Altogether, the farm had 31 inches of rain over the weekend.
Granted, it was a long weekend (from Friday to Tuesday morning). But still, 31 inches of rain is an awful lot.
It was 873,000 gallons per acre, or 499 million gallons of water falling on the entire farm. A half billion gallons of water. Amazing.
So here in Hamakua, we’ve had to rethink some things. Like our choice of pets:
And, also, our fashion choices:
Kapono and I had the truck loaded with lettuce, bananas, Japanese cucumbers, green onions and five types of tomatoes, and we were just about to leave for the Kino‘ole Street Farmers Market Saturday morning, when we heard a Civil Defense weather alert announcing that severe flooding was imminent.
We looked at the weather satellite image of the Big Island and it was bad.
Here’s how it looked at 9:35 a.m. Hawai’i time Saturday morning. The blue shows the remnants of the moisture-laden air that came up from the south and dropped on land as it was pushed inland by the northeast tradewinds.
Outside, there was pounding rain with thunder and lightning. Lightning always makes me concerned for my employees’ safety. I had to make a decision: Should we go to the Farmers Market, where customers might be waiting for us, or go to the farm to see how our workers were doing? No choice—we drove to the farm.
Along the way we saw streams that are normally dry but were running at very high levels because of the storm. Roads were closed, warning lights were flashing and water was flooding across the main roads. Police and public works personnel were out in yellow rain gear directing traffic.
(All photos by Kapono Pa, except #6 and #12 were taken by Richard.)
When we came to the Bayfront Highway, we could see a few vehicles standing in water halfway up their windows.
The soccer fields and Pau‘ahi Street, which runs down from the County Building, were entirely flooded and blocked off.
We drove across the singing bridge and looked upstream. The Wailuku River was an angry beast. It looked like serpents were writhing downstream, their smoke shooting in the air.
At the farm, everybody and everything was okay. The Soil Conservation plan we follow, which retains all the former sugar company’s diversion berms, diverted the storm water just as planned. The sugar industry was on that land for 100 years before us, and they knew a thing or two about coping with heavy rains.
In 24 hours, 11 inches of rain fell at the farm, or 297,000 gallons per acre. This means 177,309,000 gallons fell on our 597-acre farm in 24 hours. I tried to explain to the County Council that the drainage is good in our area and we do not need special rules on flooding.
After checking everything—such as noting where the water was high and where we need to shore up the berms—we drove back to Hilo along the winding, scenic route.
The river beneath the six-ton bridge was raging. It was clear to me that if the bridge gave way and we fell into the water, there would be zero chance of survival. For a moment it entered my mind to turn back. But, I thought, this road has been here for more than 100 years and it was once the main route to Kona. We
drove across it, but it was unnerving.
Waterfalls down a hillside on the scenic route
We took the cutoff to Wainaku so we could drive across the second concrete bridge and look at the Wailuku River up close. Kapono took a picture of a couple of kids at the park in Pu‘ueo, doing what comes naturally in a big, flooded yard—running as fast as they could and seeing how far they could slide.
We parked and walked on the bridge. One had to speak up to be heard over the river. It was kind of scary.
Then we walked up to the third bridge; the one alongside the river and behind the Federal Building. There were lots of people out doing the same thing. There was mist in the air from the churning water careening over waterfalls and bouncing off the river walls. The next bridge upstream looked vulnerable, and I wondered if there was even a remote chance that the concrete supports under us could be undermined by the tremendous force of the water. It was a humbling experience.
We humans think we are in control. But witnessing the force of nature makes us realize that we are just passing through, and that we need to keep in mind that we aren’t in charge here.
At the very best, we are caretakers. We need to pay attention to what we’re doing.
The best thing Mayor Yamashiro while did in office was to upgrade Lili‘uokalani Park in Hilo. Every single day one can see people exercising or picknicking and kids fishing. You can watch people or just enjoy the view across the bay.
June and I often drive past the park in the afternoon, and we see people enjoying it in many different ways. It is a well-used park—by all kinds of people for all sorts of reasons. Sometimes we go there and relax on a bench at dusk.
The first big snow of the season is always kind of exciting. There was a huge storm on Mauna Kea this past week—and down here, too—and it left our 13,00-plus-foot mountain wearing a beautiful, white snowy cape.
When it snows here in Hawai‘i, people sometimes drive up the mountain and come back with a pickup truck full of snow. You see snowmen popping up in the oddest places: outside the veterinarian’s office, or on a street corner downtown. Of course, Hilo itself is an odd place to see a snowman.
When I was a kid, Pop would deliver eggs from our poultry farm to the Hilo Egg Producers Co-op, which was located between the Wailoa Pond and the Hilo Civic Auditorium.
A couple days after the 1960 tsunami, we were delivering eggs when we found weke swimming in ponds on the gravel road. The waves had swept through Wailoa Pond and stranded the fish on land. This was an unbelievable sight. I was in the 10th grade then, and my brother Robert in the 7th grade.
Pop spent a lot of time mullet fishing on Wailoa Pond—sometimes from the shore and sometimes from his rowboat. Sometimes, when the mullet came close to shore, the fishermen would stand shoulder to shoulder, casting out to the middle of the school.
Mullet fishing protocol states that one must not cross over another fisherman’s line. To be in the middle of the group, closest to the fish, you had to be accurate. The less accurate you were, the further to the edge you found yourself forced.
I was not a real mullet fisherman, and after a few casts I would find myself out on the edge by myself. Pop and Robert always fit comfortably in the center of the group.
On the day I returned from Vietnam, I got home and Mom told me they were at the pond. I drove down there and they were all happy to see me.
There was what I estimate to be a 50+-pound ulua swimming along the edge of the bank that fronts the Lagoon Center, heading toward the Café 100 direction. We knew he had to come back and my brother Kenneth ran to get his spear gun.
Since I was just back from Vietnam and they were so happy to see me, they gave me the honors. The ulua swam back and passed right in front of me, only about 5 feet away. I used all my combat skills and let it fly.
Missed! I couldn’t believe it, and neither could they. That was the end of the welcome back party.
But hey, I was an Army lieutenant, a Vietnam veteran!
Big deal—I missed the ulua.
Hamakua Springs Country Farms is located outside of Hilo, Hawai‘i. It’s our “big town,” which is never as big as during the week of the Merrie Monarch Festival each Spring.
That’s this week, when thousands of people come from around Hawai‘i, from the Pacific Islands, from Japan and Mexico and many other countries for the annual hula competition and festival. The long-running competition is named for King David Kalakaua (1836-1891), who was nicknamed “The Merrie Monarch.”
It’s a week when store owners go all out to celebrate the history of hula and the monarchy. Here’s the window at Phoenix Rising on Waianuenue Avenue, where you can see the beautiful display of gourds and other traditional hula implements, feather leis and a feather cape, a photo of Kalakaua and more, all within the reflection of buildings that have stood across the way for close to a hundred years.
In town, over and over again during Merrie Monarch week, you see simple and spontaneous but elegant demonstrations of this lovely place where we live, like this visitor’s woven bag with Hilo’s unofficial flower, the red anthurium, spotted at a coffee house.
And then there’s the Merrie Monarch festival itself. History, culture, tradition, music, dance, chant, language, oral history, beauty—you name it, it’s there.
Merrie Monarch photos by Macario
– posted by Leslie Lang
Lili‘uokalani Park is located in Hilo, the biggest city on the east side of the island of Hawai‘i. Sometimes June and I sit in the park at dusk and look out at the ocean, which is beautiful on a clear day. It’s very relaxing.
We can see Pepe‘ekeo Point from there. It juts out into the ocean across the bay. If we look along the slope, inland from the Point, we see the tall eucalyptus trees that stand at the edge of the farm. Hamakua Springs Country Farms is located 11 miles north along the Hamakua coast—or right across the bay near Pepe‘ekeo Point, if you’re sitting on a bench at Lili‘uokalani Park.
This is Coconut Island, as seen from Lili‘uokalani Park. Moku Ola, the island’s traditional Hawaiian name, means “Island of Health.” It’s said to have been named for an underwater rock that possesses healing powers. The island, along with some of the adjacent shoreline, was once part of a heiau, or temple complex, and also a place of refuge.
It is one of the most tranquil places on the island, and in that way it is still a healing place. We are fortunate to have such beauty where we live.
Richard Ha writes:
This photo was taken from a Forestry Department helicopter by our son Brian’s friend, Jay Hatayama, in 2005. It shows about 50 acres of our nearly 600-acre farm. The dark green patches are some of our bananas.
In the background, watching over us, is Mauna Kea.
The area of the Big Island’s Hamakua Coast where we farm gets about 140 inches of rain per year, which is why everything is so lush and green. Also adding to the beauty we see every day is the fact that there are 30 streams along these 40 miles of coastline. Four of those streams run through the farm.
This one is Alia Stream.
