating their time to help those in need affected by the eruptions. Tour operators have donated their vans to help people move their things. And many others just pitching in to help. Church of the Holy Apostles has been assisting and Pastor Katlin has attended the community updates and offered help. If anyone on the mainland would like to donate and are not sure where, send your donation to Church of the Holy Apostles 1407 Kapiolani St Hilo, HI 96720 and mark it Disaster Relief.
Thank you all for your concern and support. Know that we, as does all of Puna, appreciate and covet your prayers.
Aloha, D&D
Update May 6th 2018 evening.
It has been a wild couple of days. We are safe and not in danger. The lava is about 13 miles away in the Leilani Estates subdivision. If you have been seeing my posts, you have seen some of the lava eruptions and know that some of our friends are affected. Some Families from church have been displaced and some will not have a home to go back to. Some may still have home, but the air may be too toxic for some time and so they will not be able to go home. The greater community is pulling together in a great display of Aloha , but even they are rattled at the recent events. Please include them in your prayers also.
The eruptions continue and may not stop for a long time and as of right now over 9 fissures have opened up in the earth some spewing lava upwards of 230Ft in the air! It is beautiful and destructive all at once.
Take care my friends and know that we are well, and that others are not, but together we will get through this too! Aloha.
As the milestones of renovation start falling, they seem to fall faster and faster, and things can go from excruciating to exciting pretty quickly. After the two major tasks of Round 2 were done—lava pool and kitchen—the master bedroom and bath were up next. Of course, as you move along, you get to build on your previous infrastructure improvements, so things get easier all the time. The same tasks take a lot fewer steps.
Bed
When we arrived in November 2016, we removed the thick sisal floor covering from the bedroom, which we suspected of holding in moisture, and that seemed to improve the atmosphere. Removing the ceiling drywall (as you may remember, this was with the help of Bardz and Erin) made a definite difference, too, and we think the room has been noticeably drier and fresher smelling overall since then. We removed the front corner closet, and with Damian’s able help, removed the “door to nowhere”—the door that had at one time led to a back balcony running the entire length of the house. (Though the idea of a balcony like that is very appealing, we decided that we would not be rebuilding it, favoring instead a possible balcony off the front of the room. We’ll see how that goes.) The door had been paneled over on the inside, but left embedded in the outside wall, complete with screen door, so from the outside, the door just hung there inexplicably on the second floor, leading nowhere. With the door (and quite a few gecko eggs) gone, we also replaced the back window, to make room for closet space. So the back wall was pretty much rebuilt.
Since we’d already rebuilt the kitchen ceiling, we had in mind what we were going to do in the bedroom. It just took time and effort—and measurements, of course! When it came to measuring, I’d learned something from the kitchen experience, too, and I’d figured out that the plywood pieces would fit up in between the joists much more easily if I split the difference between the width at one end of the piece and the width at the other end. Since there were 17 “bays” to be filled, more than double the number in the kitchen, I really wanted this to work more easily than last time. For those of you not interested in more details on that, please feel free to skip the next couple paragraphs.
Here’s how I took our bedroom ceiling measurements: The original roof overhang of the house had been 2 feet, and the bedroom addition added another 8 feet, tacked on to that, for a total width of 10 feet. So since the joists for the addition had been “sistered” to (nailed alongside) the existing overhang joists, each of the 17 bays had two sections: the 8-foot new section, and the 2-foot overhang section, with each 2-foot section narrower than the 8-foot section by the width of the extra sistered joist (and however much it had twisted since installation).
The first set of plywood sections would fit up into the 8-foot sections, and the second set would fit into the 2-foot sections. For each 8-foot piece, I measured in between the joists at the “starting” end, where the original overhang joists left off, and again at the “finishing” end, at the outside bedroom wall, and recorded both. From each of the two measurements I subtracted a half inch (1/4 inch per side) for wiggle room, to make the fitting go easier, and because we planned to cover all the gaps with quarter-round anyway, as we’d done in the kitchen. Then I averaged the two measurements, and took that as my final width measurement. This way, we could just cut rectangular slabs and not have to bother with any angled cuts.
We did the same for the 17 2-foot sections, measuring them at both ends, then subtracting wiggle room, then averaging the two and cutting rectangular slabs. I’m happy to report that as weird as all this probably sounds, it actually worked! Davey and I did the entire ceiling with nary a temper in sight.
Of course, by the time we measured for 34 plywood slabs, and then 34 vertical boards to fill the height of each bay on each end (they had been open to the outside/inside before, of course), and then the many pieces of quarter-round it took to finish it… Well, let’s just say that’s way more measuring than anyone should have to do for any project. I’m just glad it’s over!
With another case of caulk opened and ready to go, we now set out to fill all the cracks, and—to use a little scriptural language I’ve been carrying with me since childhood—they were legion. But everyone needs a noble purpose in life. And after all the compliments Davey had lavished on me for the great job I did in the kitchen, the pressure was on. And it is true: there’s nothing that makes that luscious Cloud White look more creamy and dreamy than removing all the dark crevices and cracks that draw the eye. And even though I love geckos, I didn’t want to confuse them into thinking this was their bedroom, so filling the cracks seemed like a good idea on several levels. Well, I can only say that I did my best. After several sessions, I still saw a new crack almost every time I came into the room. But with time running out, perfection had to wait until next time.
While this was going on, David was also moving the closet that had been in the northeast corner into the southeast corner. Since we had moved the bedroom entrance over a bit, positioning it across from the bathroom, there was ample space for a closet in the back corner now, and moving it to the back allowed the focus in the front of the room to be the big, central window. This is where we thought a balcony with french doors might be nice, but that would definitely be tackled in a future phase, if at all.
Then came the painting. Erin had started that process with the priming. (Or should I say I started it by removing the many nails in the wall? They were legion, too. It wouldn’t surprise me if there were a grand assortment of grandkid photos on that wall at one time.) Then came a couple coats of Cloud White, and a new color to go with David’s celestial vision, Tahitian Breeze, a lighter version of the Island Aqua we were using on the exterior. Linda was indispensable during this caulking and painting phase. In fact, she even asked for a caulking lesson. I’m happy to report that she became an expert in record time. We like to give people plenty of practice in the Bramalani School of Caulk.
With building and painting tasks done, it was time to put the icing on the cake. Or in this case, under the cake. It was time to install the laminate flooring we’d been saving from the living room. Linda and David took care of this during the space of one day-job day for me. I couldn’t even find a picture of it, it happened so fast. (The leftover pieces went to some grateful soul via Craig’s List.) And you know how in those romantic movies the windows always seem to have light, gauzy curtains that blow in the breeze? Yes, these were also part of David’s ethereal bedroom vision, so he ordered and installed those, too. Retiring to the bedroom now is a little like sleeping in the clouds.
Bath
After the bedroom came the bath. Everything but the shower had been functional since very early on, but it had stalled in a very, shall we say, rough state. Bardz had helped build the shower pan, and Marcia had contributed a coat of drywall mud, but that’s it. We took showers down in the second bathroom, just outside the carport in the back. So now it was time to bear down and get the much more convenient interior bath finished.
In a couple weeks’ time, the plumbing and fixtures had been finished, the fan installed in the soffit, the cement board and tiling done on the shower walls and floor, the last coat of drywall applied and sanded, the trim painted and caulked, and the paint applied to walls and door—blue, orange and white. So before heading to Holy Apostles early one morning in March, we both took our first shower in the newly finished interior bathroom. It was quite a moment!
The things remaining on the Phase 2 list now were mostly piddly items, little bits of icing on the cake, and it felt so good to have the big things done. And that took care of bed and bath. Beyond had to wait until Phase 3, which began in earnest shortly after our shipping container arrived in October 2017.
Beyond
After getting somewhat settled and dealing with what had become major pool issues in our absence (more on that in a future post from David), we started finishing the extra room next to the bathroom, which was to become my studio. Since I anticipated a retirement career in music, I needed someplace to create, record and the like. David put his own office space on second-string, which was very generous of him, and threw himself into finishing the studio space. The drywall on the studio side of the new bathroom was installed, mudded, sanded and painted and the little closet in the front corner was removed (now replaced by a closet space on the other side of the room, across the wall from the shower). I was again on priming, painting and caulking detail. (Linda, Erin, where were you when I needed you?) I have to admit I was sick to death of these activities by now, but the fact that it was my space, and that David was devoting so much effort to the project goaded me on.
Damian had to get involved, too, of course, as we had to replace all the windows: in place of the oversized window in front, we put three two-foot-square awning windows, and replaced the side window with a newer casement version, roughly the same shape, but centered, that opened out to catch the trade winds. We would give up a little window space, but thought it would make the room more usable and flexible overall—and get rid of the unsightly view of a roof edge that hung out into the field of view halfway across the old window. Putting in the smaller windows would allow us to extend that roof and clean up the horizontal lines a bit. Outside, the plan was to install some horizontal siding and paint it with the third major color from our outside palette: Joyful Orange (a little stronger variant on our original orange). Those items are still not quite done at the moment, so I’m afraid our current external style could be referred to as “early ghetto.”
After Damian did the heavy lifting, we finished up, and David fitted in some leftover mahogany parquet pieces to fill in bare spots on the floor. He also built a bookcase that fit better with the current plan, reusing the old bookcase shelving. We did bring some books, after all, and I still have lots of music. We left the quirky, very narrow bookcase on the east side of the room where it is, for knick-knacks and smaller items. After finishing our fourth case of caulk and revving up some color, the inside was done, and I moved in. This allowed us to unpack my desk, some equipment, and quite a few boxes of books and artwork. The only thing lacking now is good internet service. (Yes, we’re still struggling with that!)
I have to admit it was hard to give up my beautiful studio at Hawkswood, but I love the new one, too. I’m giving it the same name: Hawksnest. (You know by now how we have to name everything.) Maybe Hawksnest West? After all, we’ve seen hawks here, too, and it is at the top of the house. Luckily the hand-engraved slate sign we bought in 2012 at Howell’s Mill in central Wales made the trip intact. It was with gratefulness and a sigh of relief that I finally installed it over the door at Bramalani (see photo).
I helped David clear some space for himself in the “yellow room,” and he’s happily ensconced there. He’s already written a few sermons there (one of which he’s delivering as I write this, for Transfiguration Sunday) as well as sorting through thousands of photos. And he’s developed a plan for that room that will include making it into a proper guest room, too. And you know, even though we love each other an awful lot, it’s sure nice to have some space each to ourselves again! Sharing one car, and sharing the same space for so much of the time over the last couple years here has taught us to appreciate some extra room to “do our own thing.” If this seemed long overdue to the extrovert, you can imagine how long overdue it seemed to the introvert.
Now that the cake was fully iced, the cherry on top was the installation of a mosaic tile wall segment, a “waterfall” pattern we’d found at Mosaic Tile Supplies. This has been part of the plan from the beginning, and occupies the wall space where the original master bedroom door was located. We’d admired a similar tile wall at Hale Baleja several years ago, and had been on the lookout for an appropriate place to try a similar treatment.
If you’ve read the last couple of posts, you’ll understand that having some space to get back to living and going about our daily work is a big deal right now. It also helped us handle more gracefully the extended periods of cool, rainy weather we’ve had here the last couple of months. No, I don’t expect much sympathy from those of you who’ve been dealing with subzero temps and foot-high snowfalls, but when you’re stuck indoors—for whatever reason—having an interior space that is more generous and orderly sure helps.
Upper part of Bramalani, originally just two large bedrooms.
What the floorplan looks like after the renovation. The first bedroom became a bath and studio, with bookcase, window and door reconfigurations.
What the master bedroom looked like in 2016.
Master bedroom back wall, exterior view.
Removing the paneling on the inside of the master bedroom back wall revealed a door.
After removing that interior door, all that was left was the screen door, and nowhere to go (but down).
Taking a last look through the door to nowhere.
The back wall newly reconfigured, framed and sheathed.
The new back wall, exterior view.
The closet used to be in the front, next to the window.
It was removed carefully, so we could reuse the lumber.
On the other end of the room, we cut a new door, next to the old one and across from the bathroom door. We both had a different vision for the space where the old door had been.
The drywall—which was not all that dry—had to come down. Thanks, Bardz!
Here’s the master bedroom, stripped and ready to be refurbished.
The new closet, in the back corner now, where the original door had been.
Erin, not to be outdone, began the priming process.
My complicated measuring scheme. Believe it or not, it worked pretty well, and avoided temper flare-ups.
What the ceiling looked like, roughly sheathed, ready for trim.
The finished ceiling, gleaming with Cloud White.
After installing the headboard and gauzy curtains.
New full-light, privacy-glass doors for the hallway. (Thanks, Mom!)
New closet completed.
View of the new master bedroom back wall area.
Found these cute, old-fashioned hula plaques at Shaka Chic.
What the middle bedroom looked like, front end.
View of both bedrooms from the outside. You can see the odd window/roof structure right in front of the middle bedroom window.
And here’s the view from that large middle bedroom window.
Not surprisingly, David was caught in another of his “what should I do about this?” stances.
Back end of the middle bedroom.
Yes, David kept that “hmmmm…” stance all the way down the stairs (note wall on left and bookcase on right).
To widen the stair and hallway, we decided to remove the bookcases. The half-wall would be replaced by a full wall.
Bath framing goes up—with convenient towel rack.
The new hallway without bookcases, with a new wall on right.
Stairs were tiled like those leading up to the kitchen.
Damian helps reconfigure the hallway wall, adding another window.
The beautiful parquet floor was salvaged.
Our going away give from St. Barnabas, Chelsea, Michigan. Fits just perfectly in the new window. Thanks, St. Barnabites!
Shower area, ready for finishing.
Shower pan underlayment finished.
Another tiling job, featuring an “excerpt” from our waterfall mosaic.
He’s getting pretty good at this. Every time we think he’s done his last project…
More floor salvaging for the bath.
And black rocks for the shower floor.
And the obligatory Hawaiian peephole for the shower.
Time to start on the studio. AC unit removed.
Surprises inside the studio wall. I guess it wasn’t really that much of a surprise.
We kept the quirkly little bookcase, but repainted it.
First new awning window cut into the studio wall.
Installing the first awning window. Good thing Damian (the monkey) is comfortable jumping up and down, in and out.
Big window is gone.
How the new windows look from the outside (unfinished).
The studio sign: Hawksnest. From Howell’s Mill, central Wales.
The new bookcase, making great use of the wallspace.
The bookcase from the front. We’ll plug the opening to the master bedroom when recording.
New awning windows from the inside. Along with my MIDI controller keyboard.
New casement window, repositioned, and my desk from Michigan, with a new iMac, ready to make some music.
New colors for the bookcase, and inspiring angel with trumpet (thanks, Chris Barton), and “The Touch” multimedia art (thanks, Jan Schubert Basom) close to the desk.
Wall between bath and studio, including closet space (still in flux). “The Power of Music” fits here nicely.
And the piano is part of all this, too, so I had to include a shot of the new Kawai. Though it looks less grand than the GS-70, I’m happy to report that it works wonderfully, and hasn’t minded the humidity so far…
The piano from the kitchen breakfast area.
The waterfall wall, the mosaic “cherry on top,” where the original door into the master bedroom used to be.
Completed mosaic wall.
Waterfall wall, from kitchen.
Davey had a great idea to reconfigure the bistro roof, removing the shed part, and extending the kitchen roof.
Damian applies translucent roofing panels. This will let more light into the kitchen.
We’re also extending the roof over the back of the lanai, so there will be more living area kept dry.
Translucent panels here, too.
The old rocker, which I bought in Kansas when I turned 25, finally decided it had rocked its last roll. Luckily, I was already getting up when the incident occurred.
We’ve picked up some new tenants. Two cats we’ve been calling Bootsie and Blackie (for reasons I’m sure you can imagine). After hearing some strange, high-pitched noises coming from the heliconia one day, we discovered that Bootsie and Blackie now have four little kittens. We’re all for it. Besides being cute, they help keep the rat population in line!
Finally time to clean the catchment tank. All set to go again now.
Time for a break, after all that renovation work. (Not that we waited until the end to take a break, mind you.)
Like Proverbs says, “Two are better than one.” With thanks to the proprietors of The Birds’ Nest, one coaster to keep out the bugs, one to keep the table dry.
On September 1, after loading up the car—well, after putting in the few bags we hadn’t already shoved into the shipping container—we took a last walk around Meadow Dore, locked up, and headed down the driveway on the next adventure. Our neighbor Susie had asked us to let her know when we were leaving so she could say goodbye personally on our way out. We had shared the first part of our driveway with the Webers for the last 17 years. In fact, I’d met Susie and her 7-year-old son, Nate (now in his 20s), on one of my first visits to Hawkswood, on the day I was “walking it,” compass in hand, trying to figure out exactly how far the property extended in each direction. As I said in the last post, David had told me that if the meadow wasn’t included, he wasn’t interested, and I was out to prove it was. I met dear Susie that day on the driveway by chance, and neither of us have ever forgotten it. I don’t think I’ll ever forget saying goodbye, either. We huddled in the shadow of the Matson container, prayed, cried, and finally waved goodbye.
The Webers are the kind of neighbors everyone dreams of having, and they were one of our hardest goodbyes. Susie had often commented how much she loved hearing our windchimes on breezy days, even hinting around as the day approached that possibly she could buy them. But we loved them too, of course—in fact, everyone seemed to. If they were chiming when someone came to visit, the visitor almost invariably made some comment about how sweet their sound was. We had even bought identical sets for several family members after they had mentioned the same thing. So there was no doubt in my mind we would take them with us across the Pacific as a remembrance of Hawkswood. But the closer we got to leaving, the more it seemed like the plan needed to be revised. The new plan? We ordered a new set of chimes, based on a new scale, and gave our set to Susie on our last official pizza evening.
The Plan
Those of you who know David won’t be surprised that he had cooked up quite an elaborate transportation scheme for our last summer in Michigan. First, we’d let the F-150 lease expire and turn it in (harder for David than selling the tractor by a long shot), leaving us with just the Honda CRV. We’d make do with just one car between us to save some money. And since the CRV, our remaining vehicle, was close to the end of its lease too—with only several months left—we’d turn that in early and get another car. We’d then leave the new car with friends, rent a car to drive to Mom’s place in mid-Michigan, pack up her van, drive her to my sister Doreen’s in Pinson, Tennessee (dropping off the rental car in Battle Creek on the way). Thence to South Carolina to visit my niece Susan’s family, and then on to Florida to get Mom settled for the winter and visit my brother Curt. We’d stay there a week, helping her with things, then fly back to Michigan, pick up our new car, drive it to Los Angeles, put it on a boat, ship it to Hawai‘i and hop on a plane. After all, we’d both talked about traveling the old Route 66 many times over the years, and what better time to do it? Sounds easy, right?
Just a little teaser.
An aside for those of you who think we were being rather spendthrift shipping our car all the way over to Hawai‘i: not so! David did lots of research, comparing various scenarios, and it turned out that leasing the car in Michigan and shipping it to Hawai‘i was the most cost-effective of them all, believe it or not. And it was $3,000 less to ship the car from Long Beach, California than it was from Ann Arbor, Michigan. So necessity was actually the mother of this rather complicated Mother Road plan.
The first part of the plan was completed in June. However, getting by with one car proved to be difficult, since both of us were still working and had lots of errands to do—and people to meet with—before the move. So he started figuring again, and found a great deal on a new Honda Accord at a substantial reduction in cost. We would go ahead with that part of the plan now, then work on either turning the CRV in early or selling it. So by mid-July, we had a new Accord and were back to two vehicles.
We turned in the CRV in late August when it was finally financially advantageous to do so, and the car count went down to one again. So it was our Accord that we packed with the last couple pieces of luggage and drove up Hashley Road on our last trip as Sharon Township residents. We left it at Marcia and Linda’s, picked up a rental car, and drove up to my family homestead, just outside Sidney.
We packed up Mom’s van, including a few items to be delivered to family members along the way: Tonka trucks and other items from my childhood would go to Luke and Caleb, Susan and Chris’s two boys. Grandma’s tea set would be split between Susan and Christopher (niece and nephew). The painting of great-grandpa Ralph sitting in front of his house on the Little Manatee would go to Curt, my brother, along with an old gardening book of his, with handwritten notes on particular trees in the back. To Doreen would go the bookcase Dad had made in highschool, along with the antique rocker that had come from an aunt of our Great Aunt Dot, later refurbished by David’s aunt and uncle. We were full. Thank goodness, there was just enough room for Mom to squeeze in.
Up until now, everything seemed to be working fine, but then our plan was threatened by more than the forces of finance and business. This time it was nature herself. Hurricane Irma was taking aim on Florida, they thought, and promised to arrive roughly around the same time we planned to.
We headed south anyway, dropping off our rental car along the way, and arrived at Dry Creek Mini Ranch, the farm where Doreen and Dee raise miniature animals of all kinds. We had a whole lot of fun fixing fences, sorting pigs, witnessing a litter of mini-aussies being born in the kitchen and soaking in some real down-home hospitality at a real country still—yes, a still! What Wikipedia calls “an apparatus used to distill liquid mixtures by heating to selectively boil and then cooling to condense the vapor.” And of course, as Wikipedia also says, “Alcoholic products from home distilleries are common throughout the world, but are sometimes in violation of local statutes.” I think it’s best to leave the subject right there, don’t you? (OK. We did sample it, and it was good. And we were surprised to learn that one of the ingredients was cotton seed!)
Every few hours we’d check the weather again—the hurricane report. The forecast just kept getting worse. We delayed going on the next leg of the trip, first one day, then two. Irma was not only heading to Florida, but now forecast to travel through South Carolina afterward. Was someone trying to tell us something? We weighed different options and scenarios, but finally on Thursday, we decided to abort the original plan, leaving Mom with Doreen, who would drive her down to Florida once it was safe. Of course, during all this time, Mom was very concerned for her house, not to mention my brother’s, both in Ruskin, directly in Irma’s path. Susan’s husband Chris flew down to help Curt board up both houses. It seemed that we just had to let go of our perfect trip plans.
Sad at having to miss seeing so many of the family and being of help to Mom in Florida, we rented another car and headed back to Michigan. I was still working, and we had started the clock ticking on our shipment to Hawai‘i, and we couldn’t afford to wait any longer. We stayed with Marcia and Linda overnight and finally said our goodbyes and set out for St. Louis on September 10.
The Mother Road
Neither David nor I really knew much about Route 66 at first, but the trip certainly provided a great opportunity to complete what was lacking in our education. Of course, we’d both heard the famous song of the same name in many versions through the years (as practically everyone has who isn’t from Neptune) and it’s teaser line: “Get your kicks on Route 66.”
(Left) Lonnie and Joe sent us this not-too-traditional version of (Get Your Kicks On) Route 66. What are your favorites? Do you have it memorized? We do (now).
From Wikipedia, you’ll find out that Route 66 was also known as the Will Rogers Memorial Highway and America’s Main Street. It was established way back in 1926, with road signs erected the following year. It ran from Chicago, Illinois to Santa Monica, California, covering 2448 miles, and served as a major path for westward migration, especially during the Dust Bowl of the 1930s. In fact, in his classic novel The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck called Route 66 the “Mother Road” because it beckoned to desperate migrants fleeing the Dust Bowl as they moved west in search of jobs. But in the years after the Depression, the highway took on a downright mythical status as it became America’s main street for adventure.
The original inspiration for the route came from entrepreneurs Cyrus Avery of Tulsa, Oklahoma and John Woodruff of Springfield, Missouri. The pair lobbied the American Association of State Highway Officials (AASHO) for its creation, and the number 66 was settled on—since it was unassigned, and the numbers 60 and 62 had proved too politically controversial. It was thought the double-digit number would be easy to remember as well as pleasant to say and hear. Coincidentally, the number 66 was used in numerology as a master number bringing material pleasure and success. From the outset, US 66 was intended to be a connector of rural and urban main streets, and for a very practical reason: most small towns had no access to a major national thoroughfare.
The road was not fully paved until 1938, was officially retired from the U.S. highway system in 1985, and underwent many improvements and realignments during its lifetime. Of course, most of the road was replaced little by little by various segments of the newer and faster Interstate Highway System (mainly I-55, I-44 and I-40), but portions that still exist have been designated as National Scenic Byways by some states, and have even been incorporated into state highway systems as State Road 66 by others.
We weren’t setting out to do anything like a complete traversal of the original route, but were planning to drive as much of it as we had time for, making exceptions when we wanted to see something off the track.
Our first stop was St. Louis and the Gateway Arch, which we both thought was a very appropriate beginning. Many settlers and adventurers of the 19th century, including Lewis and Clark, launched their journeys to the West from St. Louis, and it eventually became known as the Gateway to the West. The Gateway Arch was designed to pay tribute to this. So we decided to pick up our little adventure right there, and head toward California. I had been to St. Louis before, but neither of us had ridden up inside the Arch, so after taking some pictures and admiring its design and craftsmanship, we did just that. It was well worth it, and turned out to be a lot of fun. With a few more people and higher temperatures, I could see why they wanted to warn those with tendencies toward claustrophobia, but on this particular day, it seemed to us quite manageable.
The next day, with a new Rand McNally open to Missouri (the best part of each year’s trip to Florida when I was growing up was when Dad would get a new Rand McNally road atlas from the State Farm office, so I could follow our route all the way), and a Route 66 iPhone app freshly downloaded, we took off, stopping at several landmarks along the way. I’ll let most pictures speak for themselves. You’ll see one photo taken in Jerome, MO, a somewhat crude rock arch with a “Trail of Tears” sign hanging from the middle. Since I’ve had an interest in Native American history since my great-grandfather Ralph W. E. May told us stories about the Indians, this really caught my attention, and I started doing a little research.
“The Trail of Tears National Historic Trail and Route 66 have an important, often overlooked link in Missouri. The two not only intersect a number of times between Rolla and Springfield, they also have the same alignment in certain areas. Meaning, when you are traveling on Route 66 in Missouri, in some locations you are also directly retracing the footsteps of thousands of Cherokee who were forcibly removed from their homes in 1838–1839.
“A man named Larry Baggett paid homage to the Cherokee removal by building an elaborate memorial on his property, located at the crossroads of Route 66 and the Trail of Tears near the border of Phelps and Pulaski counties in Missouri. His memorial, constructed primarily of concrete and stone, became one of Route 66’s roadside curiosities, and its origins became a local legend. The story goes that Baggett built a retaining wall on the property near his house. After the wall was complete, he repeatedly heard knocks on his door, but no one was there. Baggett was later informed by a visitor that the wall was built directly across the Trail of Tears and that the Cherokee spirits walking the trail could not get over it. To resolve the issue, Baggett built stairs into the wall and continued to construct an archway and sculptures to memorialize the Cherokee removal. Whether you believe the tale or not, Baggett’s now crumbling masterpiece remains a haunting reminder of Route 66’s intersecting history with the Trail of Tears.”
Mr. Baggett’s memorial was closed when we visited it, but I took the picture you see here, and I’m happy to report that there were other signs on the premises indicating that a renovation might soon take place.
The juxtaposition of these two significant pieces of U.S. history really “baked my noodle” (as the Oracle says to Neo in The Matrix). Here we were, leaving our home, heading toward a new home, a new state—a new life in many ways—traveling in the same footsteps our suffering Native American brothers and sisters had trod nearly 200 years before, and on the same road that Americans of all sorts had followed 100 years after that, gathering their belongings and their hopes and setting off along this “yellow brick road” to a better life. A Trail of Tears. A path toward a better existence. A place to “get your kicks.” Very different periods in our national story.
As we passed the many remnants of times, businesses and events gone by, old signs rusty or shiny, landmarks dilapidated or newly painted, I wondered what kind of journey the Mother Road would prove to be for us. Where was she taking us? I pictured Mother Mary adopting the road both now and in times past as a sort of namesake, praying for God to guide her many children toward whatever God’s will might be for their futures. See what I mean? It definitely bakes your noodle.
So many, so many landmarks along the way! So many interesting things to see. And so much kitsch: a collector’s paradise! We stopped in Springfield, MO, where Route 66 was established. The very interesting museum there had a big map where you could add push pins to show where you came from and where you were going. Of course, so much of what makes Route 66 so iconic is its associations—with the musical, culinary, design, and cultural aspects of its history. And it’s these associations that make each landmark and artifact along the way something more than a material object.
Just outside Springfield, we traveled the first lengthy stretch of original highway, and it was pretty evocative. We passed a restored gas station about halfway to Kansas (see picture). Here I was very glad of the other tourists that were also there, as I really think it would have been a little bit creepy to be alone there. The station was so perfect in every detail, along with the old vehicles strewn about the grounds. It was as if it had all been frozen in time.
Zip around a little corner in Kansas (Hi, Kansas – have you missed me?), and into Oklahoma. Oklahoma has the highest number of original lane-miles in service—over 400—and designates the route as State Road 66. (In 2000, the Oklahoma Department of Transportation donated sections of the original pavement to the Smithsonian Institution.) Here and there along the route, there were sections where you could see the original Portland cement showing through subsequent layers of asphalt, or even miles-long segments of the original concrete, and very narrow sections of pavement bounded by curbs on each side—a “ribbon road” as it was called (see pictures). There are no fewer than three Route 66 museums in Oklahoma, in Chandler (Chandler Route 66 Interpretive Center), Elk City (National Route 66 & Transportation Museum) and Clinton (Oklahoma Route 66 Museum).
The Chandler museum occupies the old Chandler Armory, which is an impressive building on its own, and “strikes at the heart of what we believe is the true meaning of Route 66.” A sign from the exhibit quotes Michael Wallis, from Route 66: The Mother Road.
“Even a brief drive along old Route 66 reminds us of what is missing on the superhighway—and in our lives. On the old road, every rise or dip, every side-road junction, every new direction gives rise to the feeling that we have actually been somewhere, that we are actually getting somewhere. In between, the ever-changing roadway helps us regain the experience of going, rather than of merely being transported from place to place.”
That’s after all what our trip was about: being somewhere, and going somewhere. Not just being transported from place to place. That’s what I had always loved about road trips, from the time I could open a road atlas and trace the routes we traveled. I still have the travel diary I kept on one of the trips, full of erudite entries like: “Entered Murphreesboro at 2:53 p.m. Left Murphreesboro at 2:55 p.m.” David and I have always loved road trips, too, and have taken many, often traveling secondary roads by choice, voluntarily giving up some of our time to just be somewhere on the way to somewhere else. And traveling the Mother Road—well, it was sort of like taking the mother of all road trips. Plenty of time to philosophize on those long, lonely stretches of concrete.
Elk City held another important distinction for me, singer-songwriter that I am. It’s the birthplace of Jimmy Webb (1946), my favorite songwriter. Nobody excels him in marrying lyrics and melody. I just had to have a picture taken at the first official Elk City sign. I asked a few people at the museum if there was a plaque anywhere commemorating his birth here, but never had any luck. Anyway, I tried, Jimmy. Here’s one traveler that’s very glad you were born to offer us all your own style of “traveling music.”
And so, the three museums behind us, we headed West for Amarillo on I-40. Mile after mile we watched the service drive criss-cross the expressway, noting the long segments of signature Portland cement and realizing that we were still shadowing the original route.
By this time, we realized that there was something else shadowing us, too. We were keeping tabs on our Matson shipping container every day. It had been delayed in leaving Detroit, but was finally put on a train there, and was traveling West with us—in many places along the same route. After crossing into New Mexico, we checked again, only to find out that the container had also stopped in Amarillo! How odd, this cat and mouse game we were playing with all that was left of our worldly possessions. Ever since we pointed the car West from Oklahoma City, we had been noticing the incredible number of freight trains trailing their innumerable cars of shipping containers, bustling over the rolling landscape loaded mostly with full-size, but also some half-size containers like ours. We read the names of the shipping companies, looking for a shiny container with the bright blue Matson label painted on the side—of course, it might not be shiny by now. The quiet little Route 66 of rural America had evidently become a huge transportation mega-corridor by the time it reached the Southwest, carrying people of all ilks and goods of all sorts along the same monotonous, mythic miles.
Neither of us would rate Texas as a high point in our trip. Except for the little Mexican place we found in Amarillo for dinner, and the iconic Cadillac Ranch just west of town, it was unremarkable. But New Mexico seemed different. The topography seemed to change, and so did “the feel,” whatever that means. We truly enjoyed our breakfast at the little town of Tucumcari—a bit “ghostish” on the edges—and our trip from I-40 to Santa Fe.
We had thought we had to leave 66 to drive up through Santa Fe, nicknamed “The City Different,” but we found out when we got there that the city actually lay on the original alignment of US 66 from 1926 to 1937. Inhabited for more than 10,000 years, the oldest Pueblo villages were built here around 900 AD. The state was ceded to the U.S. after the Mexican-American War in 1848 and became the 47th state in 1912, with Santa Fe its capital. City planners aimed to preserve the historic town and build a harmonious city using traditional styles and methods. They succeeded beautifully. With art and history everywhere we looked or walked, we put Santa Fe on our list of Places To Visit Again. It was wonderful. Only one day—yet light years—away from Amarillo.
It was impossible to escape the religious underpinnings of the area’s history—and its legends. We visited the mysterious “Miraculous Stair” at Loretto Chapel. Its winding helix ascends twenty feet, making two complete revolutions up to the choir loft without the use of nails or apparent center support. Since the Sisters of Loretto were not comfortable climbing a ladder to the loft, they had prayed for nine days (a novena) for St. Joseph to intervene on their behalf. At the end of the novena, a scruffy-looking stranger appeared and promised to build the staircase if given total privacy. This he did in three months, using non-native wood and just a few primitive tools, disappearing after the job was done.
The cross permeates both building designs and landscapes. We found several crosses in our beautiful room at the Hotel Chimayó, which lay off a quaint little bricked courtyard dotted with tables, chairs and plants. Over the courtyard loomed something you would not expect: a large, wooden cross. In the lobby, there were several icons and religious sculptures, including an exceptionally beautiful one of Our Lady of Guadalupe. It seemed that, as in so many other places on our trip, we were meant to be there.
We asked the young, friendly hostess about the exceptional number of crosses, and she replied that the hotel’s mission was to help inform the public of the history and culture of Chimayó, an agricultural community nestled in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo mountains 30 minutes north of Santa Fe. Founded in the 17th century as a traditional fortified central plaza, the close-knit community of Chimayó has a rich history centered around time-honored artistic and culinary traditions, spiritual devotion and familial bonds.
A percentage of the hotel’s revenue is donated to the Chimayó Cultural Preservation Association, which archives historical photographs and documents, gathers oral histories, maintains historic buildings and increases community awareness. You might be able to guess where we decided to go upon leaving Santa Fe the next morning.
If our adventure was also a spiritual journey, then Chimayó was at the heart of it. We arrived at El Santuario de Chimayó pretty early. Leaning against the wall next to the parking lot were many, many crosses of all sizes, materials and colors. Maintained by the Sons of the Holy Family, there are two main historical buildings. The first is El Santuario itself, the small shrine that is built on the site of what many believe to be a miracle associated with the crucifix of “Nuestro Señor de Esquipulas” (Our Lord of Esquipulas). The sanctuary is also the site of “el pocito,” the small pit of Holy Dirt to which many attribute remarkable curative powers.
Within easy walking distance is the Shrine of Santa Niño de Atocha. Built in 1856, it is the destination of an Easter pilgrimage, originally begun by the US soldiers and sailors who prayed to the Santo Niño during the infamous Bataan Death March. Upon their return to the US, these servicemen began the pilgrimage to Chimayó to give thanks for their deliverance and in memory of their suffering. This tradition has now grown to encompass tens of thousands of individuals of all faiths and all walks of life. In fact, Chimayó is sometimes called the Lourdes of North America. Even the young lady at the Hotel Chimayó had told us that she also makes the pilgrimage.
We wandered around wide-eyed, mainly spending quiet time, meditating on what we saw and read, and praying. David bought a crucifix—very appropriate given the history of the place and the amazing number of crosses and crucifixes we’d seen in the last two days. As we left the sanctuary, we were deciding whether to bend down under the little stone archway and enter the tiny Holy Dirt chapel, when a woman seemed to appear out of the dark hall behind us and handed us two little plastic bags. So we went in, scooped up a couple spoonfuls of sand and put it in our bags. When we bent back under the archway, we looked for the woman to thank her, but she was nowhere to be seen. On the way out, we passed through hundreds of photos, letters, discarded crutches and other sorts of personal artifacts, remembrances and memorials lining the walls of the antechamber.
We had no idea that by detouring to Santa Fe we would bumble onto one of the holiest sites in the US. I suppose the city’s name itself should have been a clue. It does mean “Holy Faith,” after all. And our trip down the aging Route 66 was definitely a journey of faith for us. We knew God was leading us. Of that we had no doubt. But we had no idea what the destination would turn out to be, or what life at that destination might hold for us, and it was scary at times. Hebrews 11:1 says that “Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” We were traveling and hoping, just like the pilgrims, just like the travelers of long ago, heading toward healing, or a land of plenty, or perhaps the end of the rainbow. Yearning for heaven. But the path is not always easy. There are plenty of twists and turns and hardships, and signs that are sometimes difficult to follow. We learn as Christians that Jesus is the Way, and that, just as his path led through a cross, so must ours. But we had not realized that even our trip down the Mother Road would lead through a cross.
As I pondered this and many other things like mysterious winding staircases built by carpenters that appear and disappear and Cherokee spirits walking the Trail of Tears, David pointed out another very interesting fact: this day—today—just happened to be the Feast of the Holy Cross. It was September 14.
If I don’t end soon, I’m going to be publishing a book here instead of a blog post. And really, I think I have already shared the true substance of our trip. There was much more, of course, but the themes were already set, and the truths just deepened as they played out in new amazing contexts and settings. It’s time to let the pictures and captions tell the story. Except to say that a strange thought had arisen in my mind as we reached Chimayó, and only kept growing as we experienced all the “places of being” in the days afterward.
Route 66 ended in California, right? “…Kingman, Barstow, San Bernadino”—and finally Santa Monica. Yes, everyone knows that. We lined up and took pictures of all the “end of the route” signs and kiosks and everything, extending way out onto Santa Monica Pier, just like everyone else. But in my mind, I was starting to doubt that the Mother Road really ended there. How could it end there? How could a road so meaningful and challenging and inspiring come to an end before our journey was complete? I started to imagine that maybe—just maybe—Hawai‘i was somehow the symbolic terminus of Route 66. If Hawai‘i had been a state when the road was built, if the Pacific had been dry land, if people had known that the land of rainbows lay just a few thousand more miles to the West…
Davey saying goodbye to his meadow.
Jordan in his spiffy ride. Wish we could have taken this car to California!
Mom’s van all packed.
Mom all packed, too.
Davey took a shine to little Casey.
New pup – this was the last one of the litter.
Dee, Mom, Doreen. Thanks for the great time!
Davey at the high point of the arch – 630 feet.
The Gateway Arch. What an elegant structure.
You have to lean out a bit to see out of the horizontal portholes.
Going down?
This was our little cubicle on the way down. Yes, we had to bend over to get in.
A retired bridge, right at the beginning of Missouri’s portion of Route 66.
Trail of Tears monument. Closed when we visited, but hopefully will open again. Very thought-provoking place.
Just down the road from the Trail of Tears monument, an old cafe on what used to be a very popular road.
Here and there, you can see the Portland cement showing through later layers of asphalt.
An original bridge with brick and concrete deck. You have to pull off the road to see it now.
An old gas station on the route, now used for storage.
Where US 66 was established, Springfield, MO.
Route 66 timeline in the Springfield museum.
Note the pin stuck in the Big Island. We were the first!
A long stretch of original concrete.
A Sinclair gas station – a time capsule full of memorabilia.
A sign painted right on the pavement in front of the station.
Old vehicles were sprinkled around the property.
Many collectible items, including this US 66 iron bench.
Early “Main Street of America” map inside the station house.
Yes, 66 went through Kansas. Just a little corner of it.
A little old station right where the road turns south toward Oklahoma.
Driving on the old “ribbon road.”
US 66 Interpretive Center in Chandler, OK.
I thought the quote in this exhibit quite remarkable.
One of the thousands of murals we saw, this one in a suburb just west of Oklahoma City, where we had a great little lunch with free popcorn.
The National Route 66 Museum in Elk City (Jimmy Webb’s birthplace).
Cadillac Ranch, just west of Amarillo. Invented and built by a group of art-hippies imported from San Francisco called The Ant Farm.
Davey really wanted to see this landmark.
Another mural, this one on the ghostly edges of Tucumcari, NM.
We learned that Santa Fe was indeed on the original alignment of Route 66, until 1937.
A very civilized little snack in our own private (well, no one was around at least) at Hotel Chimayo.
Our room – full of crosses. Another little interesting detail. Take a look at the tile over the fireplace enclosure. It’s a honu (green sea turtle)!
And another interesting coincidence. The Westcotts (the new caretakers of Hawkswood) sent us this photo in a text message. We had left them a welcome card with a honu on it. Guess what was pictured on the side of the U-Haul truck they rented? And make sure to take a good look at the tagline!
Crosses were everywhere in Santa Fe.
The sanctuary of the Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi, Santa Fe.
The mysterious spiral stair of the Loretto Chapel.
Crosses placed by pilgrims to El Santuario de Chimayo.
The small sanctuary itself. Built where a miracle happened.
Chapel of Santo Nino.
The meditative, memorial walk along the creek at Chimayo.
Wide open spaces on the way to Mesa Verde.
Spent the night in Cortez, CO, at a cool little place called the Retro Inn. Great place. And not only was it very retro, it was full of Bramalani colors. (Four of our main colors are pictured here!)
At about 8,500 feet high, evidence of a civilization built over 1,400 years ago. The cliff dwellings were a truly awesome site well worth driving out of our way for.
Over 600 cliff dwellings were built by these mysterious people of the high plains.
This is the most extensive of the cliff dwelling “villages.”
After climbing the cliff faces to build these amazing structures, they deserted them about 700 years later.
Me planting my keister on four states at once. We both wanted to see this one.
Another must-see place for both of us was the Grand Canyon. Neither of us had ever seen it. Well, an obliging pilot lowered the jet wing once so I and the other passengers could see it, but this was the first viewing at ground level.
David took his good camera with us. Something he doesn’t do very much anymore. These photos reflect a mixture of iPhone and Canon engineering.
So many viewpoints, and all amazing.
This is one of my favorites. The shadows of clouds kept moving upon the landscape, changing it before your very eyes.
Yes, folks. We were there.
Williams, AZ, just south of the Grand Canyon, was our stop for the night.
And what a fun stop Williams, AZ was! Very lively, and plenty of great places to eat, drink and buy kitsch.
We had breakfast at Goldie’s Route 66 Diner on our way out of Williams.
Luckily, Elvis just happened to put in an appearance and agree to be photographed with Davey. This one’s for you, Joe DuPont.
One of many roadside signs painted on anything that would stand still. If you know the song, you’ll realize that we are now getting to the end of the route.
Another detour, recommended by Lonnie and others: Hoover Dam, built in 1931-1935.
A view from the backside of the dam, showing the huge reservoir, and how high the water can go.
The water is quite a bit lower on the other side!
Detour through Las Vegas. A drivethrough was all we allowed, given the prices and our timetable.
Yes, Donny and Marie are still alive and kicking (and singing).
One of many, many freight trains we passed en route. Many were loaded with hundreds of shipping containers.
Probably the nicest wayside markers we saw during the trip, these were in San Bernardino, CA.
Had to hit Hollywood. I’d been there, but David hadn’t.
The Capitol Records building.
A star celebrating one of David’s favorites happened to be en route to the great little burger joint where we had lunch. I took a photo of Lassie’s, too, but you have to draw the line somewhere.
Probably the most fun wayside marker, this one’s rainbow-friendly, on Sunset Boulevard.
On the way through LA suburbs, he had to see the house where all the Brady Bunch shenanigans took place. We also drove down Laurel Canyon, a centre of popular music culture in Los Angeles during the 1960s. Joni Mitchell’s _Ladies of the Canyon_ was the first of her albums I ever heard (thanks to my first college roommate), and she’s been one of my “top 3” ever since.
We’d just seen Mildred Pierce recently, and the Colorado Street Bridge was featured in the new version of the film. This was part of Route 66, too.
The official end of Route 66, at the corner of Lincoln Boulevard and Olympic Boulevard.
Even though Santa Monica Pier is not the official end of Route 66, it is the most popularly celebrated (and marketed) endpoint.
We each had to have a picture taken here, a few thousand miles from where we started.
A famous collectibles shop filled with all things Route 66.
Love this custom-made awning on one of the shops on the pier!
Thanks to a friend from Good News Circle days, Doug Hubbard (aka Hug Dubbard), we didn’t have to hire a taxi from the Long Beach Matson pier to LAX.
Our little Accord, adorned with Matson shipping labels and ready for her voyage to the Orchid Isle.
Only a few bags to transfer to the airplane now.
Besides the wonderful humid air that greeted us when we deplaned at Hilo, we arrived at Bramalani to discover that the orchid we “planted” on the ohia tree by the pool had bloomed again.
A few weeks later, we’re alerted that our container has arrived, and it’s delivered to our door. It (and we) had traveled over 4,355 miles by truck, train and boat.
Here’s the shipping container tracking report. We played cat and mouse with it all across the country.
Our stuff, crammed into Bramalani’s much smaller living area. Now you can see for yourself why we had to downsize!
Our new chimes, this time including a daring Major 7th. It’s sister is hanging in Susie’s woods near Hawkswood.
Our trip down Route 66 finally ends in the land of rainbows. At least for now…
I know. With a title like that, you’ve probably already guessed what’s been going on in Michigan these days, and you’re right: we’ve sold Hawkswood.
Back in “An Illustrated Walk,” I mentioned how we were already contemplating making our next trip to Hawaii a longer one—maybe up to five years or more. But we were always planning to lease Hawkswood, not sell it. That was still our plan when we listed it for lease in late April. But no sooner did we list it than we started having second thoughts. This spring we’d arrived home to about a dozen downed trees—including one that had fallen across the driveway and been removed by kindly neighbors—and a pile of shingles that had blown off the roof in a February windstorm. If that can happen when the house sits vacant, we thought, what might we find with a much longer period, and unknown tenants of uncertain character and unpredictable behavior? What might we face each time we came back for our visits? What else might need fixing, inside the house as well as out? A lot can happen in five years’ time. Even under the best of circumstances.
You see, Hawkswood is getting to the age where it needs more frequent, more diligent care (much like this author), and to tell the truth, it had been getting a bit much for us to manage. It had also been seeming awfully big for just the two of us. We’d designed the house for the possibility of a brother or parent living with us at some point, but that’s just not the way things turned out.
Then there were the things. At Bramalani, we managed for five months with four plates. At Hawkswood we had four complete sets of dishes, and much more dishware besides! Cutlery, cuplery, potlery, gadgetry—did we really need all this stuff? If we leased the house, what would we do with it all? Lock it all away or pay to store it somewhere? Let’s say we decided after five years that we did want to sell Hawkswood. What would we have to do then to prepare it for sale? What if the market wasn’t nearly so favorable as it is now? And with the news coming out of Washington this summer, that didn’t seem an unlikely prospect.
Another strange thing was that an unusual number of changes seemed to be taking place in the neighborhood, too, with more neighbor turnover than we’d seen in a decade. Even out of the neighborhood, things seemed to be turning over. We were surprised to learn that both our primary care doctor and dental hygienist had moved away while we were gone. Everywhere we looked, it all seemed to be adding up to a big change, and it left us flip-flopping: lease, sell, lease, sell…?
Before we even had a chance to decide one way or the other, I met our neighbor Christi on one of my walks. She and her mother were working in the yard, and she beckoned me over. Were the rumors true, she asked? Were we really planning to go to Hawai‘i for a more extended period this time? Because if we were, she had a good friend who’d been dreaming of living on Hashley Road for a long time now. He came to visit her a lot, helped her cut trees, and had fallen in love with the Hashley Road neighborhood—which is not at all hard to do.
I explained that we were only planning to lease at this point, but that we were definitely flip-flopping about the idea of selling. I gave her David’s number and headed home. Within an hour, Christi’s friend Patrick called, and listening to his voice over David’s phone from halfway across the room, I could tell he was extremely excited. He and his wife Jodi had been looking for a new, bigger place for a while, and nothing seemed to fill the bill. Although our house wasn’t listed for sale, he asked what we’d need if we were going to sell, and David told him. (He is a realtor, after all.)
Patrick, his wife, Jodi, and their two sons, Parker (7) and Jackson (5), came to see the place a couple days later, and then again on the weekend. We walked them through the house and around the whole property, stem to stern. The very next day, they sent an offer for the exact amount we needed.
Well, we said yes. Not only did they seem the perfect buyers (we’d often said to each other how a young family with kids would be the perfect buyers for Hawkswood), they sent four amazing letters along with their offer, telling us how they loved the place, the land, the house—even the kids wrote, and one added a drawing for good measure. We had often joked that we should require an essay before seriously considering any offer. After all, we had written a letter to the previous owners too, 17 years ago now, hoping it might convince them to accept our less-than-price offer, so there was a precedent. When David had mentioned that to Patrick on their visit, he leaned over to Jodi and said, “Start writing, Honey!”
We are thrilled that such a beautiful family will be the ones taking things to the next level at Hawkswood, in a way that we probably are not even able to do anymore. Their real estate agent joked that she’d never seen a deal quite like this one before. During the course of the summer, we really grew to care for each other. They asked if they could come by and bring their parents one weekend, and we had a great time showing their folks around and getting to know them. Then we had them over for a meal, and then a cookout. They brought us several loads of packing boxes (they got lots of these at work, so thought it might be helpful—which it was). We took them to the annual neighborhood Cadillac Cowboys outdoor concert and party, where they were able to meet many from the neighborhood. After the closing, we threw them a party to introduce them to some of our closest neighbors. We texted and emailed and called. If we went more than a few days without communicating, we started to miss them. By the time we had our last cookout, we were all wishing we’d met each other much earlier, and were sorry to miss the chance to be closer friends.
This all made selling a lot easier, but it was still one of the hardest decisions we’ve ever made. The tears started many times at the thought of leaving such a beautiful place. Yet we know that Hawkswood never really belonged to us to begin with. We’d just been the caretakers for the last 17 years.
(Left) We named our several-acre goldenrod field Meadow Dore, after the Golden Valley area of southwest England bordering Wales. (Due to a language mixup, the Welsh word meaning “wet” came to have the French meaning of “gold.” See the movie Shadowlands for details.) Since Hawkswood was named after a place we had visited in the Golden Valley, a name from the same area seemed fitting. David had said when we were considering the land that he wasn’t interested if the meadow was not part of it, so it became David’s meadow. I wrote an instrumental piece inspired by his beloved little golden patch just a few months afterward. Here it is, along with some fond memories of Meadow Dore.
After we made the decision to sell, it seemed that everything—and I do mean everything—lined up right behind it. For one thing, the new buyers told us they were interested in buying almost everything we didn’t have room to take with us. That was almost too good to be true. And I sold my beloved Kawai GS-70 grand piano soon afterward, too. I thought that would be hard to sell, and wanted to make sure it went to someplace or someone worthy, since I’ve always felt it was a very special instrument. (I played it on a recording session in an Ann Arbor studio long before we built Hawkswood, and was immediately taken with it. I asked the owner at the time whether he’d ever consider selling, and he said he would. So when Hawkswood turned from a dream into a reality, I contacted him and was able to buy it. We’d even designed a special place for it where it would work well for performing.)
(Left) Watch and listen to Charlie, new owner of the mighty GS-70, play a selection of pieces on YouTube
Within a couple of weeks, we were contacted by the father of a seventh grader from Ann Arbor. When he and his son Charlie walked in, Charlie sat down at the piano without a stitch of music, and proceeded to play excerpts of everything from Beethoven to Bartok. I don’t know what the technical definition of a “prodigy” is, but in my experience, I’d say Charlie is the only example I’ve ever met. We stood listening, amazed, for almost half an hour. But the best part for me was the very beginning. He had only played a few notes when he turned and gave his father a big grin. That confirmed it. I wasn’t crazy after all. (Well, at least not about this.) It was a remarkable instrument. Charlie recognized that, too, and hopefully would be inspired by it for years to come, just as I had been for the last 14. Still, I cried like a baby when they drove it away. Note to the empathetic among you: I’m using the money from the sale to buy a “hybrid” piano (a Kawai CA-97, which I’m already starting to bond with), some new music workstation equipment, and some new sound samples to use on upcoming projects. So stay tuned!
Not long after, David sold his tractor to a guy that said he’d been looking for one for six months. He seemed truly grateful to find it, and didn’t mind telling us how excited he was. That gave us a really good feeling. We took carloads of things to church, practically every week, and more loads to the reuse center. Everywhere, every time, there seemed to be someone who was excited about getting this new-old something, whatever it was. Maybe they’d “always wanted one,” or had a friend who “could really use this,” or a child who “will really love reading this.” It was so wonderful to think that all these things would now have a new lease on life. That they would be truly useful again. This downsizing exercise is one part of the process I’m sure neither of us will ever question. We knew it was past time we did this—way past. It had just been too easy to fit everything into a bigger space over the last three moves. But not this time. This time, everything was up for grabs. Everything had to fit in an 8′ x 8′ x 20′ container. Period. We were not paying for storage.
Of course, just because you’ve decided that downsizing is a good thing doesn’t mean that things automatically become easy to give up. During my years on the road as a “Singer in the King’s Service,” I corresponded with many, many people, sometimes over periods of several years or more: people I’d met at concerts, people who’d come in contact with the recordings, or even through friends of friends. Oh, there were some beautiful letters! Some many pages long. (Remember when people used to write letters like that?) Some with beautiful penmanship, some scrawled on greeting cards or spare bits of paper. And, well, me being me, I have been loath to part with them. If you know me, you will not find this surprising. The result: I had several big tubs full of personal correspondence. A bundle from this person, a bundle from that.
Re-reading those letters was like eating a box full of “Emotional Sampler”chocolates. In the box were confections both sweet and bitter: encouragement, sadness, joy, pain, thankfulness, regret. It was like browsing through an album of emotional snapshots. Some from people whose faces I could conjur up without the slightest effort; some from people I’d never met. Reminders of my own immaturity and selfishness; reminders of God’s infinite grace and incarnate, selfless love. Some were just as I remembered; some weren’t. In fact, in a couple of cases, I found that I’d rewritten history over the intervening years, beginning to think of a situation as unresolved somehow, when the letter I now held in my hand showed exactly the opposite. How magical those discoveries were! Sometimes I wondered why on earth a person had stopped writing—right after saying something amazing like “you’re the best friend I think I may ever have,” or “God’s changed my life through your music.” Or had it been me that stopped? Sometimes I couldn’t help myself, and I’d try searching for a person on Google or Facebook. And some I determined to contact again, when and if the time seemed right.
I kept some of the letters: representative missives from special relationships; notes of encouragement from family members or fellow Christian musicians; messages that seemed to be full of fresh inspiration, especially in my current stage of life. After all, society might need examples of handwritten correspondence at some point, complete with communication streams much longer than 140 characters. The rest I decided to burn, as it didn’t seem right to recycle them. Many, of course, were very personal in nature. So since it had been too dry to burn them at Hawkswood, we took them up north to the Birds’ Nest (Marcia and Linda’s vacation home) and burned them one beautiful August night by High Lake, sending them back to God like incense, along with a prayer for the writers.
I was able to sell some of the vinyl LPs (remember those?) that still remained—including some of my own unopened albums—but even so, we spent several evenings opening left-over, shrink-wrapped LP record albums, throwing shrink wrap and vinyl into the trash pile (we were advised by a local record store that there was really nothing else to be done), throwing album jackets into the recycling pile, and the record sleeves into the reuse pile, as we could use those for packing. It was a very weird feeling throwing away those stacks of shiny vinyl LPs, remembering how excited I had been to receive them from the pressing plant all those years ago (some as late as the mid-1980s). I even found a couple boxes of the two 45s Mike Kuzma’s first record company, Trinity Sound, had put out: one featured me singing “Love that Comes Too Late” and “Roads,” and the other featured Lonnie Hull-Dupont singing “Ridin’ Around in my VW” and “Prisoner of War.” (I was able to get together with Lonnie and Joe recently and gave her 45s back to her, along with the master disc, which was a real treat.)
The cassettes we gave away, except for those containing original material—music, family interviews and the like. And the hand-written music… I salvaged some that would make the trip with us—including all the David Barrett arrangements I’ve worked on through the years, as I was under strict instructions to do so. But much of the rest, including things like the orchestra parts for the Hinds’ Feet on High Places sessions at Abbey Road, ended up in a huge pile of recycling. I remember painstakingly writing those parts out by hand from my scribbled score, finishing the last ones just hours before our sessions, just before Christmas 1983. My hand was so sore from writing I had to use Bengay on it every day for a week. No computers in those days, you know. Although it was painful to throw all this away, I also felt quite wonderful when I saw the sheer volume of notes I’d put on paper over the years. If Dad can look down and see this pile of music with its thousands upon thousands of notes, I thought, I bet he’s impressed! He was always afraid I would get bored, and not have enough to do. Well, Dad, what do you think now?
Since I’ve been the default family historian for our Howell-Regis clan, I’ve accumulated much historical material through the years. About three big tubs full and more, to be exact. That had to go with, of course. But I’m determined to spend more time on research after I begin my “retirement career,” and put as much of it online as possible, armed with a new Ancestry.com account. The remaining material—the originals—will be handed down to next-gen volunteers. Form a line to the right, please.
Yes, as David has pointed out several times, it’s not that the things we’ve accumulated have no meaning. It’s the opposite. It’s that they do have meaning. That’s what makes it all so difficult. There are relationship milestones, past projects, event remembrances, and letters, pictures and gifts from friends, family and strangers. You may be thinking right now about just how much of your own “stuff” fits this description.
Of course, leaving friends is by far the hardest part, and the prospect of closing a long, wonderful chapter at St. Barnabas was the hardest part of all, as I knew it would be. It has been a remarkable ride at St. B over the past 12 years, and we have grown to love and depend on our brothers and sisters there. Starting from the way we were welcomed with open arms, and later, how we were each encouraged to develop our own ministries in new ways, and of course, the whole discernment, call, education and ordination process for David. It’s been his constant joy to celebrate Eucharist and serve as part of the ministry leadership team—first, then second, and now coming up on three generations in 12 years! What a joy for me to serve through music there, too, and I’ve so appreciated the freedom to introduce original music—like the St. Barnabas Mass setting in 2015—to friends who so eagerly accepted it, and sang it so beautifully.
My partnership with Kathy West on organ has been a balm of encouragement I could never forget, and, in a way, has redeemed many earlier experiences playing for worship that were, well, much less pleasant. Kathy has always said that she enjoys music most when making it with others, and I can testify to that, after enjoying the privilege of playing next to her for many hours over many years. What a blessing it’s been. How sorely I’ll miss it!
On our last Sunday in Michigan, our dear St. Barnabites gave us a wonderful “sending forth” celebration. The service was absolutely perfect. We celebrated most of the St. Barnabas Mass (written in 2015 and dedicated to St. Barnabas), along with some special hymn arrangements we’d used at David and Bill’s ordination as deacons, and later, priests. Special friends from the community took part in the service, too, and we had a chance to express our gratefulness for the riches God has poured upon us through them. At the end of the service, they laid hands on us, praying that God would watch over us on our new adventure, strengthening us to serve in new ways among new people, and presented us with a replica of our church’s stained glass window, created by the same artist that created the window itself. They couldn’t have chosen a more perfect gift, as we’d been very involved in the window project several years before, and it has come to mean so much to us and to the whole congregation. I had tried to hold things together up until that point (even though I’d barely come inside the front door that morning when the tears started rolling), but when they pulled out that beautiful piece of stained glass, I really lost it. That just blew us away. Just like the love of God incarnate always does.
We will never forget you, St. Barnabas. As I said (or tried to) that day: Throughout the years I traveled the country performing my music, I often told people that someday I hoped to find a church I could really get involved in. A place where real relationships would keep me honest and help me practice my faith, not just preach it. Twelve years ago we found that church, right in little old Chelsea, Michigan. Thank you for always being real with us, for laying your hands upon us when we were sick, for showing us where we were wrong, for giving us the room to try new things, and for supporting us no matter what. I’ve never known a more amazing bunch of encouragers. I want you to know that we’re taking that encouragement with us as we set off on our next adventure, and we’ll always consider St. Barnabas the home church that made it all possible.
If there’s one lesson I’ve had to learn repeatedly over the years, it’s that you must live life with an open hand. I’ve been taught this the hard way on many occasions, and it seems that it’s still one of the hardest truths to apply on a daily basis. You’d think that someone who wrote a song entitled “Let Go” might be an expert at doing it, but alas, no. Don’t expect to receive new blessings from God if your hand still grasps tightly the blessings of the past. None of it’s ours, you know. Not Hawkswood, not friends, not letters, not music, not even family. Ours for the loving, but not for the keeping.
I thank God for all the blessings—and most of all, for all you blessings—we’ve been so privileged to enjoy over our many years in the beautiful state of Michigan. We’re already planning our first trip back, which will be in the spring of 2018, Lord-willing. Thank you for all your well-wishes, your get-togethers, your prayers, your love, your understanding, and simply for you. As C. S. Lewis said, “the pain now is part of the joy then.” That’s my story, too, and I’m sticking to it.
One of the four amazing letters we received along with the house offer. This one’s from Parker (age 7).
The mighty GS-70. Second Kawai piano I owned. One for the record books. Make sure to listen to some of the new owner’s performances on YouTube (see video above).
Wrapping up the piano for removal.
Heading out past the art wall. I got to visit the piano in its new home when I picked up the final check, and guess what? It will be sitting next to an art wall there, too!
Lovingly placed into the moving truck and on its way to Charlie for future glory.
Chester Thrasher, a neighbor of my great-grandpa Ralph Waldo Emerson May, painted this view of him sitting in front of his home on the Little Manatee, west of Ruskin, Florida. It was passed to me, but I always knew Curt wanted it, so I decided to send it to its rightful place. I’m sure it will feel more at home there by the Little Manatee once again. Of course, I wasn’t about to let it go before we took a good photo of it. I’ll always cherish my memories of that homestead in Florida.
I sent a book along with the painting, _American Gardener’s Assistant, c1866. G-Gpa Ralph wrote some notes in the back on various fruit trees. He ended up growing an apple orchard in Michigan and an orange grove in Florida.
A leather mask my cousin Carol gave me. Since leather goods don’t do so well in the high humidity, I decided to give this to my grand-niece, Kenzie. Thought she might be able to use it as part of a costume in one of her dance performances sometime.
Time to get rid of the cassettes. (There were about six of these, plus more in smaller containers.) I had thought at one time I’d digitize all of them… Yeah, right. I only kept the ones with original material on them, with hopes of digitizing that, at least.
Yes. Left-over LP records. Sold some of them to a local record store, gave others to the Reuse Center, but the rest had to go. (In the middle: my first LP – not in circulation! At the top: the last album produced in LP format.)
We took pictures of all the CD-ROM products I’d done soundtracks for, so I could post them eventually.
Arrangements, arrangements, and more arrangements. Thousands of notes on hundreds of pieces of music paper over scores of years. Dad, hope you’re impressed!
Davey saying goodbye to his Kioti. It went to a very excited recipient.
All sorts of paraphernalia from my music career. Kept bits and pieces, but most had to go. This one brings to mind a wonderful concert at U Wisconsin Platteville, where the reviewer mentioned this piece. One of the most memorable concerts (and reviews) I’ve ever had.
I played for this very funny show. Probably looked a lot like the fellow in the picture.
Speaking of pictures, we’d bought several paintings from the artist Sidney Carter at the Ann Arbor Art Fair. One each went to Joseph (pictured here) and Jordan, our illustrious nephews.
Ginny threw an aloha party for Davey, complete with Hawaiian flag, cake, flowers, and lots of friendly realtors. He’ll miss Sharon, Nick and the whole team at Berkshire Hathaway Snyder & Co.
We were able to get together with many dear friends over the summer, including Lonnie Hull and Joe Dupont. Lon and I have known each other (and performed together) since the 1970s. You’ll hear her amazing voice on practically all of my albums.
Lon holding the master and 45 of her songs, “Prisoner of War” and “Ridin’ Around in My VW.” We recorded at least part of this in my college apartment, as I remember. Mike Kuzma was the producer for this and many other projects, and I was also able to visit him this summer.
Letters, letters… I kept a few representative pieces of correspondence that I’d been received through the years, but decided it was time to give the rest back to God.
“Let my prayer rise like incense before you, O Lord…” Thank you, and may God richly bless you, all who have loved and supported me through many years.
Davey and I got to see Scott and Darina’s new place on the Detroit River in Windsor, right across from Belle Isle. Great to see them, Alena, Tony, Shea, and Teta Annie and Uncle Johnny. What a pleasant afternoon.
I had kept all my Bibles, and there were a few. With these, and books once belonging to family members, I decided to take some photos, including handwritten notes. This Bible was given to me by my G-ma and G-pa Howell for Christmas, 1956.
From another of my Bibles. Pages and pages of notes. Now you know why I do pretty well on Bible quizzes. I have studied a lot in my lifetime, both corporately and privately. II Peter has always been one of my favorites, and I memorized it at one time.
This passage from Proverbs 3:5–6 is especially appropriate: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not onto your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct your paths.”
This summer was one of those periods in life where even Chinese fortunes seemed to fit in the whole scheme of things.
The big “sending forth” at St. B, August 27.
Kathy and I got to play the St. B Mass together, which made me very happy. Even though musicians joined us for the initial celebration on St. Barnabas Day, 2015, I think I always preferred playing it just with her.
Davey sings the St. Barnabas Mass. He sang it with me while it was being written, and even insisted I rewrite the Postcommunion Prayer. It’s his mass, as well as St. Barnabas’s.
Our brothers and sisters come up to lay hands on us and send us on to the next adventure.
This was the moment I could no longer hold it together. It was just too perfect, and I felt we were at heaven’s door.
The St. B ministry support team—with members from three successive generations!
Davey and I holding the beautiful stained glass window, created by the same craftsman that created the church window itself.
Davey and Marion the Librarian.
The sending-forth cake! There has to be a picture of food in here. After all, St. B does food so well!
Three crazy priests: Marcia, Rob, David.
End of the summer finally arrives, along with the shipping container from Matson and the movers. First they had to pack a shuttle truck, and then drive down to the container at the other end of the driveway and transfer the contents.
The new (third) Kawai CA97, the “hybrid” replacement for the mighty GS-70 is wrapped up and put in the shuttle truck.
Transferring the second truckload to the container, 8′ x 8′ x 20′ – a half-size model. (Stay tuned for more on what becomes of the container!)
New piano is tucked in for a very long ride.
Our moving crew, six hours later.
From left-back: Jodi, Patrick, me, David, and in front, Parker and Jackson. The new caretakers and dreamers of Hawkswood. We love you and are so glad God brought us together!
Some goodies for the new owners.
Sitting alone in a quiet, dark, emptier house. Thank you, Lord, for the incredible gift of life at Hawkswood.
Just a short post this time, just to let you know that we made it! We finished the “must do’s” on the list, met the property manager’s criteria, and we are now open for business. And not a moment too soon—one day before we have to leave—Bramalani is now listed on Airbnb:
The photographer, Byron, was fabulous and used a drone on several shots. (First time I’d seen one of those in action and it was pretty fun.) Jeana, the property manager, was great, and Mark and Ron, who, as you remember, sold us the place—and gently tried to steer us to a different place—said:
We are both absolutely mind blown with what you have done!!!!!
We’re feeling so thankful tonight. Don’t worry, we’ll have more to say about it and more to show, but as we pack our suitcases, we must say a hearty mahalo nui loa to all the friends and family on this and that side of the great Pacific who helped us realize this dream. It ain’t over till it’s over!
When Marcia and Linda were here not long ago, Marcia was reading a book called The Soul of a Pilgrim: Eight Practices for the Journey Within, by Christine Valters Paintner. As I sat with her in the car one day, waiting for David and Linda to emerge from Pahoa Fresh Fish with our fresh fish lunch, she shared a thought from the book, one I’ve been pondering ever since.
One who travels but remains unchanged is a nomad. One who changes but does not travel is a chameleon. One who travels and is changed is a pilgrim (my paraphrase).
A while back, I shared with you my new Hawaiian walking route. As I walked it again the other day, I was asking for God’s guidance—again. The ocean was relatively quiet, and the path nearly deserted. In fact, I met only one woman on foot over the entire two-mile route. As all the “scary” factors about a contemplated move to a brand new, exotic, unknown place surfaced in my mind, so did the memory of other scary times in the past…
Of course, there was the time I went to college—to the University of Michigan. I’ll never forget my folks dropping me off in front of an enormous dormitory complex with a population 10 times that of our hometown. Had I ever felt more scared than that?
Quitting school early to work as music director for Youth for Christ and spend more time singing with New Jerusalem. Joining Good News Circle a year later, leaving dear Ann Arbor friends to move to Illinois and go traveling with a group I didn’t know. Then leaving GNC a couple years later, striking out on my own as an itinerant sharer of Epiphany moments through music (see last post). Moving to Wichita. Moving back to Michigan and finishing school. Man, how many have there been?
Learning that I “stand in Christ and read the Word,” rather than “stand in the Word and read Christ.” (That was a tough one.) Embarking on the 28-year (so far) “David experiment.” Discovering I had prostate cancer. Thinking about retirement from my day job…
As all those milestones came rolling in alongside the gently undulating waves at Paradise Cliffs, I found my mood changing. When seen in the light of all those events, was another move—even if it is a big one—really as scary as I thought? After all, God has led me through all those times and many, many more, and somehow I’ve lived to tell the tale. And what tale would I tell? Jesus Never Fails. And then there’s the one I shared about a dozen posts ago: God can’t steer an anchored ship. Much as we might want to stop the world from turning, to stay right where we are, we can’t. Not in this life, anyway. Probably not in the next one either, come to think of it…
As you travel the twists and turns of your own journey, which one are you? Nomad, chameleon, or pilgrim? Who are you following? Where are you heading, and who’s going with you? What is it you see today from this particular point on your path? It may be a lot different than what you thought you’d see, but then the journey’s not over yet. As someone said, “Everything works out in the end. If it hasn’t worked out yet, then it’s not the end.”
While you ponder your own location on your own walking path, here are some of the things I saw while I was pondering mine. I wish you a wonderful journey.
There are some unleashed, unfenced pit bulls halfway down our street, so I’ve found another walking route. Here it is. Not bad, eh? Two miles along the Pacific. It’s been absolutely delightful.
Maku‘u Cove, at the beginning of the walk.
An array of palms, philodendrons and monstera.
Rocks at Makuʻu lead up through the Ironwood needles to the coast.
Beautiful garden.
Bougainvillae. A favorite of my great-grandmother and my mother. Love it when the colors are mixed like this. I’m contemplating planting a couple plants together like this.
Guess you’d call this “rock cover.”
You’d better think twice before turning down this road. I thought this was hilarious. But David pointed out to me that it was named after an extinct Hawaiian bird (you should be able to guess the name). See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hawaiʻi_ʻōʻō for more.
A seemingly infinite variety of palmate and pinnate shapes meet the eye.
More bougainvillae beauty.
The view northwest upon reaching Paradise Cliffs.
And the cliffs themselves. The memories came rolling in alongside the waves…
The view as I turn to take the journey back to Makuʻu.
House on the ocean, one of many.
Vacant lot. Not too inviting in its present state, but who knows…?
Plumeria. This tree requires a lot of hope. You have to wait a very long time to see blossoms. No wonder they’re treasured so highly.
More greenery.
And even more greenery.
Will have to look up the name of this one.
Hibiscus. There are some real stunners here and there along the route.
More hibiscus, with a crowd of followers.
Gazebo. Gotta love ’em.
More bougainvillae. Need a little color?
A new house is being built next to Makuʻu Cove. When I started my walks, all that was there was the frame of the structure in back.
House situated happily amongst the greenery.
Philodendrons are in their glory here. None of your demure little houseplants!
This house has a nice mural painted on the out building next to the road.
There are quite a variety of gates along the road. Here are a few I liked.
Another gate.
Another gate.
Another gate.
Another gate.
Another gate.
Remants of hurricane Iselle, 2014.
Hibiscus closeup.
Double hibiscus.
This hibiscus is a stunner.
Hard to improve on riotous red.
Roadside garden.
Where will your journey lead? God bless you as you walk in faith!
“For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then I shall know even as I am known.” (I Cor. 13:12) That’s always been a meaningful verse for me. Especially anytime I can’t see the path ahead very clearly. And an especially good verse for the season of Epiphany, which celebrates Christ’s revelation as the Light of the World, and the seemingly infinite variety of ways God has of revealing the Eternal Light to us. Most of my songs were born out of one of those unique revelations, and I had the honor of sharing some of my musical “Epiphany moments” with the congregation at Holy Apostles recently.
This verse was illustrated in a particularly bothersome, technological way recently, when my iPhone 6 camera lens went foggy. Luckily David—who always seems to be up on all these things—realized that it was a known issue, and looked up my serial number to discover that mine was one of the phones covered by a recent Apple replacement policy. So I’m happy to report that my iPhone camera is back to normal. Unfortunately, the timing of the incident was not very good, coinciding with our long-anticipated visit to the annual Superbowl Lu‘au at David and Chele Hryniuk’s place in Ninole. Always the soul of aloha-style hospitality, they had invited us to attend again, along with the entire choir of Holy Apostles. It being one of the most memorable events of last winter’s stay, we were eagerly looking forward to it. I had made up my mind I would blog about it, so I took lots of pictures, and even took a video of Henry leading us through the lu‘au “back story.” Since I need reading glasses these days anyway, it took me awhile to figure out that something was wrong, and by the time I did, the lu‘au was over. You can imagine how disappointed I was when I realized how blurry the images really were. All that to explain why my photo offering is not quite up to snuff this time. (Thanks to those who contributed photos!)
Henry Johnson and Susan Rosin live in the ohana house on David and Chele’s place in the winters, and Henry is a kupuna. That’s a Hawaiian word meaning “an honored elder who has acquired enough life experience to become a family and community leader.” Henry prepares the lu‘au for these celebrations in the old Hawaiian way, the way his grandfather taught him. He and Susan also lead illustrated lu‘au experiences in Canada in the summers. This year they led us all through the ceremony, too, from digging the imu (underground oven), to wrapping the food for cooking, to the “protocol of the Pū” (a Hawaiian conch shell played for ceremonial purposes). I videotaped their guided tour, only to discover later that the video was not clear. However, I think it’s still very worth sharing, so if you’re interested, please take a look.
Being led through this centuries-old feasting ritual made an already special day even more exceptional. We had the unmistakable feeling that we were witnesses to a very unique slice of Hawaiian history, here reenacted right before our eyes. And of course, also for the benefit of our eager and appreciative appetites.
Out on the Hryniuks’ shaded lanai, looking over the Pacific from such a great height, in the company of such a large, jovial company of choir members, other Holy Apostles congregants, personal friends, and special visitors (we were even invited to bring Marcia and Linda, who were visiting us at that time), I felt not a little awe. It was still Epiphany, and I was witnessing something of a revelation on this Superbowl Sunday. One that had nothing to do with rooting for favorite teams or seeing the latest advertising shenanigans. It was a foretaste, as all revelations are. A foretaste of the heavenly banquet.
Of course, we share a foretaste of that banquet during every single Sunday Eucharist, too, which is why each Sunday is considered a sort of “mini-Easter.” But on this particular Sunday, far outside the walls of Holy Apostles, up the Hāmākua Coast, and a half-mile or so mauka (toward the mountain, away from the coast), in this diverse company of revelers, I felt as if I was in a movie preview for a greater, heavenly banquet—one also prepared according to ancient ritual, also revealing ancient truths in the here-and-now, also serving life-giving food and drink. In the fellowship of this company, including faces dear and diverse, familiar and new, I was enjoying something of a teaser for the eternal fellowship. Looking out over the ocean, I was seeing a somewhat fuzzy sample (through imperfect eyes—and imperfect camera) of a heavenly spectacle: the crystal sea. In the mountain stream that bubbled happily along the imu site toward the ocean, a hint of the eternal river of life.
As our small Bramalani company headed home in the setting sun, passing through immense, refreshing eucalyptus groves, traveling down-then-up the deep, shady gulches with their lush vegetation or surprising waterfalls, then coming in for a landing in humble Hilo, its lights newly kindled, I felt I was already home. More at home than I’d felt yet on this Big Island in the middle of the great crystal sea.
Here’s a collection of photos from both the 2016 and 2017 editions of Lu’ua Lani. This is our arrival at the Hryniuk Hroost on Feb. 7, 2016.
The imu among the bananas (2017).
Covered imu (2016).
Ceremonial toast before the uncovering of the imu (2017).
Uncovering the imu (2017, photo courtesy Lee & Bert Gurr from Nevada. You can even see me taking my [blurry] video!)
Preparing the food for the journey up the hill (2017, photo courtesy Lee & Bert Gurr).
David Hyrniuk and Doug Little place the food on the wagon (2017).
Closeup of the steaming imu contents (2017).
Making its way up the hill (2017).
Setting up the makeshift table (2017).
Chele pulling the pork (2017).
David leads the gathering in giving thanks (2017).
The many offerings are presented (2017, courtesy Lee & Bert Gurr).
Round 1 (2016).
David having a confab with Charlotte (2017).
Kathy and Evette (2017).
Group shot (2017, courtesy Lee & Bert Gurr).
View from the tables (2017, courtesy Lee & Bert Gurr).
Linda & Marcia look like they’re enjoying themselves. What do you think? (2017)
Chele’s shot of the revelers (2017).
Lee toasts (2017, courtesy Lee & Bert Gurr).
David and Chele Hryniuk at the Hroost (courtesy Chele). Thank you, thank you, David and Chele, for making room for fellow travelers one-and-all at your Luau Lani!
It’s finally time to unveil the new Bramalani kitchen. We’ve posted pictures along the way, but now that the railings are installed, we thought we ought to do a retrospective and include the latest developments. The kitchen was the most daunting part of the whole project from an interior perspective. Only the pool caused as much consternation.
From what we understand of the house’s history, the kitchen was the first part of the house to be built in the early 1980s. The house was originally conceived to be expandable in units. The original core is the area around the kitchen. The downstairs section came next, then the middle section, where bath and studio are now, and then the uppermost section, where the master bedroom is today (a post on that is planned soon). With this history in mind, the fact that the original kitchen area also included a bathroom, shower, closet and bookcases is to be expected. Remember, that 12′ x 24′ unit was the entire house.
As soon as we saw the first interior pictures on the real estate site, we started getting big ideas for the kitchen. Now that there was much more space available, and several other rooms, it made sense to us to spread things out a little, increase the size of the kitchen, remove the bathroom to the upper level, and open things up for a more breezy feel.
The kitchen was the centerpiece of Round 1 renovation efforts, but despite all the effort, we only got to use it a few days before we had to leave a year ago March. One reason it remained unfinished was the Cabinet Saga.
Although the measured-from-drawings-only cabinets arrived on time and fit like a dream (turns out I am pretty good at measuring things), the doors did not. They were too wide by at least a quarter-inch each, so they overlapped and would not close, even with the widest possible adjustments in place. The drawers, which spanned the entire width of each cabinet, were fine, but what were we going to do about the door problem? We reported the issue to Kathy at the Jackson Road Lowe’s, and KraftMaid said they’d send new doors, but we were already gone by the time they arrived, so our new neighbors had to receive the shipment. We assumed the new batch would work.
So upon our subsequent arrival this last November, finishing the kitchen was again Job 1, and we cheerfully unpacked the new doors. Unfortunately, they’d only sent half of them, and they still didn’t fit. So after several more exchanges with Kathy and KraftMaid—including a set of measurements showing exactly how much overlap we were dealing with, and a suggestion from the manufacturer that we should consider installing air conditioning to lessen the effects of extreme humidity—we received yet another complete set of doors, arriving in an excruciatingly spread out series of UPS deliveries over several weeks. Why, we don’t know. But the important part was that as each new door arrived, it fit! Third time was a charm. Thank you for hanging in there with us, Kathy and KraftMaid, and hope you enjoy these pictures!
So with the rest of the doors (and door handles) now on, and Davey having installed the microwave, dishwasher, and ice maker in the meantime, I added some finishing caulk-and-paint touches. Finally came the railings and the development of David’s “bistro” idea just outside the kitchen door, and things were pretty much complete. Only one part of the vision is lacking at this point, and that’s the mosaic tile backsplash. (We’ll be sure to add a photo of that later.)
Boy, have we been enjoying the new kitchen! We feel sure that our guests will continue to “like our kitchen best,” wherever we serve them. And one final word of thanks to our dear friends, Marcia and Linda—just concluding their second visit to Bramalani—for their invaluable moral and crowbar support in realizing the kitchen.bramalani.bigisland vision!
Cabinets picked out and ordered in Michigan arrive in Kea’au.
Cabinets unpacked and inventoried.
That blob on Davey’s right is the old frig. A platform for it had been built in the middle of the kitchen stairway.
We’d been talking about removing the frig from that spot for nine Michigan months.
Take a last look.
On its way to recycling.
Yet another dreamed-of project: removing the cupboards over the kitchen island. Step one, removing the doors.
Skinny shower entrance. (For those of you who don’t know us, we’re not all that skinny…)
Then you had to turn a corner…
Skinny shower door gone!
Blobs: left is bookcase/closet, above is cabinet over kitchen island, right is frig (gone as of last week).
Cabinet gone. Welcome the light.
Bookcase/closet gone.
Stairs to “middle room.” Half-wall on David’s left, bookcase on right, looking down into kitchen.
Kitchen bookcase and closet gone.
With thinly veiled glee, Davey readies himself for the kitchen demolition onslaught. It was cute. And efficient. But we have a different vision for it.
Old bathroom door and inside walls and floor gone.
Old bathroom sink gone.
Davey and Linda looking more than pleased with themselves. Walls A and B: gone.
After doorwalls in the living room, Damian and Logan installed 3 new windows (one behind us) and a new glass door in the kitchen. The two large windows had to be raised to make room for our cabinets.
OK. Enough frivolity. Back to work! The ceremony of the loading of the Fusia. Here’s M & L’s.
Interesting insulation material. Has probably gotten more aromatic over time. The closet lining or wall boards must have come in these boxes.
Davey and Linda. Two peas in a pod. Two destructive forces bent on one objective. The shower pan has to go.
Shower: gone! Too bad the wood in back of it is rotted. Unforeseen wall rebuilding has just landed on David’s To Do list. Have to say that the view was the most amazing view from a shower I’ll probably ever have in my lifetime.
Meanwhile, it’s time for the kitchen ceiling to come off. This was one of the most daunting tasks. Since we’d heard the rats running around on the roof during our first few weeks, we had no idea what we might find up there!
Wall G: gone. I know it was out of order, but it had to go, and was one of the worst light blockers.
The interior world without wall G.
Brave Marcia starts in on the tiled side of wall C.
Wall C put up a fight, but half gone. Wall F: history.
Walls A, B, C: gone.
We didn’t realize the house was insulated, but it was. With newspapers and other odds and ends from era 1984. There were some other interesting substances mixed in with the newsprint, too. (Not fit for print.)
Nice surprise for the beekeeper. Bees have found shelter in these walls, too. Davey laid the comb out in the yard just in case other animals wanted to feast on the leftovers.
Center island, gone. (Well, moved into the living room.) If you remember, the cabinets over the island were some of the first things to go after our arrival.
Why does Marcia look so happy? All I can say is that she labeled all the walls that had to come down: A through G. We knew none would remain standing if she had anything to do with it.
Wall A: strategic use of Sawzall required.
Yes, folks. Those fingers can do more than tinkle ivory.
Wall B (west bathroom wall): gone.
Kitchen sink cabinet: gone.
The cockroach crew. We did discover a couple dozen of those during the process, but it could have been a lot worse. We found that Coppertone suntan spray works well to slow them down, increasing our chances of catching them! You probably won’t read about this technique in Better Homes and Gardens.
Davey looking relieved after the ceiling is gone. But how to build the replacement ceiling?
Remember Wall F, the old shower half-wall?
Well, it became ceiling panel 7.
Think he’s worn out that Sawzall blade. What do you think?
Old lumber was used to rebuild the vent openings along the kitchen ceiling on both sides. The new framing will plug the holes that were allowing rodents and other pests to come in.
Some of the old panels are leaning against the wall on the right.
View of future lanai area from the newly-cleaned-off lava pu‘u (mound). The two original windows on the north side of the kitchen are pictured here, with the other shower window just around the corner.
Brad and Davey laying the kitchen tile.
Damian doing his specialty. He is a cabinet builder, after all.
Cabinets installed, waiting for countertops.
Time to brighten up the bookcase. A piece of the old kitchen we couldn’t bear to part with.
And here’s some more color. Both of us envisioned an orange-and-white bookcase since the first few visits.
We found a very cute, sturdy little bistro table and chairs at a local resale shop called Shaka Chic. David’s applying a brighter paint job.
Time to lay down the last of the kitchen tile on the stairs. Here’s stairway 1, all laid out.
Here’s the wide stairway up into the kitchen. Man, do I love how sturdy these are. Glad this was one of the first projects on the list. If you remember, the frig used to occupy the upper right quadrant of this stairway.
Davey honed his railing-installing skills on our Hawkswood balcony, and they came in handy at Bramalani, too. We wanted something that wouldn’t block any of the beautiful light.
Here’s the railing from the top of the stairs.
The new dining area.
The north side of the kitchen, with stove, microwave, frig and the new window—and countertops, of course.
Closeup of cooking area.
The south side of the kitchen is cabinets, worktop and sink.
And the bookcase, of course.
Looking out the kitchen door.
Bistro among the heliconia. A delightful spot just about any time of day.
The pretty-much finished kitchen, looking in from the Bistro door.
![Uncovering the imu (2017, photo courtesy Lee & Bert Gurr from Nevada. You can even see me taking my [blurry] video!)](https://dougndaveysbighawaiianadventure.files.wordpress.com/2017/03/04-gurr-imu-uncovered.jpg?w=369&resize=369%2C277&h=277#038;h=277 "04-gurr-imu-uncovered")
D & D's Big Hawaiian Adventure 