Early in the morning, we would stand on West Kuiaha Road near the Pauwela Cannery waiting for the bus to take us to school. Sometimes we would go there early, and if our parents gave us a few dollars, we were in heaven.

The green building across from the cannery overlooking a steep gulch would be open. Kawaharada’s had the greatest donuts and pastries. Old men sat inside quietly drinking coffee. We would pay for our donuts and gobble them up at the bus stop. The store closed years ago, but the green building is still there. From time to time a Realtor would put a “for sale” sign on it. No one has taken it up.

In the afternoon, after the bus dropped us off, we would walk up the road to Ohashi’s Store. It was a small wooden building overlooking the same steep, verdant gulch. I can still remember the light wooden screen door, the green floor and the narrow aisles with a few groceries.

My brother and I were there for the sushi that was held in a clear case in the front by the register, candies in bright packages at the front of the store (next to the stack of newspapers) and cold sodas in the coolers in the back. That store is gone now too.

These mom and pop stores were small, little buildings in the middle of our rural neighborhoods, but they are mighty institutions in our community. I learned that these stores could be found in every remote town. Paia had Horiuchi’s. Kula still has Morihara’s. And of course, Hasegawa’s in Hana.

They are from a distant past. These were not company stores run by sugar and pineapple companies. They were run by families who set out on their own to make a name for themselves and sell snacks, wares and things to their own community. Most can go back to the days before big grocery stores and workable roads allowed country folks to shop in bulk or even order things from the Mainland.

Indeed, these little general stores are a testament to independent businessmen and women who wanted to get away from the industrial agriculture that dominated the islands for so long. It was a place to pick up some supplies, catch up on gossip and get some gas. You never had to drive into town and it was only five minutes away.

The store at the narrow corner of Kaupakalua and Awalau Road in the ambiguous region between Haiku and Makawao is a good example. In 1915, Taichiro Hanzawa opened a store out of a two-story house. He supplied the area, which was back then known as Kaupakalua, with supplies, food and other general merchandise.

Hanzawa and his brother, Tetsuji, were interned during the Second World War. When they were released, they came back to the house and reopened. In 1958, they started the gas station. A fire burned down the house in 1974 and they rebuilt the store out of hollow-tile bricks that stands there today. Tetsuji’s granddaughter came over from Oahu in 1988 and took over the store with her husband. They ran it until 2010, when they leased it to people out of the family.

Hanzawa’s is still open. Before moving to the Mainland, I picked up a Levi’s jacket. I still stop in to fill up on some gas and grab a snack. The parking lot around sunset is full of locals grabbing a six-pack, a quick bite and topping off some gas to get by for the rest of the week.

And of course, there’s Fukushima’s Store — a place that has fed generations of kids with cone sushi, chow fun, chili, and, of course, the hot dogs. It has weathered many storms and manages to hold on in an era of big box stores, home delivery and shopping centers.

Last summer I was in San Francisco at a chic eatery. Our waiter overheard us talking about Maui. He said his wife is from Haiku. They moved to California for work. He told me that his wife fondly recalls living in the country and the red hot dogs they craved and missed from an old store near her house. He couldn’t remember the name.

My eyes lit up. “That’s Fukushima’s,” I exclaimed. He smiled back. I happened to be wearing a Fukushima’s T-shirt. I went to the bathroom, took it off, folded it up nicely. (I wore my sweatshirt for the rest of the meal.) I wanted him and his wife to have it. It was a gift from one Haiku kid to another.

These stores are more than a place to pick up a snack or get some gas. They’re part of our childhood and we’re lucky some are still open. It’s our heritage.

* Ben Lowenthal is a trial and appellate lawyer, currently with the Office of the Public Defender, who grew up on Maui. His email is 808stateofaloha@gmail.com.