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Edited on Sun Sep-04-05 10:37 PM by jobycom
I'm in Mississippi helping my parents clean up after Katrina. They have phone service again, but it's a little spotty. The people across the street have electricity already, but trees fell on the feeder lines to my parents' house, so they don't have it yet. (we're using the generator from a very beat up RV that doesn't run).
It's amazing how fast the Mississippi Coast is pulling it together. There are stores opening everywhere. The casinos have announced they will pay their employees for thirty to ninety days, even though they are destroyed. One casino hotel that survived the hurricane (mostly) has begun housing FEMA and emergency workers, and even began hiring some people for the food and beverage area.
Power, phone and cable company employees are everywhere, as are the orange Asplundh trucks. Tanker trucks are bringing gasoline in, though there are line for two hours to get it. Food, water, ice, MREs, and even Cokes are being handed out by corporations, government agencies, and volunteers. A couple from Oklahoma handed out water bottles to people waiting in a gas line today.
Walmart and Home Depot (neither of which I will ever trash again) opened back up, often without electricity, right after the storm. Smaller businesses are open, cash only of course. Today I bought some water pipe supplies at a local hardware store with no power, and no roof.
It's stunning to see a community pull it all together again after such a horrendous tragedy. Trees, houses, highways, businesses, and every landmark and historical sight that we grew up around are gone, but the people--the real soul of the Mississippi Gulf Coast--are rebuilding. I've cried tires of pain and grief over watching my home town destroyed, and tears of relief at hearing my family was safe, and tears of anger and horror over the government's reaction to New Orleans. Last night, as I watched local coverage of the Coast reemerging, even as the death toll climbed and the true enormity of the loss was still being revealed, I cried tears of pride. I don't live here anymore, but just knowing that I come from the same people, from the same spirit, was enough to make me proud of my heritage.
Anyway, the mother of one of my childhood friends--my friend died twenty years ago--had left her four dogs at her waterfront house, as she evacuated at the last possible moment. One of her dogs drowned, stuck between the railings of a porch no one thought would be underwater, twenty feet up. The water had flooded her house, collapsing the ceiling and weakening the supports to the point were the house was a danger to even walk on. She had found one of her dogs, but had been unable to get him off the second floor porch, so she had fed him, and called my parents, who were old friends of hers. So we went out today to rescue her dog, and to get the dead dog off the porch.
The yard and drive were covered in toxic sludge-- a mix of bayou mud, sewage, chemicals and no telling what else. As we pulled into her drive, the trapped dog came running out from behind her house, along with one other dog she had thought lost (We later saw the fourth dog on the highway, dead for some time.) The dogs were starving, scared, and spooked, and tried to climb into the truck as soon as I opened the door. Covered in mud, we thought this was a bad idea. So we rolled a riding lawnmower out of the back of the truck, and put the two dogs in . (That makes is sound much easier than it was).
In the process, some woman walked up this mud-covered road yelling our friend's name. Turns out it was our friend's sister-in-law, who had driven in from Baton Rouge just to find her. Her whole family, including her remaining son, had been unable to reach her and had feared the worst. Out of sheer coincidence, they drove up just as we were trying to rescue the dogs.
Anyway, the dogs, two scared and skinny German Shepards, are on our carport. My friend and her family have discovered that each were all right. And I ruined a pair of shoes.
The destruction of this county is amazing, though. These houses on stilts were flooded to their rooftops, and they are well back of the coast--they are on a bayou. There were houses in the bayou, and one in the middle of the street that had to be cut away so cars could get to ruins behind it. As we were leaving with the dogs, one younger couple pulled out with a pickup and a trailer holding a kayak, a couple of boogie boards, and small dinette set. The couple waved as they passed, looking shocked and sad at how little survived.
Highway 603 was lined with boats in trees, trailer and house debris everywhere. Cars were in the ditches, because residents had parked their cars along the highway, which was the highest ground. We had heard the water here had reached I-10, and were a bit doubtful. I-10 is several miles inland here. However, the water had left floodmarks on the I-10 overpass, fifteen feet up. The water had reached inland two miles further.
But the dogs are alive, and much of the town inland is coming back to life. The coastal region--the first half mile--will have to be rebuilt from scratch.
Anyway, that's my report. Don't know if I'll get to sign on again. Have fun. It's worse here than you can imagine, but it's better here than you'd ever believe. Peace.
Oh yeah, one last thing. I haven't seen anyone or heard anyone on the local radio here or in New Orleans who doesn't hate Bush. I don't know what the MSM is saying, so I thought I'd fill you in on that.
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