The Trip So Far

Hi everyone,

We’re halfway through the week – what an experience. The first time I saw St. Bernard’s parish, the word that came to me was “heartbreak.” Seeing the houses first-hand is seeing them as homes, many of them damaged beyond repair, half-gutted and slumping off their foundations. At times, it’s hard not to cry. At the same time, people are returning to the neighborhoods where everyone looked out for each other and generations of families lived on the same block, some of them for a century or more. You ask the people why they come back and they say it’s the only home they know. It’s where their whole lives happened.
The restored houses are like little jewels. Forget the view and smell of the oil refinery three blocks away; people here, as in all the neighborhoods we’ve seen, truly care about their houses – their homes. And the land is compelling. Spring is here and the breeze is damp and soft, and along with the refinery smells and the occasional whiff of mildew comes the fragrance of clover and wild flowers and all the rest of the spring vegetation rampaging over the deserted lawns. Towering silver cumulous clouds wander through the sky.
So along with the heartbreak is hope. The neighborhoods have an eerie lonely feel – so many people can’t return, thanks to government greed and bungling on all levels. But Monday we passed a landscaping crew busy on a garden: stone walls and walkways and pink impatiens in front of a tiny, one-story bungalow. The head gardener told me (in a Cajun accent I would hardly make out) about rescuing people in his boat and losing everything in the flood, but now he had his business up and running.
We need to come back with all the statistics documenting the horrific failure of the government “at every level,” as the Pastor of Beecher Memorial Church puts it, but for now I need to get back to painting, sanding, mudding and all the rest. My co-workers are wonderful.
Love to you all,
Barbara