The main street of Hanapepe is wide and somnolent. it has a luxurious kind of Sunday yawn about it that makes a person want to settle into its small-town goodness. The first time I veered off Kaumualii Highway and drove into Hanapepe, back in the 1960s, it was like entering a time warp. I felt that if I didn't brake, my car would stop magically by itself. There, dozing beneath a mountainside of blazing bougainvillea, was this little Hawaiian town that could have passed for Dodge City: weathered storefronts, a feed and grain depot, a general store with a flapping screen door. I had to honk some sleeping dogs out of the road. It was high noon, and the dogs slouched into the shade. As I recall, there was only one art gallery, painted sunshine-yellow with rainbows and lace curtains in the windows -- very peaceable-world hippie.