Hurricane Katrina: Hope in the Aftermath

By Linda Saxon Nix
© 2005

Day Three after Katrina hit the Coast:

Biloxi. September 5. We returned from Atlanta where we had evacuated to find that the main roads had been cleared off and we could get in to our house. We had been told that we would not be allowed in, but we could not sleep for wondering if we had a house to go back to, so we gathered supplies we thought we might need for repairs, and headed back. Even in Atlanta, the shelves had been cleaned out of gas cans, bottled water and easy to fix foods, telling us that many people evacuated to Atlanta.

When we approached the Biloxi exit on I-10, the barricades had been lifted, thank goodness. We were so thankful to find that you home was still standing with only some shingles off the roof; fiberglass plastered all over the remaining shrubs in the yard, the windows and the brick from the house that had been torn up across the street; and trees down all over the place along with large limbs, tree tops, small limbs and branches and leaves all over the yard; and much miscellaneous debris covering the lawn. We later found that we had a crack in a wall and our foundation was lifted on one corner by a tree that had been pushed way over.

The debris consisted of shrimp boxes that had washed in from a crushed shrimp packing company way down the bay, along with their large plastic packing crates, plastic shrimp bags and the stench that accompanies said debris. Down the hill to the side of the house, the water surge had come close to our foundation, washing in under the greenhouse floor and setting things askew. The greenhouse had a huge oak tree down on it, but otherwise was O.K. It was difficult to maneuver around the yard with so many obstacles. We had no electricity and no phones; the cell phones wouldn't work, and we could not call anyone on the Coast. Water was down to a trickle and we could not drink it. We weren't supposed to flush the toilets. It was hot day and night, and very dark at night.

Things looked eerie. All of the trees had started turning brown (and black) from the salt water that sprayed far north of Interstate 10, a good 5 miles from the Beach. Nothing was green except for the little bit of grass that was showing under the debris. Even the magnolia leaves had turned dark. There were no animal sounds. There were no birds, no squirrels, and no flowers. Everything was quiet except for the noise of generators and chain saws and helicopters flying all over everywhere to access the damage and carry people from one place to the next to organize relief. Also in the air were media from everywhere, filming and photographing the horrendous damage we sustained. It seemed, indeed, like we had been at ground zero of a bomb that had dropped on a wide area of our three states.

Days Four - Seven:

As did others, we got busy and started digging out. The men (Vern and his brother, who had come back with us to help) got busy clearing a path around the house with chain saws. They had the generator set up by nightfall, and the refrigerator was hooked up as well as the freezers in the garage. We lost most of the food in the refrigerator and its freezer, but think we can eat some of the food in the freezers that was beginning to thaw and re-freeze. Due to forethought, we had brought a window air conditioner back with us that we plugged in at night, and that at least gave us a good night's sleep (that and being dead tired).

Life became a pattern: get up, eat something for breakfast, then get out and work on the yard. We waited in gas lines for hours to keep the generator going, we waited in ice and water lines to have water to drink, and we took showers in possibly contaminated water. We were thrilled to find eggs and fresh milk at a convenience store where we got gas. We were so much more fortunate than so many people who lost everything that we could not complain. We stayed busy and stayed tired. We got our tetanus shot in case we stepped on a nail. We took pictures of the neighborhood, and of the Popps Ferry Bridge area. We hauled our household garbage down the street for when it might get picked up. The pile of debris and cut trees and limbs continued to grow higher in front of the house.

My daughter, who lives in Denver, couldn't understand why we would want to come back and stay under such conditions. She told us to come out there and stay until things got back to normal. What she didn't understand is that things would not get back to normal unless we worked to help get it back to normal. We had to stick it out and do our part. It was our home. We knew that gradually things would start to get better. Actually, things improved faster than it was first predicted.

Day Eight (Monday):

The Hope

This morning I awoke to the unmistakable call of a Pileated Woodpecker. Lying still in bed, letting the sound register, I also heard the songs of other birds that I had not heard since the hurricane hit. This was almost better than when we returned from Ocean Springs last night where we had gone to search for gas and to check the condition of a house for someone in Atlanta who wanted to know if they had a home to return to, to see that all down Popps Ferry Road lights had come on. Turning into our cul-de-sac in the Sunkist area, we found that we had electricity. We were ecstatic! We thought it would take much longer. "They" had predicted six weeks before electricity was returned. Getting power back is happening more quickly than anyone dreamed would be possible. That same day came limited land line phone use, and dial-up Internet service. A semblance of civilization was slowly returning to some of us.

Before, we could not call in on a cell phone. They slowly got towers up and working with generators. When the gas ran out, our phones had no signal. We literally communicated with the outside world on a call phone. We could not call anyone else locally for several weeks unless they had a cell phone.

I was told that birds and animals can sense a disaster like the tsunami that hit the Pacific and storms like ours, and flee ahead of them. I had hoped this was the case rather than the fact that they had met the fate of a lone pelican that I had seen near the north end of the Popps Ferry Bridge that was hanging lifeless from a tree. Now, the birds are slowly returning or coming out of their hiding places. Their songs accompany me as I write this article.

Slowly but surely, signs of animal life are surfacing. A few lone but lovely butterflies are flying gracefully around the fallen limbs and the crushed and stripped flower stalks, trying to find nectar that had been abundant on the Coast a week earlier. Two days ago, coral hibiscus plant that survived in my front flower bed opened three gorgeous blossoms. Those blossoms are signs of hope for the butterflies.
Being a bird watcher, I was aware of the complete lack of birds and other animals in the area. Living in an area where birds of all kinds are numerous, it was strange not to see or hear any signs of birds. I felt like a bomb had been dropped on our entire world.

**

One thing that has been a God-send to all of us is the absence of mosquitoes. All good things must end, for surely they will be back, but for now they have surely all blown far up the Mississippi Valley.
On Thursday (Day 4), I saw a hummingbird dart around the back patio looking for the feeders that I usually have out. I also saw a lone squirrel (we usually have those by the dozens jumping through the trees like trapeze artists) high in the naked trees moving slowly about, as if in a daze. I saw one lone Mourning Dove (they usually travel in married pairs, so it must have lost its mate) and what might have been a mocking bird high in a tree, but that was the extent of the animal population in my area.
My two hummingbird feeders had been carefully put in the greenhouse for safe keeping. We weren't sure we would even have a greenhouse when we returned, but it hadn't gone anywhere with a huge oak tree on it. After cutting out the larger tree limbs that had fallen so that we could move around the yard, my husband and his brother Billy carefully cut the oak tree off the greenhouse using an ingenious method of plywood "slides" for each piece of the oak they cut off to slide down rather than further damage the top of the greenhouse. We were finally able to open the door and get the feeders out. It didn't take even a day for five hungry hummers to start their chatter, vying for their turn to eat. They have been feeding noisily and joyously for five days, and the hummingbird population by Day 9 had tripled. Since then I've made two more batches of nectar, and now there are so many humming birds around the feeders that their chirping and wing noise fills the air with song. Their tiny chirping has been music to my ears. (Insert comment: This is now Day Seventeen and I've created a monster <g>! In previous years, I may have had 2-3 hummers feeding sporadically, and made up only a few batches of nectar the whole season. I now have to make a batch every day or two, and we have over two dozen hummers feeding.)

FROGS:

Day Nine. I had a lily pond on my back patio that for the past two years had been the home to several generations of tiny Bronze frogs. Before the storm, I had counted six of them sitting on the sides of the pond and on lily pads. The largest one croaked day and night. After the storm, the pond had a large limb on it, and the water got so much debris in it that it smelled rotten. I have spotted two tiny frogs and heard a croak or two in the five days that we have been back.
I talk to my frogs like other people talk to their dogs or cats, and they seem to sit still and listen. I am thankful that a few of them survived. As to the hundreds of frogs in the woods and down by the creek that was pounded by water and covered with debris as far away as the shrimp factories on the Point, I can only hope that some of them made it through.

(Added later: The woods are relatively silent. I'm wondering if any other frogs survived the salt water and the intense water surge that beat the area where the multitude of frogs lived)

Day Ten. I set up a smaller pond and scooped up the two frogs left in the rotten pond and put them in fresh water, making sure I de-chlorinated it and put things in it that the frogs could sit on. They seemed to like their new home. I talked to them a bit, and the poppa frog just looked at me and seemed happy. I also rescued some of the water lilies so they could be replanted when the larger pond is clean and fresh. The rest of the muck will have to go.

Day Twelve. The frogs didn't take to the temporary little pond. Both frogs kept hopping out and back into the muck of the old pond. I had poured a bunch of Chlorox into the stinky water to help with the rotten stinch until we could clean it out. The silly frogs kept hopping back in and I was so afraid the bleach would harm them. By now, they were avoiding my net, so we had to clean the big one out. The big one hopped out; the little one disappeared. We bailed out and shoveled out muck until it was light enough to lift out from the brick sides. I washed the pond liner out, and cleaned out the area inside the bricks that had accumulated leaves and dirt washed in from the patio over the past few years. I saved some of the lily plants in another tub for another day. I floated one lily pad in the water and plucked an ornamental vine from the yard that would grow in water, and plopped that in, along with a log that they sat on before, and waited. Clean water, no frogs.
I was so afraid that the frogs were gone forever. I figured they would not like the clean water. To my surprise, the big one was sitting on the log in the old, clean pond the next morning. The little one has yet to return. On day Seventeen, I still had only one frog, but had potted two pots of lily plants and placed them in the water the night before, and they look good, and Katrina (the name I've given my MALE frog because he survived Katrina) was sitting on a lily pad this morning. He lets me get very near him and work in the pond without being startled, and of course I still talk to him. I'm hoping that he will attract a mate, as I've heard him croak a few times. Hopefully it is a happy croak. He moves about the pond, going from log to lily pad to vine leaf to the brick that is holding down the now reviving Purple Pickerel Weed and the frog fountain that spouts water from its mouth. Yes, I did set the fountain back up, thinking it may or may not scare the live frog away. They seem to be cohabitating nicely together.

(October 15: The frog has stopped croaking. I think that he has given up. He still seems happy. He sits on the log, or on the lily pads, or in an empty floating flower pot, and occasionally hops up on the edge. I don't think that he has much food available since mosquitoes are just now coming back. It hasn't rained but once since the storm, and we didn't get much rain at that. Someone told me that a rain would bring back the frogs. I'm really afraid that there are none left at all.)

From Day Three:

God's creatures need to be cared for by those who are able. Since I am, I believe I'm doing a small part in my own way to help. I cleaned the bird baths of debris and dirty water and set two of them up. I also set up a bird feeder on a temporary post, and so far a thrasher, a titmouse and a blue jay have come by. I haven't seen any red birds or Chickadees. Hopefully it won't be long before more return. A pie tin full of bird seed quickly put down amid the rubble my second day back has been consumed, and most likely raccoons got to the two suet feeders last night because one was down and the other was empty.
Slowly things on the Coast are coming back due to the hard work of utility workers and volunteers from all over the country. We continue raking the lawn, cutting up trees, and hauling the debris to our already too high pile in front of the house. Little by little people are getting water and electricity. Gradually more stores are opening back up. There is more gas and more gas stations are opening. Fresh milk was available a few days ago. Wal-Mart is open and getting in fresh stocks of food daily. Water and ice continue to pour in, as do food and clothing and manpower.
Thanks go to people like the ones from Baton Rouge who brought a tent and a huge pot and set up at the Cedar Popps Shopping Center last Sunday to make Jambalaya to hand out to anyone driving by on Sunday, and the Steak-Out people who set up their traveling cart in front of the Popps Ferry Fire Department last Thursday to give away free food to anyone, and all of the churches and charities that are cooking for people. We are receiving the generosity of countless people who are helping us through this difficult time.

Day Seventeen:
Birds:

So far, we've had more birds come back. They are really hurting for food. One day I threw some small bird seed out on the lawn for the doves. I went out front to work in the yard. My husband walked around back, came back and told me that at least 20 doves were eating. Since then I've tried to keep some food on the ground.
Now, we've got three red-winged blackbirds, at least three chickadees, at least one mockingbird, some cardinals, some titmouse, the doves, and a few wrens in addition to the dozens of hummingbirds. I saw some huge pelicans over in Pascagoula, but can't get to the beach in Biloxi, so I don't know. I did see at least one in the Bay, but I'm missing the white great egret and the blue heron I used to see in the Bay. There was a flock of sea gulls in the Bay the other day, so they are back.

To those to don't have homes left, writing about birds and frogs may sound trivial, but to me it they are signs of hope for a sane and normal future down the road and around the corner. They are signs of a rebirth that is beginning; a rebirth that is going to swell along the Coast and allow us to emerge from our tragedy and loss and come out on the other side. So, for now, rejoice when you hear a bird singing. Noah sent out a dove and it brought back a twig. We have gotten our "twig" in the songs of the returning birds. There is indeed hope for a new beginning.

All will be right in the world. Eventually. Until the next disaster, wherever it goes.

October 19 - Update on the birds: I haven't seen a great increase in birds since the first started coming back. The one thrill is the juvenile Pilleated woodpecker that is still flying from treetop to treetop with his unmistakable sound. I haven't spotted the adult one yet, but the ladderback woodpecker is back at the feeder and I even spotted him drinking from the birdbath, which was a first. The hummingbirds seem to have gone away for the year.

October 15: Looking Back

Status

Things are still a mess along the Beach. The general public is still barred from going down Highway 90, which still has sinkholes and is dangerous. They are working hard to make it drivable for emergency vehicles and debris removal, but after six weeks, it is still terrible down there. They are getting ready to clear the rubble in East Bilxoi, which means everything will be bulldozed and hauled off.
Household garbage pickup is back on schedule, and mail is being delivered; however, I'm still getting sales brochures that are out of date by the time they arrive, and the stores haven't opened back up yet.

Some of the trees are coming back. We had massive cleanup done in our yard, and trees trimmed of broken limbs. We are now able to see, as they have started leafing back out, that there are a lot of dead limbs up in the trees that won't come back. A lot of small shrubs such as azaleas are dead. The salt water killed them. It has been very dry with only one small rain since the hurricane. This may be good for leaking roofs, but it is bad for nature. The grass looks awful where there is any. Our shade is gone. Thank goodness it is no longer as hot as it was in September.

The Animals

It dawned on me last night that my lone frog in my pond may be the only frog around. Before the storm, when you walked outside, you heard a loud chorus of frogs singing in the woods and down by the creek that flows into Back Bay. You don't hear them now. They must have been killed by the force of the water surge and the salt water. I feel sorry for my little frog. He sits in the pond, moving around from place to place, all by himself. I have to feel that he is lonely. He has ceased to croak at night, possibly giving up on calling a mate to join him. It will be in my prayers that he find a mate and create little tadpoles that will replenish the frog population over time. There has to be a female somewhere.

Even the birds have not continued to return. We have a few, but not nearly as many. I continue to keep food in the bird feeders and water in the bird baths. Even though most of the hummingbirds have moved on to where the migrate, I saw one at the feeder yesterday and changed the nectar to fresh.
Out in the bare woods, I heard the call of a Pilleated Woodpecker. It was a strong call, but after I spotted it lighting on a tall, emaciated pine, I identified it as the juvenile. The adult must be around somewhere.
The wild call of the Pilleated Woodpecker is for now my sign that things will have get better. Return to "Normal" will never be.

I can only hope that as the Coast gets cleaned and all of the debris and rubble and remainders of what used to be peoples homes have been swept up as if they never exhisted, and we start to rebuild, the animals will be able to multiply and come back. There is so much sorrow, so much loss. So many people's lives have been turned upside down. So many people have lost so much. Many have left the area. Some will come back, but some will find lives and work elsewhere.
I can only refer to something that someone wrote to me in an e-mail:
"The South shall rise again."

And, it will.