Singing Owl left a comment below and I wanted to link to her post-Katrina entries of late September and early October. I’ve been in Harrison County all week, but Mr. Casserole took me to Hancock County yesterday, a long and sad ride down to Waveland/Bay St. Louis, and then over to Pearlington and into Louisiana.
Oh, Waveland. Along the main road through town, there is hardly a business open. There was so much water! We visited with the pastor of the Shoreline Park Baptist Church, which is really not all that close to the water.
The water just came up out of the Mississippi Sound, out of St. Louis Bay, filling up the Bayous and creeks. It swept through, not just for blocks but for miles. Pastor Ed Murphy told me that the water went up to the ceiling of the sanctuary, which is on the second floor.
Now stop and digest that. The ceiling of the second floor.
His church folk are meeting in a tent. They’ve built bunkhouses to house work crews. They are building storage pods that folks can use next to their very small FEMA trailers.
Friends, this is just not over, not even close to over.
At one point we took pictures of a house missing its first floor on South Beach Boulevard, and today I found it on Singing Owl’s blog, too. Of course a lot has been cleaned up since September here, but still much has not.
From Waveland, we went into Bay St. Louis along the beach route. When you get close to the railroad bridge, the one you’ve all seen on TV, the road just ends. It’s just gone. The stores on the beach side, just gone. It looks like bombs were dropped on the shore. It looks like war.
It seems selfish to want to cry. These are not my places and not my people. I never drank coffee in that shop. My friend didn’t have his offices on the now-missing floor of that building. I never worshipped in that church with the steeple in the yard. I don’t know the people whose lilies are coming up around a slab with no house on it. I didn’t buy my books in the store that is only a sign on a tree now.
But I am grieving for and with the people who did. I can’t believe it’s time to go home. I can’t wait to come back.