Remnants
How far back can you remember into your childhood? Do you recall high school? Your first job? Our scrapbook lives are full of colorful experiences. We often encounter places and people who impact us in unimaginable ways. We impact others in the same ways. What sort of memories are you leaving behind?
Featured photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/NSgBCCcmf1vv7CUm9
January 5th, 2024- Hawaii Day 10
A malodorous stench tainted the mist-thick meadows. Sulfur curled into my nostrils. It was the smell of earth’s crust rent into steaming fractures, the mark of ancient eruptions turned scenic. I smiled. It was familiar. When I was a child, my online school sent me a box of rocks for my science course. The individually-labeled pebbles fascinated me. Sulfur was a bright blob of yellow, powdery to touch and egg-smelling if sniffed. Its vibrant colors made me deem it my favorite rock. As an adult, sulfur now reminds me of the wastewater treatment plant I once interned at. Sulfur is the smell of eggs, freshly plucked from the nest, boiling over the stove top. Sulfur is the smell of Yellowstone, of volcanoes tucked away under Earth’s crust. It is the smell of Hawaii too.
The early morning found us in Hawai’i Volcanoes National Park, hiking past steam vents that recalled recent Yellowstone memories. This was a wandering sort of day. We drifted twelve miles through the park, a modest accomplishment for some. For our winter-softened bodies still pudgy with Christmas cookies, it was perfect. An inquisitive nene (Hawaiian goose) wandered through the parking lot to peer at hikers. On the trail, a pair of Kalij pheasants called to each other as they scurried through the jungle underbrush. Our trail carried us into the bowl of a volcano crater, where ropy strands of lava had cooled into a flat, circular plain. Heat shimmered above the rippled waves of stone. Robust plants thrust up through the sheets of lava, hardy despite the exposed landscape. We paused halfway for a hiking snack, soaking in the strangeness of the scenery. In movies, volcanoes are massive cones with bubbling globs of molten lava inside. At one point, did this volcano look like that too? It must have been a very long time ago. Now the volcano was peaceful, rimmed with lush plants and overhung by friendly clouds. When we’d crossed the volcano’s crater, we climbed up the other side to go find a nearby lava tube. The cave was perfectly round, as if formed by the maw of a dirt-consuming worm. The lava had eaten through the hillside, forming a long tunnel through which we wandered.
Later that day, we followed the edge of Kilauea, an active volcano within the park. From a safe distance, we watched the steam curl from a crack in the wide crater. It was a reminder. Volcanoes don’t slumber but merely doze. A road had once wound around the lip of the volcano, but it had been shattered by an eruption. Beyond a barrier fence, the double yellow lines splintered along fragments of pavement. The road buckled, torn asunder by forces stronger than asphalt. The abandoned road was particularly interesting to two people from Ohio, where summertime is often nicknamed “orange cone season.” The roads in Ohio are perpetually built and rebuilt. To abandon a road would be unfathomable. But in Hawaii, circumstances prevail. Sometimes nature reclaims its own, leaving only remnants of human influence behind.
No more were human remnants more striking than the petroglyphs in a lava field. Thick layers of lava oozed over the landscape, hardened into platforms and small mounds. Covering the surface of the lava were carved holes, spirals, and human shapes. This was once a sacred place to the indigenous people of the area. In their culture, they believed that the umbilical cord of a newborn deserved special respect. After the birth of a child, they would hold a ceremony on the lava field. With the family gathered around, they would carve a new hole in the lava, place the umbilical cord inside, and cover it with a stone. This, they believed, would ensure the health and long life of the child. Generations of families could be traced through the stone carvings, each marking the birth of a new child. Some families still visited their ancestor’s petroglyphs to honor them. We strode quietly over the boardwalks, elevated above the carvings with respectful distance. Yellow flowers dotted the sandy landscape in between strips of lava. Looking out over the long, low hills, it wasn’t hard to see how it became a sacred place. Even today, it felt special.
We all leave behind remnants. The national parks carry a “leave no trace” policy within their borders. The purpose is to preserve the natural beauty of the landscapes without soda cans and grocery bags choking the trees. Yet even if we leave no trace within the national parks, we are certainly leaving marks elsewhere. Over the past few years, I have planted hundreds of flower bulbs around our home. Even if we move, my remnants will remain on the landscape. And what marks do we leave elsewhere? Have we left emotional traces on the people around us? Have we done good in our communities? These things are important to consider.
That night, our Airbnb was a home designed to minimize remnants. Nestled deep in the jungles of Mauna Loa’s borders, there were no power lines or septic pipes stretching out to reach it. The road to access the home wasn’t even paved. The Airbnb was entirely off-the-grid, and it was wonderful. Daily jungle rains filled reservoir tanks, cleaned by a filtration system that fed the home’s water supply. The midday sun fueled solar panels, lighting our fixtures when the stars emerged from the dark sky. The home was modern, beautifully decorated and regal in demeanor. The home’s design was so remarkable, in fact, that it was featured on an episode of the HGTV show “Building Off the Grid.”
Our hosts were one-in-a-million. They had left their phone number on the counter for us in case we needed anything. We ended up calling them just to ask more questions about the Airbnb! They were so very kind. They told us that they had originally built the home to be their own, but had recently decided to rent it when they bought another plot of land. Most of the work on the house was done by their own hands. The art and architectural details were their own as well. Everywhere in the house spoke of two people who were artistic, conscientious, and passionate about life. A glowing, handwritten sign on the kitchen counter welcomed us into the space. A pile of vibrant fruits, locally harvested and purchased, added another welcoming touch. It was an embodiment of aloha spirit, in my opinion. It was lovely.
On our first night in the Airbnb, we picked up some groceries so I could make a home-cooked dinner. I love to cook, but don’t often do it on trips because of time restraints. Restaurants or snacks supply our caloric needs. Out in the jungle, however, there were no restaurants to be found. We had browsed through a tiny grocery store nearby, hoping to find inspiration. Strolling between aisles of chicken food and canned goods, small packets of taco seasoning caught my eye. I snatched them up enthusiastically. Supper was planned! I’d make one of my family’s staples: a two-pot affair affectionally called “Mexican.” There’s very little that is actually Mexican about the meal. It’s simply rice, black beans, taco seasoning, and ground beef. Sometimes we’ll add diced tomatoes, chiles, and cheese. It depends on who’s cooking, really. It was the first meal that all three of my sisters and I first learned how to cook. It is still a monthly staple for both our households. And that night in Hawaii, it made our Airbnb feel like home. The sizzle of ground beef hissed under the whistle of the teapot. The mingled scents of cumin and coconut tea wafted through the space. Perhaps the traces of those smells are still caught in the wood of the kitchen cabinets.
A steady patter of jungle rain rocked us to sleep that night. Though it’s been months since we’ve stayed there, the cozy memories of that Airbnb still live strongly in our minds. I’d like to think it was because of the hosts. Even though we never met them face-to-face, their warm kindness was saturated in their home. It seeped into our trip, a permanent remnant of their personalities.
Remnants. They truly are significant, aren’t they?
Hiking Trails:
Take a tour of our Airbnb!
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