|Bettejo at 84 years young taking time|
out of her busy day for one of many
scheduled book signings.
|Bettejo at the Martin Luther King Jr.|
festivities at Kukui Grove back in 2013
I've weathered four. My husband and I escaped the ravages of Typhoon Jean, dodging caribou and ballistic teak logs the size of a Kauai bus shooting by us in a Philippine Airline jet taking off from a beach in Aparri, a primitive village in the province of Cagayan, Luzon-one bar, one outdoor movie, one hotel- on the banks of the South China Sea. Aparri survived. Today it's a first class municipality.
We made the fastest flight- ever- back to Manila that day. Jean was the biggest typhoon of the season.
A typhoon is a hurricane that swirls and whirls and rips around in another neighborhood.
The Aparri memory is a cute story I tell often.
But hurricanes are not cute. No one can ever say 'been there, done that' or 'seen one seen 'em all' . Platitudes don't apply. Each storm's different. They've personalities all their own, and always a very human side.
In 1970 we were in Mississippi a year after Hurricane Camille demolished Gulfport and were amazed at the mess. A tug boat still balanced on its keel in the middle of a forest. It looked as though it'd just been planted. Along millionaire's row, all a two story mansion had to show for itself were water pipes standing upright indicating bathrooms on a vanished second floor.
Hurricane Iwa-November 22, 1982-sent our beloved boat, Warpath in Kukuiula Harbor, over the top of a swimming pool and broke her back. She was headed for safe port in the red barn across the street. We'd built the barn for $900.00. All by myself I tar- papered the roof. Not a corner lifted. On Kauai's millionaire's row, it looked as though a war had gone through.
I'd spent a terrifying night in the barn with my horses in the lava rock house up the Alexander Dam Road. All I was was the howl of that wind
Bill-who was needed at the power plant in Wainiha- and I, coming home that night, had a most incredible surprise in store for us.. On the north shore at Tahiti Nui, Louise Marston prepared-on the beach-a Thanksgiving dinner to end all Thanksgiving dinners-the works-to those who could find their way to her open door. A generous, marvelous, wonderful woman, I miss her. We sat at a savory table with locals, hippies, surfers, tourists from everywhere, survivors, and indulged. I've never felt so thankful. I didn't say grace but I thought it.
Back home, we'd just put the roof on our new house. Not a shingle lifted.
September 11, 1992, Iniki- the strongest storm to hit Hawaii-barreled through. I was alone. I spent the night here. Three horses locked in stalls. Me and the dogs and cats hunkered down in my old Buick. I had carrots for the horses, nibbles for the dog and cats, and a bottle of wine for me. Before the night was over, the horses were eating dog food while the dogs and cats munched carrots. I didn't share the wine.
My experienced advice during hurricane season? Be prepared.
|Bettejo a few years back playing checkers|
with her nephew...
|This is what we call, "a bed of books!"|