Hawaii - Mt. Kilauea

Nita, Chay and Betsy walking to Crater.



These flowers were place here to honor the volcano.

This post was stuck down in the ground and steam was coming up from the hole. You could see and feel the steam coming out. It was so hot that it has burnt this post.


Ya think!


I don't know if these were planted after the lava flow or if they survived. Either way it was strange to see mature palms on the cliffs in the middle of a lava flow.


Close up of Steam Plume from lava entering the ocean.



Arch Rock


Chay standing on lava flow over road.



















Riann sitting on lava flow over road.



















Partridge Pea growing in lava.


















Lantana, yes Lantana, growing in lava.













Ferns growing in lava.

















This lava is dry. Notice the colors that still remain.















When the lava flows it will get oxygen bubbles in it and when the lava cools the holes remain and eventually cave in.

Here you can see the steam plume from the lava flow into the ocean.













On some computers if you squint your eyes you can see the red glow of the lava flowing into the ocean. It's at the bottom middle of the pic. It will help if you click on the pic and get it as large as you can.

Hawaii - Cemetery of the Pacific 3/4-11/2006

~CEMETERY OF THE PACIFIC~

I rounded out my journey in Oahu with the Cemetery of the Pacific. This was not on my list of things to do until I arrived at the Honlulu Airport. As Betsy stood in line to catch her next flight, she told me that she worked with a woman whose father was killed on the USS Arizona. She wrote his last name and plot number on a post it and handed it to me . Betsy said, "Georgia had asked me to visit her father for her but since I can't, will you?" I took the note and knowing how emotionally heart wrenching this would be for me, I said, "Yes, it would be my honor." Not knowing how to find the cemetery, I asked the park ranger at the Pearl Harbor Memorial where I could find him. I explained that I was only in town for a few hours and all I had was a name and a plot number. He explained to me that almost all military personnel who died that day were buried at the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific. It is dedicated to those who fought and died in the battles of the Pacific Ocean. The park ranger told me that the cemetery was 30 minutes away and closed in an hour. My thought was that I had no idea where I was going and with 5 o'clock traffic I would never make it. Believe it or not traffic in Honolulu is just as bad as Houston or New Orleans at rush hour. I asked the ranger if he thought there was a chance I could make it. He just smiled at me and almost knowingly said, "There is always a chance."

As I entered the cemetery, I wondered if Georgia has had the opportunity to visit the cemetery? I wondered if she remembered her father or if she even met him? How old was she when he died? So many questions went through my mind as I found my way through the cemetery to his grave. As I located each plot number on the upper right corner of each stone I found myself rushing to the next stone hoping this was it. After only a few minutes of searching I found plot number Q530 in the shade of a small but beautiful tree. If you look at the picture of the tree below and find the very bottom of the tree trunk and scan down two rows south and slightly to the right you will see his grave. As I sat there in tears, I told Mr. Branham that his daughter sent me to visit him. I told him that she loved him and missed him. I thanked him for his service in the military and for the ultimate sacrifice that not only he but also his family had to make to keep our country free and safe. As I walked through the cemetery I saw every state and almost every country represented there. It was a tearful, solemn sight. I wish I could meet Georgia and thank her personally for her fathers sacrifice but hopefully after reading this Ms. Georgia will know what a great honor it was to meet her father, if only in spirit. Thank you Georgia.

By the way, Georgia never met her father.