The woman, a minister by trade, was standoffish: What were we doing in the graveyard adjacent to her church? 

Five of us stood there that day in the spring of 2022 – myself, my wife and another couple, as well as a tour guide, who tried to talk the woman down. They parried, with the guy trying to make clear to the minister that he was familiar with the area, and he had only the best intentions in showing us around.

She remained wary. More than once she corrected him, as they discussed the history and culture of the place. But finally she was assuaged. She went her way, and we went ours.

The setting was the town of Lahaina, on the island of Maui. And this scene has been stuck in my head since Aug. 8, when wildfires ravaged that lovely Hawaiian town, killing at least 115. That minister – whose name, I’ve learned, is Anela Rosa – survived. Not so her church, Waiola Church, which dates back to 1823 and was the first Christian house of worship built on Maui.

But what of the tour guide? And what of the rest of the place? A row of soulless resorts still stands north of town, having gone unscathed. Same for the Lahaina Civic Center, which each November hosts the Maui Invitational, a tournament featuring several high-profile college basketball teams.

Just about everything else is a charred ruin. And the tales to emerge from this tragedy are horrifying, none more so than that of a man named Ydriss Nouara. He said in an interview for the New York Times’ Daily podcast that he and a neighbor fled their homes on Prison Street, which is named for the ancient stockade that also fell victim to the flames.

Fire and smoke were everywhere, Nouara told the Times.

“It felt like we were in hell,” he said.

They decided to make their way to the harbor in the center of town, and as they did so they heard the anguished screams of those who were incinerated as they sat in their cars on Front Street, Lahaina’s main thoroughfare. “There were clearly people burning alive,” Nouara told the Times. “It was horrifying to hear that.”

After a time he and his neighbor concluded that their best chance at survival was to jump in the water, even though it was extremely choppy. “I told him, listen – either we burn or we drown,” Nouara said.

They were left clinging to a jetty until, finally, they were rescued by a Coast Guard cutter, later to be transported to a shelter at Maui High School. And Nouara made it clear to the Times how fortunate he felt to be alive.

“We didn’t think we were gonna make it,” he said. “I looked up in the sky and said, ‘God, please not today. Not like this.’”

It’s all difficult to square with what the place had once been. That picture atop this blog post was taken not far from the condo we rented at the south end of town – a condo that is now gone, as is roughly half of the development in which it stood. And beyond the place’s natural beauty are all those links to the past – not only the church and the prison, but the Baldwin Home, the town’s oldest residence, and several museums housing artifacts that date back centuries.

One website describes Lahaina as not only a tourist spot but “a gateway to the archipelago’s past, both to its independent and colonial-era history, and a pillar of Hawaiian identity.”

I took in a good bit of the place during a run through town one morning. My body clock skewed, I set out far earlier than I ever do on the mainland. Made a left out of our development and down Front Street, past all the beach-side properties packed cheek to jowl. Past the house with the red metal roof that would somehow survive the blaze. Past the bar favored by locals, Spanky’s, where we had spent an hour or two one night. Past the Banyan Tree near the harbor, which had been a gift from Indian missionaries 150 years ago, and which would be scorched by the flames, leaving its future in question. Past the shops and restaurants that are staples of every beach town, but somehow seemed less tacky there.

It was a Chamber of Commerce morning – blue skies, low humidity – but then again, Hawaii seems to have a lot of those. Every now and then I would come upon another runner – and aloha to you, good sir – or someone nursing their morning coffee. In time I passed a low sea wall that allows for an unobstructed view of the neighboring island of Lanai.

Two miles down, two miles back. Glorious.

Just about all of it is gone now. Hard to fathom. It is estimated that it will take over $5 billion to rebuild the town, but even if that happens, the sad fact is that it can never be the same, that something has been lost forever. Certainly, though, we can be buoyed by the same hope that sustained Ydriss Nouara as he was clinging to that jetty, breathing nothing but smoke-filled air – that it doesn’t end now. Not like this.