Icelanders would probably have as much trouble getting their mouths around the name of Hawaii's most active volcano as islanders might have with theirs.

Eyjafjallajokull, which translates to “;island mountain glacier,”; sure caused a dust-up when it sent a huge plume of jet-engine-eating ash into the skies over northern Europe, messing up air delivery of people and products.

Tourists were held captive in airports, airlines lost billions in baggage-fee profits, Parisians had to do without roses and green beans (mon dieu!) while the Kenyan agriculture industry that supplies a lot of the food and flowers watched helplessly as crops shriveled on runways and in fields.

Car makers running short of imported electronic components feared they'd have to shut down plants. In Iceland itself, ash forced sheep and cattle ranchers to evacuate livestock and literally sweep up the land.

Whoa, lucky we live Hawaii, where the more easily pronounceable Kilauea hasn't been similarly disruptive.

Emissions from Halemaumau and Puu Oo continuously plague the Big Island, causing respiratory difficulties for residents from Hilo to Mountain View, Volcano to Pahala and Naalehu to Milolii. In Kona, hazed skies have become the norm.

But the vog arrives in the Big City of Honolulu only from time to time, giving TV weather guys and gals something to wrinkle their foreheads over instead of the usual windward and mauka showers.

The acid rain that results from vog has severely damaged the livelihoods of flower and plant growers and food farmers on the orchid isle. Some have abandoned operations, others have switched to less vulnerable crops, while still others are hanging on, hoping that someday, somehow, emissions will ease off.

On the main island, however, acid rain hasn't affected agriculture much and as long as microgreens, grape tomatoes and tat soi are available for tablecloth restaurants, we're good here.

Oahu also produces enough fruits and vegetables to pack the stalls at farmers markets, whose numbers seem to increase every week as more and more residents come to realize the practical, nutritional and environmental benefits of buying local.

And since the state Constitution requires best ag lands be preserved, we're still good, no?

Are we good if 760 acres in Central Oahu—5 percent of the high-quality irrigable farmland on the island—are plowed under for houses and shopping malls? The argument is that there's still lots of space and that demand for agricultural land from farmers is low, while from home-builders it is high.

That should change. The disruption Eyjafjallajokull caused in so short a time ought to be a warning, a cautionary example of how events unpredictable and foreseeable can quickly stop transport of the basics for living.

Hawaii arguably might not be able to grow all of its own food, or produce all its energy needs. Most people would agree, however, that a good measure can be turned out. How much is as hard to say as Ey-ya-fyat-lah-yoh-kuht, but we ought to find out. We ought to get at it now.