It is 8 A.M. on a blazing july day on the big island of hawaii Five miles south of the airport, amid the lava flows that span the island's barren west coast, there springs up a lonely housing development called Laiopua. Budless flower beds and freshly paved sidewalks indicate the newness of the place. The uniform clapboard homes are well kept. Most are painted pink or yellow. Some have rusting car chassis in their driveways. A small crowd has formed around the one building that stands out: a windowless cinderblock structure with a green metal roof. It is a festive gathering, including homeowners and several Hawaiian elders. One man chants a pule, or prayer, in Hawaiian. Another blesses the ground with water and ti leaves. A tall and imposing man―clearly the honored host―steps forward and unties a lei of maile plants, then bends to dig at the earth with a carved wood o'o stick.
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