The Road to Hawaii, or how we sold (almost) everything, quit our jobs and moved to Oahu, as told by one family who is experiencing it.
We drive through more flat farmland, the corn brown, its leaves curled in protective cones. Corn should not be this brown, not in August, but the drought has taken its toll. The further west we go, the more burned the landscape.
We cross the Indiana, Mississippi and Kansas Rivers, the water low. Creeks and smaller rivers are dry. We stop at Hannibal, MO, boyhood home of Mark Twain. It’s a sleepy town, caught in time, the edges sharpened a little by commercialism. Benches line the sidewalks, which are cobblestone in places. We stand on the shores of the Mississippi to say we have, then climb in the car and hit the road to Hawaii again.
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