On the first day that the mayor allowed civilians back in our neighborhood we headed down the highway to survey the damage and to try to safeguard our belongings.
Downed trees in Southern Mississippi gave the first evidence of the storm. At the Orleans county line we smiled our way through the military checkpoint and continued past mountains of garbage and the twisted metal of ruined roofs, collapsed gas stations and crumpled signs. Most of the trees in our formerly shady neighborhood were down and those that remained standing were almost entirely stripped of their leaves. To my surprise amidst their pale green buds I spotted flowers. The trees were fooled into experiencing a second spring.
New Neighbors
National Guard troops housed in the High School gym across the street. They turn out to be generous with their bags of ice and a handy deterrent to looters I'd say...Miracle on Valmont Street: no flooding
By a stroke of extraordinary luck the house that we chose just a few months ago is in a section of town now referred to as "the island." Katrina's floodwaters ebbed a few blocks away. The first visible damage to our property was the bisected pear tree in the back yard.
Mrs. McCauliffe, our next-door neighbor, has lived in her house for more than 70 years and she had never once evacuated for a storm. Thankfully, she chose to do so this time. Her damaged roof is in the background. Slates from this roof are stuck so deeply in the yard that I can't pull them out of the ground. During the storm they must have flown like weapons, but miraculously they appear to have missed our house.
Katrina's Touch
Wind and rain were the main culprits at our house. These weatherboards were distributed across several neighbors' yards. The attic insulation we installed just last spring was sodden and moldy and had to go. Ceilings were waterstained and bowed. Not pictured: the horror show of our ruined refrigerator. The streets are lined with reeking fridges, some of which have been turned into as canvases for spray painted quips like "Please deliver to Crawford, Texas" or "Only a fool would open this fridge - I WAS that fool."
Triage
Tarping over the roof, discardeded fridges in the background
A constant whir of helicopters overhead. No power, no potable water, few neighbors, no smiles. Three days of this with stifling all-night heat, constant mosquitoes and "convenience" food were all that we could take. We cleaned and tightened up what we could and hit the road again.
