Why is sleep so elusive on days off? Early Saturday morning, I woke up refreshed (!), energized (?!) and … bored. Something to do, somewhere to go, but what and where? I’ve witnessed the destruction in every part of this area but New Orleans East and Slidell. That answers my question. I’m hopping in the car and heading eastward, camera in hand.
New Orleans East: The last time I travelled past Gentilly on eastbound I-10 was during the Katrina evacuation. Nine months later, am I glad breakfast wasn’t large, for I am about to lose it absorbing merely what is visible from the highway. Wow. Once past the Industrial Canal, all that greets the eye is block after block of darkened husks and abandoned shells that were once homes. A staggering and shameful nine months hence, the “ghost town” aspect of New Orleans East is depressing and scary – I don’t know where to start – I’m not going in. A trip through this area will be best with someone from there. On to Slidell.
| Bayou Sauvage National Wildlife Refuge: A wasteland of dead vegetation makes me wonder whether endangered pelicans and other birds can still find refuge here. What chance do they have with their marshland encroached on by hurricanes on one side and humans on the other? Thankfully, the Fish & Wildlife service FAQ page for Southeast Louisana informs that “all refuges are open with the exception of certain areas which are posted.” |
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Slidell: Coming off Lake Pontchartrain, a wasted shoreline greets me. As in the case of NO East, I don’t know where to begin but, this time, it’s the sheer number of dazed people in bumper-to-bumper traffic that repulses me. Deciding to poke around a little past Slidell and then head back, I gas up and keep going.
A blink of an eye and I am in Mississippi. It’s no use turning back now. Where’s Bay St. Louis?
Bay St. Louis, Mississippi: Following the procession of cars to the seashore, I stand on N. Beach Blvd. and stare unblinkingly with the others. They are a mix of curious visitors like me and people who once lived there and were only now emotionally able to come back to survey their losses. Am I nuts to stand in the middle of a busy street looking out at the blasted remains of piers that run into Mississippi Sound? No, for there is no more N. Beach Blvd – the beach sand runs all the way up to the front doors of houses and businesses that once sat on this street and enjoyed a pleasant bay view. Katrina ripped away an entire thoroughfare. Nothing left – no asphalt, no sidewalks, no street signs, no nothing.
N. Beach Blvd. At Demontluzin St.; Ripped-Up Driveway Of A Beachfront Home
The exoskeleton of a beautiful retirement nest-egg raises its defiant fist to the sea. Several doors down, an old man sits in a rocking chair and kicks the sand off his front porch with his bare feet. Some will never return, others will stay until the sea takes them away.
When I mentioned to a friend last week that I wanted to see the destruction in coastal Mississippi for myself, she let out an ironic laugh and asked, “Oh, you want to know what New Orleans would look like if Katrina hadn’t suddenly veered away from us?”
Pangs of guilt and humility. Our levees failed us, this is Katrina’s handiwork. Had she hit us with that force, I wouldn’t be back here at all.
Waveland, MS: Weary at heart and of driving, I head back to New Orleans. On the way back, a sign for Waveland Beach appears. Weren’t they hit pretty bad, too? The long beachfront boulevard here is intact, but houses no longer line it. And, if a number of these folks haven’t yet received their insurance settlements and other compensation, what hope does New Orleans have?
What’s worse? A waterlogged home or no home? Wind or water damage? Southwestern Mississippi or southeastern Louisiana? Would loss by any other name stink as foul? What I feel driving back from the beaches of Bay St. Louis and Waveland is the sinking feeling that went through me while on the streets of Lakeview, Lake Charles and the Lower Ninth Ward. This is not a competition, America. It isn’t “Katrina fatigue,” either. This is another very intense chapter in the book of human life on this planet. Never have I felt more alive. Never have I felt more a part of it all.
