It’s Time to Go as Homes Fall to Lava One by One

Anna Sherrell tied her mattress to the top of her hatchback and reached for her last box of belongings. A massive black sea of lava ringed with fire was slowly pushing toward her, devouring everything in its path.

As the walls of her neighbor’s house collapsed in orange cinders, she knew it was finally time to go.

For virtually everyone in Kalapana Gardens, it is time to go. Kilauea Volcano, better known locally as Madame Pele, the volcano goddess, is obliterating this lush community’s 120 homes one by one on a relentless march to the sea.

“We’re talking a matter of days,” said Harry Kim, civil defense administrator for Hawaii County, whose command post overlooks a postcard-perfect black sand beach fringed by coconut palms. “Unless this eruption stops, this whole area may be devastated.”

Less than a mile away, the full force of the lava flow slowly churns through the heart of Kalapana Gardens. In just two weeks, the crusty, oozing black mass and its red-hot liquid core--now flowing out of the volcano at a rate of 630,000 cubic yards a day or as much as 3,000 railroad freight cars could carry--have swallowed 21 homes.

The surge is the latest phase in a seven-year-long Kilauea eruption that has poured lava over hundreds of square miles. Moving in fits and starts, it has claimed 101 homes to date, including the seaside village of Kapaahu and most of Royal Gardens. This week the damage estimate was raised to $25 million.

Now it is Kalapana Gardens’ turn. More than a third of the subdivision has been wiped out, and everyone left is on emergency alert, ready to evacuate within 72 hours.

The pace and unpredictability of the flow has made daily life here an agonizing guessing game for residents.

“I’ve been on pins and needles for two weeks waiting for my house to go,” said Sherrell. “Madame Pele teases you, she comes and goes.”

It’s a bizarre scene. Down the road from Sherrell’s place, one man works day and night piling 50-lb. rocks on top of each other in a wall encircling his property. He hopes it will stop the onslaught. His neighbors laugh.

Plumeria blossoms give off their captivating scent despite the volcanic tinge in the air. In the spaces between the fingers of lava, papaya trees are still standing heavy with fruit. The constant crackling of shrubs and trees on fire makes an eerie backdrop to the noisy local songbirds.

John Gapp, a transplanted Californian who had hand-built his two-story pole house complete with Mexican tile and huge picture windows can now only find traces of his dream--chunks of blue roofing tin embedded in a moonscape of rock stacked several feet deep. The lava, denser than cement, won’t support vegetation again for at least a generation.

“I can’t talk about my feelings,” he said, shaking his head. “On the Mainland, your house burns and you can rebuild,” sighs his bride, Maureen. “Here you can’t do that.”

Like many refugees, the Gapps are staying with friends while they figure out what to do next. Others have pitched tents at the beach park. The Red Cross is providing meals and containers to store furniture, as well as checks for one month’s rent to get people started. Larry Tanimoto, the mayor of the island, met with Gov. John Waihee Wednesday to plead for a disaster declaration to free state and federal help, but so far the governor has not acted.

Homeowners with insurance have a leg up. Because the lava torches houses before devouring them, fire insurance covers it, unlike most natural disasters.

Most Kalapana residents moved here in the last 15 years, many lured from the West Coast by the setting, the surf and cheap land. Others are transients, living on the beach. And then there are those whose families have been here for generations. They seem the most philosophical about the volcano.

Walter Yamaguchi, whose general store and drive-in lie just outside the police blockade near the flow remains confident that Pele will spare him.

“Sunshine, rain, volcano, or no volcano, I work every day the same as usual,” says the 82-year-old entrepreneur. “I’ll never move from here. Never. This is my life, my fortune. If she eats this, she’s killing me. She wouldn’t kill me.”

In fact, he chuckles, the lava flow is boosting business as tourists flock to see nature at work.

Edmund Kaawaloa Sr. has a private prayer for the goddess. He points toward the nearby Star of the Sea Chapel, and his voice grows soft. He was baptized there and married there, he says.

“I hope Pele doesn’t touch it,” he says. “The church didn’t do anything wrong. We love that church.”