Conflicts of the Heart
On this journey through life everyone, regardless of who they are, where they are from, or what they do, will be faced with decisions that will tug at their heartstrings. These soul-searching resolutions are not to be taken lightly, for they are life altering. Every aspect must be considered and accounted for, the pros and cons carefully weighed. In the end, a final verdict must be reached, one that wants for nothing other than to attempt to satisfy the needs and desires of all parties involved.
Change, so I’ve heard, is a good thing. In making change happen, decisions need to be made, and making decisions has never been easy for me, even if I know they will make my life better in the long run. Being forced to make a decision is one thing, but making a decision willingly is quite another.
~Sarah
Having lived all my life in New England, almost all of it in the New Hampshire seacoast area, I could not have imagined ever living anywhere else. What New England has to offer is immeasurable; from the miles of rocky Atlantic coastline, weathered mountains, scenic lakes, rolling hills and valleys, to the four distinct seasons, each astoundingly beautiful in its own right. Nothing can match our picturesque seaside villages or charming mountain towns that preserve and detail almost 400 years of history. New Englanders are said to be a proud people; determined, strong-willed, and hard working. When faced with adversity, they prove to be resourceful in finding solutions. Family units are generally close-knit and highly valued. Although family members may not always see eye-to-eye, they are always and forever there for each other.
Generations of my husband’s and my families have lived here in New England since the 1600’s. They weren’t the first off the Mayflower, but they were pretty close. With this cultural heritage behind us, many of our relatives still live in the area, having not traveled far from where our ancestors settled so many years ago. For us, New England has always been the place we’ve called ‘home’.
Home, to me, represents the memories of growing up, enveloped by extended family. The only home I’d ever known was built on land that had been owned by my father’s family dating back almost three centuries, a slate-gray clapboarded cape, surrounded by stone-walled gardens and a wooded forest beyond. I treasure the memories of my childhood: playing hours on end with my sister in our tree house at the edge of the woods, constructing intricate fairy houses in the warm summer sunlight, exploring the tide pools on Basket Island during the day and playing flashlight tag by night. ~Sarah
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When our daughters made the decision to go to college in Boulder, Colorado, we embraced the idea, as our desire to see them investigate the world beyond the borders of their New Hampshire home far surpassed our need to have them close by. As each experienced life in the west, they pushed the boundaries even further than the Rockies. Suzanne spent a semester abroad in Samoa and spring breaks in California, while Sarah, after falling in love with Greg, enjoyed summer vacations with his family in Hawaii. Now they have chosen to live in California and Hawaii, respectively, and we are still abiding here in our beloved New England.
New England has never held the same importance for me as it has for my parents. Although I will always love New Hampshire, the most difficult aspect of leaving was in knowing that once I moved to Hawaii, I would be separated from the family I loved by great distance and time. Being so far apart can cause that powerful feeling of being homesick to creep in, knowing that generations of family members are gathering together, enjoying the company of one another, sharing stories and fond memories. When we connect over the phone, my heart aches to hear the laughter and familiar voices from the background conversations, drawing me emotionally back to my roots…making me wish, if only for that moment, that I was there.
~Sarah
Leaving Honolulu after this, my third visit to Hawaii, I felt the pangs of sadness at leaving Sarah, Greg, and his family behind. Feeling somewhat surprised, I also discovered that I had developed a deep affection for my daughter’s adopted home, definitely comparable to the love I have for my native New England. I am captivated by the strikingly diverse landscape at every turn, and the cobalt blue ocean and shimmering beaches offer absolute perfection. I love the history, the music, the art, the culture, and most of all the people who live there. Hawaii is not unlike New England in many of the aspects I hold dear and this is, perhaps, why I am drawn under its spell, having become enchanted with its inner beauty.
I fell in love with Hawaii as soon as I set foot on its shores. Everything I do, everything I am is a reflection of my desire and need to breathe the fresh air, feel the warm tropical breezes as I hike and surf, and savor the mellow lifestyle. I take great joy in the simple things here, I lack for nothing. ~Sarah
So the question ultimately becomes, where do I belong? I know this query is faced by many a parent whose children have moved away. As our children establish their own homes and families, the definition of home changes for them…and for us. Their home is no longer the family homestead they knew as children; instead, it will become the place where they will nurture their own children as they grow.
With our own parents and extended family on the East Coast, and our daughters beginning their lives on the West Coast, therein lies the conflict: the strong sense of duty to our families, our jobs, and our long-established roots versus transplanting ourselves to a new environment in which our primary family is the focus.
After living here I cannot imagine ever moving back to the mainland, much less New Hampshire. I know that my decision to stay is made with no second thoughts, no reservations. In this beautiful island community, Greg and I are making a life for ourselves, becoming our own family. It is as it should be.
Hawaii has become my home.
~Sarah
Considering the eventuality of both daughters living on the Pacific Rim, my husband and I have resigned ourselves to the prospect of three possibilities: 1.) Living here in New England and dropping in for the occasional visit, 2.) Moving west for six months out of the year, or 3.) Uprooting and heading west permanently. Option number one only works until we have grandchildren, and then that, of course, changes everything. Option number three is a consideration, however I don’t believe either one of us can let go of our ties to New England for years on end. We have too much invested emotionally to leave it entirely… at least not right away. At this juncture, option number 2 appears to be the optimum choice, as it gives us the best of both worlds without having to give up on either.
Life changes can create chaos, but from the turmoil comes the contentment of knowing that the final decision has been made for the right reasons and without reservation. Although the ultimate decision remains in the near future, it is one that is destined to run a wide spectrum of emotions. Ultimately, when the time is right, my heart will tell me all I need to know.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Saturday, July 25, 2009
One with the Sea
The sea has always held me securely in its grasp. I never tire of the sound of the endless waves as they roll onto the shore and slip back, slowly receding into the tumbling surf. I find myself filled with wonder at the mystical strands of silvery moonlight that ripple across the ocean’s wide expanse, illuminating the surface covering the fathoms below. The pungent smell of the changing tide fills me with a sense of comfort, knowing that the sea is always close by, its allure ever-present, quietly summoning me to its shore.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Island Life
Living on an island, even if only for a short time, is a unique experience to say the least. The uniqueness of the experience tends to be dependent on the dimensions of the island, its population, and what it offers for amenities, opportunities, and lifestyle. Being the most populated island in the Hawaiian chain, parts of Oahu offer anything and everything that can be found on the mainland, and more, especially on Waikiki and downtown Honolulu. My experiences in Hawaii have proven to be in sharp contrast to spending summer vacations on Basket Island off of Hills Beach in Biddeford, Maine.
Basket Island is bit of an enigma. At high tide it is an island, and when the tide is low, it is connected to Hills Beach by a long and sometimes rocky sandbar that appears when the bay empties of water. This tiny windswept outcropping is dotted with a handful of gray-clapboarded cottages, weathered by the ocean’s spray and the beating summer sun. Being at Basket Island is like stepping back to another place in time.
Summer days on Basket Island are taken in stride. The pace is slow, laid back, and relaxed. Daily routines alternate between lying on the beach, enjoying the views from the wrap-around porch, taking the Sunfish out for a sail, or playing kickball in the center of the island with the other island families. Because there is no running water, one is faced with the challenges of heating rainwater collected in cisterns to wash dishes or take baths. With no electricity, our children needed no encouragement to take advantage of what the island had to offer.
In my more wistful moments, my thoughts drift back to those warm days, watching my daughters investigate the tide pools embedded in the layers of rocks surrounding the island, listening to them hum to the periwinkles as they tried to coax them to poke their heads from their shells, and walking with them along the golden beach as the ocean’s waves covered the sandbar slowly erasing our footprints. Basket Island is a place where memories are etched into the heart and mind for all eternity.
Basket Island is bit of an enigma. At high tide it is an island, and when the tide is low, it is connected to Hills Beach by a long and sometimes rocky sandbar that appears when the bay empties of water. This tiny windswept outcropping is dotted with a handful of gray-clapboarded cottages, weathered by the ocean’s spray and the beating summer sun. Being at Basket Island is like stepping back to another place in time.
Summer days on Basket Island are taken in stride. The pace is slow, laid back, and relaxed. Daily routines alternate between lying on the beach, enjoying the views from the wrap-around porch, taking the Sunfish out for a sail, or playing kickball in the center of the island with the other island families. Because there is no running water, one is faced with the challenges of heating rainwater collected in cisterns to wash dishes or take baths. With no electricity, our children needed no encouragement to take advantage of what the island had to offer.
In my more wistful moments, my thoughts drift back to those warm days, watching my daughters investigate the tide pools embedded in the layers of rocks surrounding the island, listening to them hum to the periwinkles as they tried to coax them to poke their heads from their shells, and walking with them along the golden beach as the ocean’s waves covered the sandbar slowly erasing our footprints. Basket Island is a place where memories are etched into the heart and mind for all eternity.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Conflicts of the Heart
On this journey through life everyone, regardless of who they are, where they are from, or what they do, will be faced with decisions that will tug at their heartstrings. These soul-searching resolutions are not to be taken lightly, for they are life altering. Every aspect must be considered and accounted for, the pros and cons carefully weighed. In the end, a final verdict must be reached, one that wants for nothing other than to attempt to satisfy the needs and desires of all parties involved.
Having lived all my life in New England, almost all of it in New Hampshire seacoast area, I could not have imagined ever living anywhere else. What New England has to offer in immeasurable; from the miles of rocky Atlantic coastline, weathered mountains, scenic lakes, rolling hills and valleys, to the four distinct seasons, each astoundingly beautiful in its own right. Nothing can match our picturesque seaside villages or charming mountain towns that preserve and detail almost 400 years of history. New Englanders are said to be a proud people; determined, strong-willed, and hard working. When faced with adversity, they prove to be resourceful in finding solutions. Family units are generally close-knit and highly valued. Although family members may not always see eye-to-eye, they are always and forever there for each other.
Generations of my husband’s and my families have lived here in New England since the 1600’s. They weren’t the first off the Mayflower, but they were pretty close. With this cultural heritage behind us, many of our relatives still live in the area, having not traveled far from where our ancestors settled so many years ago. For us, New England has always been the place we’ve called ‘home’.
When our daughters made the decision to go to college in Boulder, Colorado, we embraced the idea, as our desire to see them investigate the world beyond the borders of their New Hampshire home far surpassed our need to have them close by. As each experienced life in the west, they pushed the boundaries even further than the Rockies. Suzanne spent a semester abroad in Samoa and spring breaks in California, while Sarah, after falling in love with Greg, enjoyed summer vacations with his family in Hawaii. Now they have chosen to live in California and Hawaii, respectively, and we are still abiding here in our beloved New England.
Leaving Honolulu after this, my third visit to Hawaii, I felt the pangs of sadness at leaving Sarah, Greg, and his family behind. Feeling somewhat surprised, I also discovered that I had developed a deep affection for my daughter’s adopted home, definitely comparable to the love I have for my native New England. I am captivated by the strikingly diverse landscape at every turn, and the cobalt blue ocean and shimmering beaches offer absolute perfection. I love the history, the music, the art, the culture, and most of all the people who live there. Hawaii is not unlike New England in many of the aspects I hold dear and this is, perhaps, why I am drawn under its spell, having become enchanted with its inner beauty.
So the question ultimately becomes, where do I belong? I know this query is faced by many a parent whose children have moved away. As our children establish their own homes and families, the definition of home changes for them…and for us. Their home is no longer the family homestead they knew as children; instead, it will become the place where they will nurture their own children as they grow.
With our own parents and extended family on the East Coast, and our daughters beginning their lives on the West Coast, therein lies the conflict: the strong sense of duty to our families, our jobs, and our long-established roots versus transplanting ourselves to a new environment in which our primary family is the focus.
Considering the eventuality of both daughters living on the Pacific Rim, my husband and I have resigned ourselves to the prospect of three possibilities: 1.) Living here in New England and dropping in for the occasional visit, 2.) Moving west for six months out of the year, or 3.) Uprooting and heading west permanently. Option number one only works until we have grandchildren, and then that, of course, changes everything. Option number three is a consideration, however I don’t believe either one of us can let go of our ties to New England for years on end. We have too much invested emotionally to leave it entirely… at least not right away. At this juncture, option number 2 appears to be the optimum choice, as it gives us the best of both worlds without having to give up on either.
Life changes can create chaos, but from the turmoil comes the contentment of knowing that the final decision has been made for the right reasons and without reservation. Although the ultimate decision remains in the near future, it is one that is destined to run a wide spectrum of emotions.
Having lived all my life in New England, almost all of it in New Hampshire seacoast area, I could not have imagined ever living anywhere else. What New England has to offer in immeasurable; from the miles of rocky Atlantic coastline, weathered mountains, scenic lakes, rolling hills and valleys, to the four distinct seasons, each astoundingly beautiful in its own right. Nothing can match our picturesque seaside villages or charming mountain towns that preserve and detail almost 400 years of history. New Englanders are said to be a proud people; determined, strong-willed, and hard working. When faced with adversity, they prove to be resourceful in finding solutions. Family units are generally close-knit and highly valued. Although family members may not always see eye-to-eye, they are always and forever there for each other.
Generations of my husband’s and my families have lived here in New England since the 1600’s. They weren’t the first off the Mayflower, but they were pretty close. With this cultural heritage behind us, many of our relatives still live in the area, having not traveled far from where our ancestors settled so many years ago. For us, New England has always been the place we’ve called ‘home’.
When our daughters made the decision to go to college in Boulder, Colorado, we embraced the idea, as our desire to see them investigate the world beyond the borders of their New Hampshire home far surpassed our need to have them close by. As each experienced life in the west, they pushed the boundaries even further than the Rockies. Suzanne spent a semester abroad in Samoa and spring breaks in California, while Sarah, after falling in love with Greg, enjoyed summer vacations with his family in Hawaii. Now they have chosen to live in California and Hawaii, respectively, and we are still abiding here in our beloved New England.
Leaving Honolulu after this, my third visit to Hawaii, I felt the pangs of sadness at leaving Sarah, Greg, and his family behind. Feeling somewhat surprised, I also discovered that I had developed a deep affection for my daughter’s adopted home, definitely comparable to the love I have for my native New England. I am captivated by the strikingly diverse landscape at every turn, and the cobalt blue ocean and shimmering beaches offer absolute perfection. I love the history, the music, the art, the culture, and most of all the people who live there. Hawaii is not unlike New England in many of the aspects I hold dear and this is, perhaps, why I am drawn under its spell, having become enchanted with its inner beauty.
So the question ultimately becomes, where do I belong? I know this query is faced by many a parent whose children have moved away. As our children establish their own homes and families, the definition of home changes for them…and for us. Their home is no longer the family homestead they knew as children; instead, it will become the place where they will nurture their own children as they grow.
With our own parents and extended family on the East Coast, and our daughters beginning their lives on the West Coast, therein lies the conflict: the strong sense of duty to our families, our jobs, and our long-established roots versus transplanting ourselves to a new environment in which our primary family is the focus.
Considering the eventuality of both daughters living on the Pacific Rim, my husband and I have resigned ourselves to the prospect of three possibilities: 1.) Living here in New England and dropping in for the occasional visit, 2.) Moving west for six months out of the year, or 3.) Uprooting and heading west permanently. Option number one only works until we have grandchildren, and then that, of course, changes everything. Option number three is a consideration, however I don’t believe either one of us can let go of our ties to New England for years on end. We have too much invested emotionally to leave it entirely… at least not right away. At this juncture, option number 2 appears to be the optimum choice, as it gives us the best of both worlds without having to give up on either.
Life changes can create chaos, but from the turmoil comes the contentment of knowing that the final decision has been made for the right reasons and without reservation. Although the ultimate decision remains in the near future, it is one that is destined to run a wide spectrum of emotions.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Every Quilt Tells a Story...
Although quilting throughout the world is a universal art form, Hawaiian quilts are unique in their design, reflective of family history, symbols of the past, legends, and beautiful surroundings. Before fabric was introduced to the Hawaiian Islands, women prepared tapa cloth by pounding on the bark of the wauke tree. Gathering to work, they would share ideas, and learn from one another in the same way quilters join together in quilting circles today. These women would stamp designs and symbols of old Hawai’i onto the tapa clothing. When the missionaries first arrived on the shores around 1820, they brought with them different types of cloth and proceeded to teach the Hawaiian women to make clothing and patchwork blankets. However the task of piecing became tedious and the Hawaiians chose to adapt the quilting to their own individualized style, thereby effectively preserving their heritage, culture, and historical legends.
Today, the legacy and preservation of Hawaiian quilting continues in the capable hands of master quilters who are well versed in old style and tradition. Inspiring quilters worldwide, they teach the techniques of appliqué and quilting, as well as share the history and symbolism interwoven within the design. Each Hawaiian quilt tells a story, conveying special meaning, desires, or representation of beliefs. It takes thousands of stitches to create Hawaiian quilt, therefore to receive a Hawaiian quilt from someone is to know that you are truly loved.
Ever since I can remember, I have always held an affinity for quilting. The intricate arrangement of the fabrics, the complexity of techniques, and the interesting history of quilting held a fascination that propelled me to challenge myself to learn this alluring art form. When I began quilting at 17, my first attempt was a simple multicolored patchwork quilt, created using 4x4 squares. Despite the fact that the lines did not meet exactly, and the sewing was marginal at best, this quilt wove a story in the variety of fabrics I chose from my mother’s scrap bag and from my own sewing. It told of brightly colored blouses and petal pushers (capris) that my sisters and I had worn in the summer heat, of trendy dresses that were the latest wrinkle, and of the stylish prom gowns I had sewn for myself. Although I had no way of knowing, this quilt turned out to be a time capsule of sorts, capturing the composition of colors, textures, and styles of that particular period in time. Thirty-five years have passed and the once vibrant colors have faded, but the patterns woven into the fabric still chronicle the days of my childhood through teenage years, marking both significant events and the passage of time.
It is with heartfelt desire that I embark on one of my greatest challenges - the making of a wedding ring quilt for my daughter, Sarah. This quilt, like the Hawaiian quilt, will tell the story of memorable events from her own childhood, reflecting family holidays, plays, and school days. From the time that I knew Sarah would be arriving, I had planned this quilt, carefully saving and documenting fabric scraps from everything I had sewn for her through the years; from her christening outfit, kindergarten first-day-of-school dress, holiday dresses, costumes for plays and Halloween, to blankets, and stuffed animals. These bits of fabric will be lovingly sewn into this quilt to create her story, the one that Sarah will someday share with her own children, and know that she was and is truly loved.
*The information about Hawaiian Quilting was taken from the following resources:
Serrao, P., Serrao J., Correia, R., Serrao, C. (2007). The Hawaiian quilt: the tradition continues. Honolulu, HI: Mutual Publishing.
Serrao, P., Serrao, J. (1999). Poakalani Hawaiian quilt cushion patterns and designs: volume 1. Honolulu, HI: Mutual Publishing.
Today, the legacy and preservation of Hawaiian quilting continues in the capable hands of master quilters who are well versed in old style and tradition. Inspiring quilters worldwide, they teach the techniques of appliqué and quilting, as well as share the history and symbolism interwoven within the design. Each Hawaiian quilt tells a story, conveying special meaning, desires, or representation of beliefs. It takes thousands of stitches to create Hawaiian quilt, therefore to receive a Hawaiian quilt from someone is to know that you are truly loved.
Ever since I can remember, I have always held an affinity for quilting. The intricate arrangement of the fabrics, the complexity of techniques, and the interesting history of quilting held a fascination that propelled me to challenge myself to learn this alluring art form. When I began quilting at 17, my first attempt was a simple multicolored patchwork quilt, created using 4x4 squares. Despite the fact that the lines did not meet exactly, and the sewing was marginal at best, this quilt wove a story in the variety of fabrics I chose from my mother’s scrap bag and from my own sewing. It told of brightly colored blouses and petal pushers (capris) that my sisters and I had worn in the summer heat, of trendy dresses that were the latest wrinkle, and of the stylish prom gowns I had sewn for myself. Although I had no way of knowing, this quilt turned out to be a time capsule of sorts, capturing the composition of colors, textures, and styles of that particular period in time. Thirty-five years have passed and the once vibrant colors have faded, but the patterns woven into the fabric still chronicle the days of my childhood through teenage years, marking both significant events and the passage of time.
It is with heartfelt desire that I embark on one of my greatest challenges - the making of a wedding ring quilt for my daughter, Sarah. This quilt, like the Hawaiian quilt, will tell the story of memorable events from her own childhood, reflecting family holidays, plays, and school days. From the time that I knew Sarah would be arriving, I had planned this quilt, carefully saving and documenting fabric scraps from everything I had sewn for her through the years; from her christening outfit, kindergarten first-day-of-school dress, holiday dresses, costumes for plays and Halloween, to blankets, and stuffed animals. These bits of fabric will be lovingly sewn into this quilt to create her story, the one that Sarah will someday share with her own children, and know that she was and is truly loved.
*The information about Hawaiian Quilting was taken from the following resources:
Serrao, P., Serrao J., Correia, R., Serrao, C. (2007). The Hawaiian quilt: the tradition continues. Honolulu, HI: Mutual Publishing.
Serrao, P., Serrao, J. (1999). Poakalani Hawaiian quilt cushion patterns and designs: volume 1. Honolulu, HI: Mutual Publishing.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Kilauea - Hawaii's Active Volcano
Few sights are as fascinating and awe-inspiring as the raw power of molten rock flowing from the Earth's interior. Therefore, three summers ago it was with great anticipation that I traveled from Oahu to the island of Hawai'i with our two families (Walker and Rocheleau) to visit the active volcano, Kilauea in the Hawai'i Volcanoes National Park. We flew into the Hilo Airport on Friday afternoon and after a wonderful dinner at a popular restaurant in downtown Hilo, we drove an hour to the Kilauea Military Camp where we were to stay for the weekend.
Within 20 minutes of our arrival, we were at the Volcano House. This old hotel overlooks Halema'uma'u Crater, located in Kilauea's summit caldera, which is three miles across and five hundred feet deep. Feeling dwarfed by the sheer magnitude of the caldera, I stood at the overlook (a great distance away from the actual edge of the crater itself) and imagined what a tremendous sight it must be to observe an explosive eruption. The last massive eruption at Halema'uma'u had occurred in 1952, and at the moment things were very quiet within the crater. However, there was plenty of volcanic activity occurring along Kilauea's rift zone, and I, for one, was very anxious to see it, so we drove down the Chain of Craters Road and although we were at a distance, the golden yellow bands of lava were easily seen. Being twilight, these streams glowed in the semi-darkness against the pitch black Pali as they flowed toward the ocean below.
Early the next morning we drove the 11 mile Crater Rim Drive which takes in the circumference of the summit caldera, stopping at the Jaggar Museum to explore. For a small museum, the Jaggar certainly offers an incredible wealth of information, data, and photographs on the history of Kilauea and Hawai'i's volcanoes. Along the drive we were able to stop at the Halema'uma'u Overlook which is a fenced-in area at the edge of the crater. The view into the caldera was amazing, the walls of the sulfur-encrusted crater led to a wide, flat-bottomed floor. To the side of the overlook, outside of the fence, were fruit and flower offerings left for Pele, the Hawaiian goddess of volcanoes. Three Nene geese were happily nibbling on the fruits, and apparently we were very fortunate to have seen them as they are a bit elusive.
We decided to hike into Kilauea Iki, a smaller crater next to Kilauea crater. The trail leading through rain forest vegetation into the crater was steep and full of switch-backs as it wound its way down the crater wall. Walking single file, as the trail was only wide enough to allow, we finally walked out onto the crater floor. The blackness of the hardened lava swallowed the sunlight and radiated the heat in waves. The scene we witnessed reminded me of a parking lot that had been blown up. Huge slabs of lava jutted up at odd angles and chunks of a'a lava (rough, sharp, jagged lava) were strewn everywhere. In other areas pahoehoe lava (fluid, rope-like, smooth lava) formed beautiful patterns that could have passed for artwork. This was an amazing place, unlike anything I'd ever seen.
After climbing up out of the crater, we ventured on to the Thurston Lava Tube. The tube, located in a lush, tropical rain forest bursting with color and life, was at one time filled with hot, molten lava that rushed through on its way to the sea. Once the lava stopped flowing, the walls of the tube hardened. Walking through the tube is like walking into a large cave that leads deep inside the earth. The tube is not long, but its opening is fairly large and wide. Exploring this is an adventure to be sure.
Late in the day, we packed a picnic dinner and drove back to the Chain of Craters Road. The road itself ends where the lava has swallowed it up, sealing it off forever. We checked in at the ranger station and learned that there was indeed lava flowing into the ocean further down the coast. After eating our dinner, we began hiking across the lava. The full moon was just beginning to rise as we made our way across the barren flows. Being a fairly accomplished hiker, I assumed that this would be no different than a hike up Mount Washington in New Hampshire. I couldn't have been more wrong. Hiking across lava is treacherous. The hardened lava is a disheveled, uneven terrain, making it difficult to cross. Its blackness throws off one's depth perception, and makes it almost impossible to determine distances. As we walked along, there were beacons at every mile, guiding our way. We had flashlights, but the going was still rough. Finally, we came to a roped-off area and we followed it along the perimeter until we came to a large cliff section where there must have been about 35 people perched in small groups, observing the lava flowing into the ocean. This was the highlight of the day for us. What an incredible moment, it literally took my breath away! I found that I couldn't take my eyes from the sight, it was absolutely mesmerizing. The bright, fiery liquid gold poured out of the black cliff as if it were flowing full force from a faucet. At times when it hit the cold ocean waters, small littoral explosions would occur, sending a spray of water and steam upward. We sat for about an hour, watching the gorgeous display of volcanic fireworks, and then began the arduous 4 mile trek back. We had the full moon with us, bright enough that it lit the path. Although we were exhausted when we finally got back to the car at 1:30 AM, we felt that it had been one of those 'once in a lifetime' moments that we just couldn't have passed up, and we were so glad that we hadn't.
Sunday morning we took a ride into the tiny town of Volcano. We found a little gem of a restaurant, tucked back away from the main road. As we were waiting for breakfast, I became enthralled by a quilt that hung on a large wall. This had to have been one of the most interesting and beautiful quilts I'd ever seen. The quilt depicted Kilauea erupting and flowing into the sea. Each individual square had been sewn by a talented quilter and when the squares were joined, the scene fit together perfectly. It was just gorgeous, a perfect tribute to Kilauea.
Before we left that afternoon, we traveled to Punalu'u Black Sand Beach, Akaka Falls and Rainbow Falls. Arriving at Punalu'u, we happened upon an enormous sea turtle resting on the sand. He was magnificent, the curves and designs of his dark shell blending in with the black sands of the beach. The beach itself was a mixture of contrasts - the whitecaps on the waves, the royal blue waters of the ocean, and the jet black sands - making it take on an almost mystical, fairy-tale like appearance. The Rainbow and Akaka Falls were set in a rain forest outside of Hilo. After a short hike in, we were treated to the falls, one a small drop, and the other a long drop off of a cliff. A beautiful finish to an outstanding adventure!
"Jets of lava sprung hundreds of feet into the air and burst into sky-rocket sprays that returned to earth in a crimson rain; and all the while the laboring mountain shook with Nature's great palsy, and voiced its distress in moanings and the muffled booming of subterranean thunders."
Mark Twain, commenting on Kilauea in his book, Roughing It
Within 20 minutes of our arrival, we were at the Volcano House. This old hotel overlooks Halema'uma'u Crater, located in Kilauea's summit caldera, which is three miles across and five hundred feet deep. Feeling dwarfed by the sheer magnitude of the caldera, I stood at the overlook (a great distance away from the actual edge of the crater itself) and imagined what a tremendous sight it must be to observe an explosive eruption. The last massive eruption at Halema'uma'u had occurred in 1952, and at the moment things were very quiet within the crater. However, there was plenty of volcanic activity occurring along Kilauea's rift zone, and I, for one, was very anxious to see it, so we drove down the Chain of Craters Road and although we were at a distance, the golden yellow bands of lava were easily seen. Being twilight, these streams glowed in the semi-darkness against the pitch black Pali as they flowed toward the ocean below.
Early the next morning we drove the 11 mile Crater Rim Drive which takes in the circumference of the summit caldera, stopping at the Jaggar Museum to explore. For a small museum, the Jaggar certainly offers an incredible wealth of information, data, and photographs on the history of Kilauea and Hawai'i's volcanoes. Along the drive we were able to stop at the Halema'uma'u Overlook which is a fenced-in area at the edge of the crater. The view into the caldera was amazing, the walls of the sulfur-encrusted crater led to a wide, flat-bottomed floor. To the side of the overlook, outside of the fence, were fruit and flower offerings left for Pele, the Hawaiian goddess of volcanoes. Three Nene geese were happily nibbling on the fruits, and apparently we were very fortunate to have seen them as they are a bit elusive.
We decided to hike into Kilauea Iki, a smaller crater next to Kilauea crater. The trail leading through rain forest vegetation into the crater was steep and full of switch-backs as it wound its way down the crater wall. Walking single file, as the trail was only wide enough to allow, we finally walked out onto the crater floor. The blackness of the hardened lava swallowed the sunlight and radiated the heat in waves. The scene we witnessed reminded me of a parking lot that had been blown up. Huge slabs of lava jutted up at odd angles and chunks of a'a lava (rough, sharp, jagged lava) were strewn everywhere. In other areas pahoehoe lava (fluid, rope-like, smooth lava) formed beautiful patterns that could have passed for artwork. This was an amazing place, unlike anything I'd ever seen.
After climbing up out of the crater, we ventured on to the Thurston Lava Tube. The tube, located in a lush, tropical rain forest bursting with color and life, was at one time filled with hot, molten lava that rushed through on its way to the sea. Once the lava stopped flowing, the walls of the tube hardened. Walking through the tube is like walking into a large cave that leads deep inside the earth. The tube is not long, but its opening is fairly large and wide. Exploring this is an adventure to be sure.
Late in the day, we packed a picnic dinner and drove back to the Chain of Craters Road. The road itself ends where the lava has swallowed it up, sealing it off forever. We checked in at the ranger station and learned that there was indeed lava flowing into the ocean further down the coast. After eating our dinner, we began hiking across the lava. The full moon was just beginning to rise as we made our way across the barren flows. Being a fairly accomplished hiker, I assumed that this would be no different than a hike up Mount Washington in New Hampshire. I couldn't have been more wrong. Hiking across lava is treacherous. The hardened lava is a disheveled, uneven terrain, making it difficult to cross. Its blackness throws off one's depth perception, and makes it almost impossible to determine distances. As we walked along, there were beacons at every mile, guiding our way. We had flashlights, but the going was still rough. Finally, we came to a roped-off area and we followed it along the perimeter until we came to a large cliff section where there must have been about 35 people perched in small groups, observing the lava flowing into the ocean. This was the highlight of the day for us. What an incredible moment, it literally took my breath away! I found that I couldn't take my eyes from the sight, it was absolutely mesmerizing. The bright, fiery liquid gold poured out of the black cliff as if it were flowing full force from a faucet. At times when it hit the cold ocean waters, small littoral explosions would occur, sending a spray of water and steam upward. We sat for about an hour, watching the gorgeous display of volcanic fireworks, and then began the arduous 4 mile trek back. We had the full moon with us, bright enough that it lit the path. Although we were exhausted when we finally got back to the car at 1:30 AM, we felt that it had been one of those 'once in a lifetime' moments that we just couldn't have passed up, and we were so glad that we hadn't.
Sunday morning we took a ride into the tiny town of Volcano. We found a little gem of a restaurant, tucked back away from the main road. As we were waiting for breakfast, I became enthralled by a quilt that hung on a large wall. This had to have been one of the most interesting and beautiful quilts I'd ever seen. The quilt depicted Kilauea erupting and flowing into the sea. Each individual square had been sewn by a talented quilter and when the squares were joined, the scene fit together perfectly. It was just gorgeous, a perfect tribute to Kilauea.
Before we left that afternoon, we traveled to Punalu'u Black Sand Beach, Akaka Falls and Rainbow Falls. Arriving at Punalu'u, we happened upon an enormous sea turtle resting on the sand. He was magnificent, the curves and designs of his dark shell blending in with the black sands of the beach. The beach itself was a mixture of contrasts - the whitecaps on the waves, the royal blue waters of the ocean, and the jet black sands - making it take on an almost mystical, fairy-tale like appearance. The Rainbow and Akaka Falls were set in a rain forest outside of Hilo. After a short hike in, we were treated to the falls, one a small drop, and the other a long drop off of a cliff. A beautiful finish to an outstanding adventure!
"Jets of lava sprung hundreds of feet into the air and burst into sky-rocket sprays that returned to earth in a crimson rain; and all the while the laboring mountain shook with Nature's great palsy, and voiced its distress in moanings and the muffled booming of subterranean thunders."
Mark Twain, commenting on Kilauea in his book, Roughing It
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Home Again, Home Again...
The flight coming home from Hawaii always seems much longer than the flight going, even though it is basically the same amount of time. Sometimes we catch a tail wind that pushes us along, but technically, it's the same number of hours to and from. The difficulty lies in the time change. Going to Hawaii, we pick up 6 hours and going home, we lose them.
I left Honolulu at 8:10 last evening and arrived in Boston at 2:08 this afternoon (or 8:08 Hawaii time). After precious little sleep during the overnight to Denver, I slogged my way through the airport to catch my connecting flight to Boston. When we boarded, I found myself striking up a conversation with the enchanting, lovely college student sitting beside me. Once we began talking, we discussed her aspirations to become an elementary school teacher, the classes she was taking at college, and the field of education in general. Come to find out, she was originally from Deerfield, NH and knew my principal, who also hailed from that tiny community. It truly is a small world, and the world became a little smaller when she introduced me to her dad, who was heading to New England to go on a canoe trip in upstate Maine with Jim, my principal. Apparently, they were the best of friends and had been for many years. I had a long conversation with Jeff that was filled with a lot of laughs over things he and Jim had done 'in the old days'. Turns out that when Jeff lived in Deerfield, there was a woman in his neighborhood who had been on my field hockey team in high school and her mom had been one of my teachers.
You never know who you are going to meet when you travel, and I believe there really is some truth to the theory of six degrees of separation!
I left Honolulu at 8:10 last evening and arrived in Boston at 2:08 this afternoon (or 8:08 Hawaii time). After precious little sleep during the overnight to Denver, I slogged my way through the airport to catch my connecting flight to Boston. When we boarded, I found myself striking up a conversation with the enchanting, lovely college student sitting beside me. Once we began talking, we discussed her aspirations to become an elementary school teacher, the classes she was taking at college, and the field of education in general. Come to find out, she was originally from Deerfield, NH and knew my principal, who also hailed from that tiny community. It truly is a small world, and the world became a little smaller when she introduced me to her dad, who was heading to New England to go on a canoe trip in upstate Maine with Jim, my principal. Apparently, they were the best of friends and had been for many years. I had a long conversation with Jeff that was filled with a lot of laughs over things he and Jim had done 'in the old days'. Turns out that when Jeff lived in Deerfield, there was a woman in his neighborhood who had been on my field hockey team in high school and her mom had been one of my teachers.
You never know who you are going to meet when you travel, and I believe there really is some truth to the theory of six degrees of separation!
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