April 20-24, 2008 - We drove along the Gulf Coast of Florida and, after crossing
Alabama on I-10, we dipped down to the coast again in Mississippi. The further west we
drove the more we encountered the fallout from Katrina. It was startling to see how
extensive the damage was. Not living anywhere near this area, it had been easy to think
that life returned to normal once Katrina was out of the headlines. Instead, we found a
coastline still reeling from the devastation three years earlier. The coastal road in
Mississippi was in the process
of being rebuilt. The once
gorgeous mansions that lined
the road were stark
reminders of the raw power
hidden in the innocent, sparkling waves that lapped the shore. Only
one in five of those coastal mansions had been repaired. The rest
stood forlorn and vacant, windows blown out, roofs collapsed, walls
wrapped in "caution"
tape. The weeds
grew thick and tall around the foundations and the gracious lawns that swept
down to the sea were overgrown. We drove in awed silence. We had had no
idea.
We stopped in a visitors center, and
the host spoke almost reverently of
the Mississippi governor whose savvy
use of federal funds had apparently
begun to breathe new life into a
region that had been a like a war
zone. On his advice we took a
detour and stopped at the tiny
coastal community of Old Town Bay
St. Louis. What a delightful find.
This town shared the epicenter of Katrina with eastern New Orleans. A tiny community, it
sits right on the water. Some of its businesses used to line a waterfront road. After Katrina
roared in from the Gulf, all that was left of a one-time bank building was the bank's vault.
The massive door was totally rusted and was stuck partly open. The concrete wall on the
side of the vault had a single
spray painted word: "solid."
Today Old Town Bay St. Louis
is rebuilding itself as a kind of
artists' colony, with cute, funky
homes and shops. As we
drove into town with our huge
rig we were greeted warmly
and shown where to park so
we could walk the town. What
a contrast from Gulf Breeze, Florida, which we had just left, where the
visitors center had a huge sign out front, "No Motorhomes," and the mammoth empty parking lot across the street had similar signs
posted every few feet. In Old Town Bay St. Louis, with its tiny streets and tight parking, they were hungry for visitors, even those
pulling large trailers.
Reconstruction
takes a very
long time. Next
to a building that
had found new
life we would
see one that
was still hoping
for help.
However, the
homes that were
completed exuded a relaxed kind of charm, with pleasant porches
and beautifully tended gardens.
A beloved Live Oak tree was encircled with a pretty white deck. Graceful
stairs beckoned visitors to climb up towards the heart of the tree. This
tree was tougher than Katrina and still stood straight (for a live oak) and
proud. Others leaned to one side.
Looking around town there was no
mistaking which direction Katrina
took as she blew
through the
area. Trees and
signs all leaned
in one direction,
and lampshades
were dented on
one side. It was
startling to
imagine the
force of the wind
that would leave
sturdy trees
forever tipped.
But today the town was filled to
overflowing with colorful flowers.
There was an air of happiness,
purpose, accomplishment and
whimsy everywhere. Pretty gardens,
funny weathervanes, and unique
gingerbread houses made the
tedium of reconstruction seem
almost fun.
Relaxation
seemed
important in this
town too. Many
homes were
fronted by
inviting porches
cradling comfy
chairs and
bright flowers.
A row of little
homes right in
the center of
town has yet to
be rebuilt. I
have no doubt
that these cute
buildings will be
a focal point in
a warm, chatty
community.
As we walked around we saw that little houses weren't the only ones
hit hard by Katrina. Even the county courthouse came away from
Katrina battle scarred and was now wrapped in a bandage of
scaffolding.
Not everyone displaced by Katrina ended up in a FEMA trailer. Some
simply took a trailer frame and erected a tiny traditional house on it. We
saw one parked and another heading down the road. They were cute,
but we still loved our little Lynx. We were interested to learn later that
our Lynx was built to the same specs with the same materials by the
same people and in the same factory as over 300 of the
FEMA trailers. Our trailer was a delightful home and I wrote
to the Fleetwood factory workers -- who were so saddened to
see their hard work after Katrina maligned in the press -- to
let them know they had a happy customer here. Maybe the
difference in our experience with our trailer is that it was our
ticket to freedom, and we paid for it out of our own pockets.
From the Gulf Coast of Mississippi we made our way inland to historic city of Natchez, Mississippi.