OPINION: Devastation and resilience after the Maui fires

Before last week’s Lahaina fire, I knew my winter path. A six-hour flight from the North American mainland to the turtle-shaped island amid the Hawaiian Islands — Maui. Once settled in, I resumed my usual routines. A five-mile morning bike ride ending at Front Street to go to Zumba. This class was close to the iconic banyan tree at the heart of Old Lahaina — a whole city block of tree and more tree. My return from Zumba to the Kaanapali Hillside was always via the locals’ hillside neighborhood — approximately six by 20 blocks. Then a stop at the post office just across the street from the locals’ neighborhood. After the post office, a ride along the beach through Wahikuli Park, then past Canoe Beach and an old cemetery on past the major Lahaina hotels, and finally, uphill through the Kaanapali Golf Estates to home on Piha’a Street. This home was built by a Japanese man and his wife — a sound, relatively simple structure. Its roof flares suggest a Japanese aesthetic.

For several winters, I have escaped to this house from Alaska. The house still stands. The hotels stand. The post office stands. The fire stopped about two miles away from the Piha’a house across the street from the post office. It stopped only after it completely ravaged downtown Old Lahaina, uphill areas, and the locals’ neighborhood. Fireman Steve’s house burned, as did so many others. Fireman Steve, who checks on the Piha’a Street house when my husband and I are away, found refuge in this home on Piha’a Street. He says he’s doing better than most. He and his family took some clothes and sentimental belongings with them as they had to evacuate their home, the flames on the way. There are so many stories of losses, missing people. My routine is the least of the losses. Yet, I think of Maui winter Saturday mornings and a community I love.

On Saturdays for several winters on Maui, my husband and I have met up with the Maui Cultural Lands volunteer community. We load up in a few pickup trucks and commute to the Honokowai Valley — untouched, fortunately, by the recent fires. Puanani and Ekolu, a mother-son team, lead the Maui Cultural Lands volunteer effort to combat invasive species in this valley. The Honokowai Valley was inhabited from about the year 1200 until 1931. That’s when water was diverted for sugar cane and pineapple fields, then hotels. Our path into the valley is a steep trail with hairpin turns. About halfway down, just above the tree line, Puanani and Ekolu stop to chant in the Hawaiian language, announcing their presence to the ancestors, asking permission to enter this beloved space. We work on the land for a little less than two hours, then sit at the base of a red-brown cliff and near the dry riverbed, dry fish ponds, dry taro patches. One native Hawaiian offers figs and other fruits collected from nearby trees. After a morning of work, this gathering of volunteers converses, shares food, relaxes for another hour or more, then we all return to our homes. In these Saturday hours, we gift each other the aloha spirit.

So last Saturday, when Puanani, the matriarch of our volunteer community, called me to tell me she is safe, I wept with gratitude. Yes, the fire took her house. It took Ekolu’s house. It could have taken her, too — Puanani didn’t want to leave her home. She told her son she’d stick it out. Ekolu said, “Mom, am I going to have to carry you out?” She relented. She lives.

I may not get to experience my routine this winter or a community full of aloha. I’m just grateful that those who carry the spirit are alive and feeling resilient despite the fire’s devastation.

JoAnn Ross Cunningham is a retired Haines High School English teacher who has enjoyed several Maui winters. Her master’s degrees in literature are from Portland State University and Bread Loaf School of English, Middlebury.

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