Aftermath

Gustav gone, the all-clear signal given, and the mayor, under considerable pressure, calling "Ollee-ollee-oxen-free!", New Orleanians returned from a week of evacuations in Birmingham, Baton Rouge, Atlanta, Memphis, Houston, Oxford, Jackson, Mobile, Florida, and even further away. (The folks coming home from Baton Rouge were especially relieved, since it turns out that our capital city was hit much harder than was New Orleans.) In fact, so many people tried to get home on Friday that parts of I-10 West were turned into a giant parking lot and accidents were common.

Big Man and I stayed at my brother's in the mid-panhandle of Florida until Friday morning, and took I-10 all the way to the junction of I-59, I-12 and I-10 north of Slidell. At that point, we got off and took Highway 90, which was blessedly (and amazingly) clear and free from traffic. We saw A LOT of damage from Hurricane Gustav -- boats in the road (we drove around them), tree trunks and tree limbs, lots of electric wires down, damaged cars, fences knocked over, some fishing camps knocked off their pilings, a lot of detritus from what must have been a storm surge. There were many utility trucks out and about, putting things right, but no traffic. Our biggest hold-up was the little Bayou Sauvage bridge, at the back of Venetian Isles, which was down to one lane, with each side taking turns. It took about 20 minutes for us to cross, but once over, it was a breeze getting home. Meanwhile, we kept hearing on the radio how bad things were on I-10. (Hm, maybe I shouldn't blog about the Highway 90 route -- there's a small chance that local folks will read this and then clog the artery during the next evacuation.)

Friday late afternoon as we entered the city, we saw what Gustav had done. Tree limbs, branches, and piles and piles of twigs and leaves were everywhere, and in the inhabited neighborhoods had already been swept and raked into heaps at the curbs. Lots of people lost bits of siding, roof tiles and shingles, gutters, and window panes from their houses; even more commercial establishments had their large signs busted, twisted, or knocked down. Lots and lots of power outages and traffic lights not working at all. A house on St. Charles Avenue had a giant old magnolia tree leaning on the front porch and part of the roof. We held our breaths as to what we might find when we got home.

As we pulled up, our street was littered with roof shingles -- on the sidewalk, in the neutral ground, in the street, and even on our front porch. Luckily, they were not from our house. Our next-door neighbors, in the 1840s mansion that has been converted to condos, lost some boards from the side of the house that faces ours, and at least one window was broken. Our electricity was on, thank god, but there was no cable or Internet connection. (You know you're hard up when you're walking around your house with your laptop, trying to see if you can pick up a wireless signal from any of the neighbors.) We were ecstatic to find all cable service restored on Monday night (yesterday, as I write this) -- we were even more excited to learn that Cox Cable was going to credit us for that week of non-service. Every little bit helps.

Around New Orleans, approximately 50-odd houses, damaged by Katrina, were done in by Gustav and have collapsed completely, after sagging progressively for 3 years. One, on Magnolia and Upperline near Baptist Hospital, hasn't finished falling yet and looks like it could crash down any second. Another house in Central City, had been carefully gutted with someone putting in a new subfloor when Gustav hit, collapsing what was left of the walls, and plunking the roof, all in one piece, onto the floor. I felt bad for the person who had been doing the work, only to have this happen.

I've blogged before about how the neutral ground signs are a barometer of Life in the New Big Easy -- by the Saturday after Gustav, neutral grounds sprouted signs saying, "Tree Removal", "Repairs", and "Debris Removal." You also started seeing home made signs everywhere saying, "Welcome Home" or "Welcome Back." At banks, at cafes, at churches, at the Salvation Army returning evacuee center, at the drugstore, the signs recognize our shared plight and our shared relief at being back home. A sushi place on Magazine Street near our house had a blackboard menu outside on the sidewalk with a list of offerings that included a "Welcome Home roll." On Sunday, we greeted each other at church, "Welcome home! Welcome back!" One local radio station is running a promo with testimony from New Orleanians on why this is home and how much they love this place, hurricanes be damned. Makes me choke up a little every time I hear it.

The church sustained minor damage. The large plexiglass windows in our Fellowship Hall blew out and lots of water came in to pool on the tile floor -- but luckily did not hurt the floor. A window in a storage area also broke. The sign out front was completely blown away, but then we were planning to replace it anyway. Lost power for a time, but the refrigerator had been emptied, so nothing was lost. We were lucky.

Most of my parishioners are OK. One or two have minor roof damage, or lost power for a number of hours, but most had transferred food to ice chests, and thus did not lose any perishables. Most either had an OK evacuation experience, and a few, like Big Man and I, actually had FUN evacuations (which a parishioner of mine described as "hurrications"), and a smaller number of my folk rode out the storm at home or at a neighbor's house. No injuries, thank god. Emotions and spirits are another story. If folks are fragile, to have a hurricane threat right during the Katrina anniversary is a hard thing.

Sunday after services, we brought the church computers down from where they had been stored for safekeeping, and hooked everything back up. I changed the message on the church machine and removed all the hurricane signs from the church doors. A larger congregation on Sunday than I expected, but no Order of Service. But we were all together, and able to share what happened to us, how we felt.

And so we return to whatever is normal for us, for this place, for this time. What else is there to do, but cope and move forward?