The lava we didn't see

We've been on the Big Island for a week now. Our routine has been quite relaxing: we eat, we sun, we read, we take a short walk to a neighborhood Thai place. We have visited this same Waikoloa resort five times before, and on previous visits we've explored most of the island, so we are taking it easy. It's been humid this week - unusually so, I thought - and I heard today from a woman that the trade winds are about to begin, which will reduce the humidity. I remember it's usually been windy here on the slope of the mountain, and I can hear the wind tonight, so we may not sweat as much during the five days we have left here. Even so, we love it here.

One special treat we've had is spending time with Danielle and her husband Phil. Danielle served in the Navy with our daughter Laura, and we'd met her two years ago in Mexico at Laura's wedding. She's since met (online) and married Phil, a modern-day sailor. He's at sea for a month and then home for a month. Danielle moved from Chicago, her hometown, to Hawaii. What a difference!

They've got a home near Hilo on an acre of land with a bunch of tropical fruit trees. 

We wanted to see the current lava flow near Pahoa, which is about ten miles from where Danielle and Phil live. On Friday night we went to dinner in Pahoa; on the way we drove on Pahoa Village Road toward the flow until we were stopped by a "Road Closed" sign, a policeman and two National Guardsmen. They were friendly but firm. Close to the road is private land; further away is state land. The edge of the flow is about 400 feet away. Letting people near would be dangerous. It was almost like a make-believe scenario except the whole area smelled like sulphur, our eyes were burning and our throats were scratchy.

This week Art and I have decided to walk on a couple of beaches. Three outstanding ones are six miles downslope from us, on the Kohala Coast. We'll try out 'Anaeho'omalu Bay (where we scattered my mother's ashes from a glass-bottomed boat six years ago), Mauna Kea, and Hapuna (where we've walked several times before). These beaches are fit for postcards.