Artist's Note~

I flew to Laupahoehoe in preparation for illustrating The Tsunami Quilt. It was dusk when I arrived--too dark to take good photos, but I wanted to view the site... more

Artist's Note~

I flew to Laupahoehoe in preparation for illustrating The Tsunami Quilt. It was dusk when I arrived--too dark to take good photos, but I wanted to view the site before nightfall to get a feel for the peninsula's geography. The monument, inscribed with the names of the 24 victims who lost their lives in the 1946 tsunami, was covered in offerings. Red Ginger. Ti leaves. Shells. A fragile necklace. I was unaware at the time that in a few days, the small community of Laupahoehoe would observe the 60th anniversary of the tragic event.

In the fading light I noticed a truck parked near the monument. In it was Frank DeCaires, a tsunami survivor who had lost three siblings that day. He told me how the waves withdrew, exposing the ocean floor and stranding fish on the rocky bottom. The waves returned then retreated again, each time higher than before. Children entranced by the sea's peculiar behavior and the gasping fish ran back and forth--away from the incoming waves, then back out onto the emptied bay as the waves withdrew. Some shouted that it was a tsunami, but few took the the warning seriously--after all, it was April Fool's Day. By the time the third wave struck, as high as the palm trees, it was too late.

I visited the archives at the Pacific Tsunami Museum in Hilo and the Bishop Museum, pouring through photos of Laupahoehoe before and after the tsunami, and of how children of Hawaii dressed in the 40s. I also read through the University of Hawaii's Oral History accounts of the 1946 tsunami--these, along with my chance meeting with Mr. DeCaires, had a profound impact on my illustrations.