The Second Night of the Kona Low: A Lesson in Resilience and Reliability
The second night of the Kona Low storm was one of the most intense and nerve-wracking experiences imaginable. The wind howled through the trees with a force that seemed determined to tear everything apart. The sound of gusts slamming against the walls and roof made it hard to sleep, and every creak of the house felt like a warning. At one point, it truly felt as if the roof might lift off or the entire house could be ripped from its Ohia posts and carried away by the storm.
This was the first experience of this natural phenomenon, and it truly scared the heck out of me. Having lived through many other disasters—especially typhoons such as Typhoon June when I was only about five or six years old, Typhoon Orchid during high school, and Typhoon Omar and the rest while living on Guam—none of those ever frightened me as much as this one here in Hawaii. Maybe it’s age catching up, but boy, it scared the crap out of me. lol
My son and I had often argued over the strength of our off-grid home here in Hawaii. He wanted me to get an engineering survey or official approval, but I told him there are advantages to building your own house yourself. When building it with your own hands, cost isn’t the main concern—you put everything you know and all your effort into making it strong and secure. As for engineers and builders, sometimes money gets in the way and causes them to do the minimum just to meet requirements. Of course, the majority of them do really awesome work, but that was just my thought.
As the night dragged on, the fear grew stronger. The rain pounded relentlessly, and the wind refused to let up. It was a long, sleepless night filled with worry about what the morning light would reveal.
When dawn finally broke, the storm had calmed enough to step outside and assess the damage. To my surprise and relief, the house stood strong. The roof was intact, the walls were solid, and there was no major damage. The only casualties were an unsecured downspout that had come loose and a missing branch from the largest breadfruit (ulu) tree in the yard. Considering the ferocity of the storm, that felt like a miracle.
But the experience left more than just relief—it brought a realization. Through all the chaos, the solar power system never failed. While the wind roared and the rain poured, the lights stayed on, the refrigerator kept running, and everything continued to function as normal. Meanwhile, many neighbors who relied on the grid were still without power the next morning, waiting for crews to restore electricity.
That moment underscored the true value of living off-grid. The solar system proved not only sustainable but also dependable in the face of nature’s fury. It provided peace of mind when everything else felt uncertain. Even the cat, Ulu, seemed to share that sentiment. As shown in the pictures here in this blog, he came over and sat on the batteries as if to show his total approval of the system—a quiet, furry endorsement of solar reliability.
The second night of the Kona Low was frightening, but it also served as a reminder of resilience—both in the strength of the home and in the reliability of renewable energy. What could have been a night of disaster turned into a story of gratitude, comfort, and quiet triumph.
