Two of the parents, and one each of the aunts and the uncles just departed after a ten-day visit to the Big Island. We were five nights in a house in Puna, and four in a condo in South Kohala.
During the stay, we were good little tourists, taking part in lava-gawking…
…full-moon shoreline-gawking…
…volcano-gawking…
…sunrise-gawking…
…crashing-wave-gawking…
… and sunset-gawking…
…not to mention body-surfing, snorkeling, shopping, waterfall-gawking, historic-site-hiking, and cetera. The two couples also partook of a Luau.
(Er, but don’t let slip to the auto-rental outfit news of our ocean-side off-road (very off-road, as it happened) driveabout.)
I heard tell that some of our number weren’t terribly enchanted with Puna’s occasional rain-shower activity; but speaking for myself, I thoroughly enjoyed every second’s exploration of each side of the Big Island — my love of which has been cemented to the degree that I’m nearly certain that I want to make it my permanent home.
Alas, some sobering news awaited my return to the farm. To wit, the Colony Collapse Disorder appears to now be sweeping the Big Island. The farmer had four hives at his other farm, all the bees from which have suddenly died. Also, a bee-keeper friend of his has said that the situation is so dire that he’s picking up and moving to Colorado. This paradisiacal wonderland may soon be a Paradise Lost.