Thursday September 1
By Thursday morning I had really had enough, about all I could take in fact--both physically and emotionally. I started the day feeling even worse than the day before. I’m only forty, but I felt sixty at least.
Our local radio station came on the air at a little after eight with an announcement from the mayor. He expected that it would be at least thirty days before even partial power was restored to Bogalusa, probably ninety days before every home had power again in the area. There had been no shipments of bread, ice, or supplies, and he didn’t know when there would be. The water was unsafe and he expected sewer to begin backing up into homes soon. He said, “If you have a vehicle with a tank of gas in it, and there is any where you can go, leave.” They did have one highway opened leading out. There was just nothing more the city could do for us. Even the police station had no power or phones or gas for their cars.
My husband still didn’t want to leave, just drive off and leave our home and everything in it to looters or what might come, but I think at that point I was getting sick enough that he feared losing me was becoming a real possibility. He told me he could replace things, but not me. All I could do in return was cry. I had begun doing that a lot. He started calling my little outburst of tears my special moments. I’m still having them even now, but they are much fewer.
We were lucky; we had our truck and our daughter-in-law’s car, and we had filled both with gas before the storm. Together we went through our homes and picked out the few most important things that we could fit in. I thought we were doing this quick, but it took hours. It’s so hard to stand in your home of twenty-one years and look around and decide what you should take when you can take so little. I wanted to save it all. The things from my children growing up, things from my parents since I had already lost them both, pictures, family papers, things like my computer and my research books, but there was so little room because the ice chest and four big dogs were going to be in the back of the truck and three of us and four small dogs were going to be in the front. My son and his wife had less room since they had a car and pets too.
So we all got what we thought best, grabbed a few days’ worth of clothes for each of us, and some how loaded up all of our animals. We tied each of our four big dogs to one corner in the back of the truck. Two of these dogs had never been around the other two and didn’t like them. None of them had ridden in the back of a truck before. To say this was awful is putting in mildly. I just knew one of them was going to hang himself. We finally had to put my daughter back there with them while we drove through town, working our way under fallen lines and around fallen trees that had been pushed over so one side of the road was open, weaving our way through, finding a road open here and there until we finally made it to the highway.
We didn’t know if we’d be able to find gas when we ran out, but we knew where we were heading, to my sister’s near Lead Hill, Arkansas, and we hoped and prayed for the best.
It took over two hours of driving mostly west, away from the path the hurricane had taken, before we stopped seeing down trees and damaged homes. That’s when we realized just how big Katrina had been. I’ve looked it up now and we caught the left side of her eye in Bogalusa, but hurricane force winds extended out over 120 miles from the center of that big powerful eye wall.
Bogalusa is right on the Louisiana/Mississippi state line, about thirty miles up from Lake Pontchartrain, about forty miles up at an angle from the Gulf. We were actually a little closer to the eye than New Orleans. Most of the land before New Orleans does nothing to weaken a hurricane. The weather man said that’s because it’s marshes and swamps so it’s almost the same as open water to them, so even though Katrina crossed over that little toe of Louisiana that sticks out into the Gulf before getting to us, she didn’t really start getting too bad of a beating for a good ways. Still, looking at the maps and charts, it looks like she did weaken from a category four to a category three before hitting Bogalusa. I don’t know what would have happened to us if not.
As we drove we watched for a place to buy gas, but there wasn’t one. We had to keep pulling over to calm the dogs down in the back. Those first four hours seemed to take twenty. Finally our cell phones began to work and I got to call my sister. We both cried. She had thought we were all dead. She had called the Red Cross and everyone else, and no one could tell her anything about us. The Red Cross had told her that morning that they had sent help in to Bogalusa, but they didn’t even have a way to contact their own people there. All my sister knew was that our city had taken a direct hit and everything there was out. She was so glad to hear from us and even glad we were on our way, pets and all, to stay with them. I also managed to reach a couple of friends for short calls, so they could maybe let other friends know we were alive after all, but then our cell phones went back out for hours.
We found gas just in time. We had to wait in a huge line, but filled up and heading on. We thought after that we would be able to find gas without trouble, but mostly we only found stations that had no gas at all. A few times I really thought we were going to end up on the side of the road with empty tanks. Other times I thought my son or husband was going to fall asleep behind the wheel and some of us were going to end up dead. We were all so tried. I needed sleep so badly, but didn’t dare doze off and leave my husband to keep himself awake. I tried to keep an eye on him, on the dogs in the back, and on my son’s car behind us. Every time I saw my son’s car swerve I held my breath. Our cell phones weren’t even working so I could call back and ask if he was okay.
A little after midnight I got really sick and started having chest pains. I didn’t tell my husband, I just tried to force myself to relax, to stay calm, to hang in there a little longer. It was almost over. Just a few more hours and it would be over.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
Friday, September 16, 2005
Life with Katrina - Part Three
Tuesday August 30
We stayed up late Monday night trying to get as much water out of our house as we could. (We found a crawfish that had gotten into the house and waited out the storm with us. We put him back outside where he could go on his crawfish little way and tried not to think about what else might be in the house.)
By the time we were done, we were so exhausted that even in the heat we managed to sleep some. I think I probably slept three hours at the most though. I can actually take the heat better when I’m up moving around then when I’m in bed. It just feels hotter for some reason.
The sun rose Tuesday morning, the day after Katrina, and brought more heat with it. The air was humid and still, thick and heavy. The shade my oak trees had once provided around my home was gone. Even the trees left standing didn’t offer much shade since most of the leaves had been stripped from them by the wind. When I first looked outside that morning I felt shocked all over again. Maybe I just thought it had all been a bad dream and things would look normal. I don’t know.
When I stepped out on the front porch I did notice one thing that was normal again. The day before the hurricane came, three long days ago, our trees went silent. I don’t think I saw one squirrel rushing around or heard one bird sing. It was kind of eerie. But they were back Tuesday morning, fewer in number it seemed, but there. Usually after a hurricane or sometimes even a really bad thunderstorm, I end up with some new family members for a time, either baby birds or baby squirrels. At first I was relieved that I didn’t find any to care for this time, and then sadly I realized that the flooding had probably washed them all away. Poor little things.
There was a new sound filling the air; Chainsaws that went from dawn to dusk. My husband’s is one of them. From what we saw around us, almost every single street was blocked by fallen oak trees. We know now that the whole city of Bogalusa was in the same shape, and even all of the roads and highways leading in and out were blocked. We had been cut off from the rest of the world. No way to drive out, no way to call out, just our little city here all on her own.
While my husband was trying to cut the oak trees away that had fallen in front of and behind his truck, I found out something about my car. My son and I had been so thrilled to find no trees across our cars that we didn’t even think about the flood. Flood water has never gotten high enough here before to get into cars. But of course this time it did. I opened my car door and sat down to try to find a radio station with news. When I sat, there was a squish. I looked down to find water on the floorboards. I said the word please aloud even as I raised my gaze up from the floor. The little tray that holds my sunshades was filled with water, a glance at my gearshift showed dried mud over it. Both of cars were ruined.
Tuesday we had cold bottled water and dinks thanks to the ice we had put in our new five-day cooler. We cleaned up inside some, tried to drink plenty, and even though none of us had much of an appetite, we ate sandwiches and some chips. (Not a good diet for me since I’m a diabetic.) We didn’t have power, phone, or even running water. We had saved some buckets of the flood water to flush the toilet with. I had hoped our cell phones would work at least, so I could let my family know we were okay, but they wouldn’t, still aren’t working often even now as I write this almost three weeks after Katrina.
That hot tuesday we were all sweaty and still wearing the same clothes we had on during the hurricane. We sure didn’t smell pretty, and neither did the house. The flood water hadn’t been rain water, but a mixture of probably creek, river, ditch, and by the smell of it, even sewer water. But there was no water to bathe with, or to even wash up with. We didn’t know how long we would have to depend on the bottled water we had for ourselves and our pets. We couldn’t afford to waste any on the luxury of a bath.
I tried my best to sleep Tuesday night. My husband finally got up and went and slept on the porch in a chair. I soon followed him even though the mosquitoes were doing their best to eat us alive in spite of the bug spray we applied. I dozed a little, but never did really sleep. Our daughter slept better. Our son and his wife had gone across the street, home to sleep. They slept most of the night. I guess being younger and in better health is a big plus in the heat.
At around four in the morning I came back outside after trying to pick up something on our battery operated television. All we could ever get was one little blurry station out of Mississippi. When I came back out and sat down I thought I heard something, so I switched on my flashlight and pointed it into the yard. I didn’t see anything, but then I heard a soft female voice say hello. I turned my light back on and pointed it at the gate as I elbowed my husband. Two young girls, probably about nineteen or so, walked up to the gate and asked if I could help them please. They had walked all the way across town in the dark, trying to reach the home of a family member, which was still a long ways off and down a curvy road that runs through a pine forest. They both had backpacks on. I have never been one to pick up hitchhikers--writers just have too vivid of imaginations--but I couldn’t just let them keep going.
My husband brought the truck around, even though we were breaking the law since there was a dusk to dawn curfew in effect, and we drove them out to their family’s home. I did make them put the backpacks in the back of the truck though. (Smile)
Wednesday August 31
Wednesday morning the ice was holding on well enough to keep our drinks and lunch meat somewhat cold in our cooler. We were almost out of bread and lunchmeat, but I had can goods. I tried not to worry too much over our shrinking supply of water.
The heat, the high carbohydrate foods, the stress, the mosquito bites and the lack of sleep were already catching up with me. I felt awful, my head hurt, and I was staying sick to my stomach a lot. I was beginning to run low on my blood pressure meds and didn’t have many more of my diabetic meds either. One of my dogs is on daily seizure meds, and his was getting low too. If any of us got sick, there would be no 911, no hospital, no vet, no help. All I could do was to try and not think about it.
Five great things did happen Wednesday. First, my husband got our road cleared, at least the end behind his truck, so we could get out. The Army Reserve and the city had cleared the main road in front of our house with a big bulldozer since that road led down to the Army Reserve building that was about six blocks from my home.
Second, one of our local radio stations came on the air, not full time, but most of the day and was sharing info with us. Even at that point our little city was still isolated from the rest of the world.
Third, our local Piggly Wiggly opened up with no power, but was allowing two people at a time into the store to buy what ever was there as long as they had cash to pay for it. After a long wait in line, my husband and son came out with buns and more can goods and drinks. There was no sandwich bread or water left. Not a lot of many things left, so they got what they could.
Fourth, a huge convoy rolled by the front of my home. Truck after truck from light companies and tree removal companies. I never knew a convoy of trucks could make grownups cry.
Fifth, our water came back on. It wasn’t drinkable without boiling and it had very little pressure behind it so it was little more than a pencil-lead thick stream, but it was water.
We spent that night out on the porch again, in chairs, dozing some, slapping bugs a lot. If you haven’t ever lived way out in the country, where no street light or any human made light can reach you, then you have no idea how dark the night really is. All of us were out there, when we heard the sudden sharp sound of glass breaking and then shattering. We knew it was looters breaking into the little mom & pop store on the next block. There was nothing we could do but sit and listen and hope they didn’t come down our way and start going into houses.
In that pitch darkness, with no phone, no way to call the police or anyone else for help, I felt more afraid than I had even in the middle of Katrina’s wrath.
We stayed up late Monday night trying to get as much water out of our house as we could. (We found a crawfish that had gotten into the house and waited out the storm with us. We put him back outside where he could go on his crawfish little way and tried not to think about what else might be in the house.)
By the time we were done, we were so exhausted that even in the heat we managed to sleep some. I think I probably slept three hours at the most though. I can actually take the heat better when I’m up moving around then when I’m in bed. It just feels hotter for some reason.
The sun rose Tuesday morning, the day after Katrina, and brought more heat with it. The air was humid and still, thick and heavy. The shade my oak trees had once provided around my home was gone. Even the trees left standing didn’t offer much shade since most of the leaves had been stripped from them by the wind. When I first looked outside that morning I felt shocked all over again. Maybe I just thought it had all been a bad dream and things would look normal. I don’t know.
When I stepped out on the front porch I did notice one thing that was normal again. The day before the hurricane came, three long days ago, our trees went silent. I don’t think I saw one squirrel rushing around or heard one bird sing. It was kind of eerie. But they were back Tuesday morning, fewer in number it seemed, but there. Usually after a hurricane or sometimes even a really bad thunderstorm, I end up with some new family members for a time, either baby birds or baby squirrels. At first I was relieved that I didn’t find any to care for this time, and then sadly I realized that the flooding had probably washed them all away. Poor little things.
There was a new sound filling the air; Chainsaws that went from dawn to dusk. My husband’s is one of them. From what we saw around us, almost every single street was blocked by fallen oak trees. We know now that the whole city of Bogalusa was in the same shape, and even all of the roads and highways leading in and out were blocked. We had been cut off from the rest of the world. No way to drive out, no way to call out, just our little city here all on her own.
While my husband was trying to cut the oak trees away that had fallen in front of and behind his truck, I found out something about my car. My son and I had been so thrilled to find no trees across our cars that we didn’t even think about the flood. Flood water has never gotten high enough here before to get into cars. But of course this time it did. I opened my car door and sat down to try to find a radio station with news. When I sat, there was a squish. I looked down to find water on the floorboards. I said the word please aloud even as I raised my gaze up from the floor. The little tray that holds my sunshades was filled with water, a glance at my gearshift showed dried mud over it. Both of cars were ruined.
Tuesday we had cold bottled water and dinks thanks to the ice we had put in our new five-day cooler. We cleaned up inside some, tried to drink plenty, and even though none of us had much of an appetite, we ate sandwiches and some chips. (Not a good diet for me since I’m a diabetic.) We didn’t have power, phone, or even running water. We had saved some buckets of the flood water to flush the toilet with. I had hoped our cell phones would work at least, so I could let my family know we were okay, but they wouldn’t, still aren’t working often even now as I write this almost three weeks after Katrina.
That hot tuesday we were all sweaty and still wearing the same clothes we had on during the hurricane. We sure didn’t smell pretty, and neither did the house. The flood water hadn’t been rain water, but a mixture of probably creek, river, ditch, and by the smell of it, even sewer water. But there was no water to bathe with, or to even wash up with. We didn’t know how long we would have to depend on the bottled water we had for ourselves and our pets. We couldn’t afford to waste any on the luxury of a bath.
I tried my best to sleep Tuesday night. My husband finally got up and went and slept on the porch in a chair. I soon followed him even though the mosquitoes were doing their best to eat us alive in spite of the bug spray we applied. I dozed a little, but never did really sleep. Our daughter slept better. Our son and his wife had gone across the street, home to sleep. They slept most of the night. I guess being younger and in better health is a big plus in the heat.
At around four in the morning I came back outside after trying to pick up something on our battery operated television. All we could ever get was one little blurry station out of Mississippi. When I came back out and sat down I thought I heard something, so I switched on my flashlight and pointed it into the yard. I didn’t see anything, but then I heard a soft female voice say hello. I turned my light back on and pointed it at the gate as I elbowed my husband. Two young girls, probably about nineteen or so, walked up to the gate and asked if I could help them please. They had walked all the way across town in the dark, trying to reach the home of a family member, which was still a long ways off and down a curvy road that runs through a pine forest. They both had backpacks on. I have never been one to pick up hitchhikers--writers just have too vivid of imaginations--but I couldn’t just let them keep going.
My husband brought the truck around, even though we were breaking the law since there was a dusk to dawn curfew in effect, and we drove them out to their family’s home. I did make them put the backpacks in the back of the truck though. (Smile)
Wednesday August 31
Wednesday morning the ice was holding on well enough to keep our drinks and lunch meat somewhat cold in our cooler. We were almost out of bread and lunchmeat, but I had can goods. I tried not to worry too much over our shrinking supply of water.
The heat, the high carbohydrate foods, the stress, the mosquito bites and the lack of sleep were already catching up with me. I felt awful, my head hurt, and I was staying sick to my stomach a lot. I was beginning to run low on my blood pressure meds and didn’t have many more of my diabetic meds either. One of my dogs is on daily seizure meds, and his was getting low too. If any of us got sick, there would be no 911, no hospital, no vet, no help. All I could do was to try and not think about it.
Five great things did happen Wednesday. First, my husband got our road cleared, at least the end behind his truck, so we could get out. The Army Reserve and the city had cleared the main road in front of our house with a big bulldozer since that road led down to the Army Reserve building that was about six blocks from my home.
Second, one of our local radio stations came on the air, not full time, but most of the day and was sharing info with us. Even at that point our little city was still isolated from the rest of the world.
Third, our local Piggly Wiggly opened up with no power, but was allowing two people at a time into the store to buy what ever was there as long as they had cash to pay for it. After a long wait in line, my husband and son came out with buns and more can goods and drinks. There was no sandwich bread or water left. Not a lot of many things left, so they got what they could.
Fourth, a huge convoy rolled by the front of my home. Truck after truck from light companies and tree removal companies. I never knew a convoy of trucks could make grownups cry.
Fifth, our water came back on. It wasn’t drinkable without boiling and it had very little pressure behind it so it was little more than a pencil-lead thick stream, but it was water.
We spent that night out on the porch again, in chairs, dozing some, slapping bugs a lot. If you haven’t ever lived way out in the country, where no street light or any human made light can reach you, then you have no idea how dark the night really is. All of us were out there, when we heard the sudden sharp sound of glass breaking and then shattering. We knew it was looters breaking into the little mom & pop store on the next block. There was nothing we could do but sit and listen and hope they didn’t come down our way and start going into houses.
In that pitch darkness, with no phone, no way to call the police or anyone else for help, I felt more afraid than I had even in the middle of Katrina’s wrath.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Life with Katrina - Part Two
Monday August 29
By two in the morning we were getting some pretty good gusts, some of them hanging on longer than others. Of course it was night, but with the help of the moon and streetlights we could watch the wind in the trees, as well as hear it.
As we watched news over the next couple of hours we learned that Katrina hadn’t weakened any more and she hadn’t turned any more either. It looked like we were going to get the eye. It felt like a trapdoor had fallen open in the pit of my stomach, but all I could do was look at my daughter, my son and his wife, and assure them that we’d be fine. When my husband spoke those same words to me, I knew he was doing the same thing.
By daybreak it had gotten bad enough that I was wishing we had left the windows unboarded and gotten out of here the day before. But like stepping off a cliff, once the fall has begun, you can’t jump back up. There was nothing left to do but stay and pray for the best. I had prayed for help to make the right decision before we decided to stay, so I hoped I had made the right one, for my children’s sake most of all. My daughter is seventeen and in her last year of high school. My son is twenty-one, recently married, and on his fourth year of college. His wife is nineteen.
We kept getting powerful blast of winds, but since they were hitting the left side of my house we are able to leave our storm door shut and our wooden door open to the inside so we could watch the trees across the street in front of my house. By seven that morning power was out, so that open door gave us cooler air and light. I think the phone was gone by then too, or within a short time there after.
Through that open door we heard the roar of each gust as it came, we saw the trees bend and bow toward the earth. Along with that load roar was the pops and cracks of trees that gave way. The pines were the ones to usually pop while the big oaks cracked. We didn’t hear them crash to the ground, just the almost gunshot-sounding pop of those that snapped and the crack and crunch of those that broke. With the passing of every few minutes the gusts seemed to build and to last longer. A huge pine right on the other side of the road snapped and we watched it fall. My son’s home is across the other street, beside my home, so we couldn’t see it.
I wondered how much stronger the winds would get, and how long the giant oaks around my home could hold on under such an onslaught. Some how I made sure I appeared unworried. All three children -- yes I know how old they are, but they are still my children -- were sick to their stomachs. I guess just from nerves.
I told myself that it couldn’t get much worse, and then it did.
Slowly the gusts built, pushing the rain sideways so it became a white sheet that we couldn’t see through. Finally those winds got strong enough that even though they were hitting the side of my home, we had to shut the door. We turned on a lantern for light and listened as the wind became a constant roar, almost like a jet engine getting ready for take off. We could no long hear anything else unless it was something big that hit one of the plywood covered windows near us.
My husband held tight to the front door, his back and weight against it, but we felt the air moving in the house. We had closed every interior door, making us a center haven in the middle of the house in the kitchen. (An hour before then my husband and son had taken the mattress off of my daughter’s bed and brought it into the room so we would have something to throw over us if the roof did come off.) The only exterior door in that area is the one in my little office that was really supposed to be a dinning room. That room is open to the kitchen. Those closed doors rattled, adding to the noise around us.
At around that time, the first true wave of undulated fear hit and almost knocked my feet out from under me. I have been through hurricanes and even tornados before, but this was worse. I was still telling the kids we would be fine, but inside I honestly thought the roof would be ripped away or an oak tree would come crashing in at any moment. It just went on and on and on.
After about an hour more, when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, suddenly they did.
Water began to pour in under the front door. As my husband took off his shirt and began to jab it under the opening, I noticed that water was also coming into the kitchen from my bedroom door. There wasn’t an exterior door in my bedroom. I opened the door and found water coming in through the walls, and since my bedroom was lower than the old part of the house, it was already an inch or two deep in there.
We had lived in that same house for over twenty-one years, and although water had made it onto the porch a couple of times before and even threatened to come higher once, it had never come in on us. Now here it was. My son can’t swim and has a fear of water, so after already hearing all of the news and warnings about hurricanes and how many people drown, he went pale. So did his wife and my daughter.
I promised them the water wouldn’t get more than ankle deep. I thought I was telling them the truth.
My son looked out the little window in our front door and then called for his father. The front yard and street that had still been there only moments before, were suddenly gone. There was a lake there, a lake of deep dark rushing water. I could see the top half of our high chain-link fence and our mail box. I figured the water outside was at least three feet deep and rising. Inside the water was rising too, trying to match the outside, going over our feet, our ankles, up our legs, almost to my knees but still it stayed lower than what was outside the door.
The wind didn’t sound like it was letting up at all. I picked the smaller of my dogs up and actually put them on my kitchen table to keep them out of the water that was deeper than they were tall. Even the big dogs walked around in it crying. There was nothing we could do but stand in the dark smelly water, in the heat of the house, and listen to the hurricane roar on outside, wondering if it would ever stop, if the water would keep rising, if the roof would tear away or fall in on us.
I think it was about one that evening before we finally heard the roar lessen.
In a short time we were back to gusts and we could open the door again and breathe. A little longer and the gusts became further apart and weak enough that we were able to step out on the porch into the water and get our first look at our new neighbor.
All I could do was cry.
It was over and everything looked like hell had blow up around us, but we were alive and our house was still standing. The water level was already falling some. We ventured out a little further and realized that although oak trees had fallen in front, behind, and even beside and between our cars and truck, they were okay other than some good dents in the truck -- my husband’s pride and joy. My husband and son made it across the street to my son’s home to find it flooded, but there.
Bogalusa is a saw mill and paper mill town. We are surrounded with pine forest and every street is lined with big old oaks. (Well, that’s how it was before this.)
The huge oak tree next door, in front of my son’s home…my childhood home…had been pulled up by the roots. A tree at least a hundred years old that probably five men couldn’t touch hands and reach around. It was resting on its side, all the way down my son’s fence and then on the mom & pop type grocery store next to him. The oak trees next to my house had held ground, but the top half of them had been snapped out and dropped into the road and my yard. These were huge oaks too. The one in our neighbor’s back yard had come up by the roots and falling across our fence, over our new shed, across my fruit trees, over my birdbath and picnic table, and then through the other side of the fence into our driveway. The pecan tree beside my house was now on top of my roof.
Every where I looked it was just a jungle of limbs and green leaves. There was no yard or street left.
While we were still looking around and celebrating the fact that our houses and cars had made it, the wind suddenly changed directions and began to increase. It was then that I realized that the hurricane must have not turned at all, and that we had gotten the eye wall.
Katrina wasn’t through with us yet.
My husband rushed us all back into the house. Soon we had to shut the door back and the wait began again. My daughter and daughter-in-law cried. My daughter sobbed, “Please not again.” I added my own silent prayer as I told them the back side wouldn’t be as bad. Back sides were weaker. If we made it through the front we could take the back. I was wondering what winds from the opposite direction were going to do to things that were already weakened, but I kept that thought to myself.
We were lucky; the back side was weaker and quicker. By three that evening or a little after, it was really, finally over with.
Little did I know that a new form of long-term hell was just beginning.
Life with Katrina - Part One
I didn’t write the below as each day came and went. In fact, until this morning, which is almost three weeks after all of this began; I haven’t thought much about writing anything more than a couple of messages and blogs to let people know we are okay. I guess I’m writing this for me while my memory still holds most of it in order and in sound and vivid color, and for people who have asked why we stayed, or why we left afterwards, or what it was like.
Friday August 26, 2005
This was such a very normal day. The last normal day we would have for a long time. I bought groceries, paid bills, did e-mail, cleaned house, just like any other Friday. But of course just like with all last normal days before the abnormal ones begin, we are often clueless and left expecting the expected to go on.
Since I’m in southeastern Louisiana -- in Bogalusa actually, right on the Louisiana/Mississippi state line a little ways above New Orleans -- I always keep an eye on any tropical reports that come in during weather, so I knew about Katrina. I knew she was out there, that she had crossed over the bottom part of Florida and was in the Gulf, but I wasn’t worried. The expected path was for her to hit a high building over us and turn back north and give Florida another punch.
Then Friday evening came and suddenly all bets were off. She hadn’t made that turn and we begin to get our first real warning that we needed to watch this one close, just in case -- though they still expected her to stop moving west and to take that north turn. Of course there had been about six in the last couple of years that were slow to turn that we had to watch close, but the bad ones always turned.
And yet, even if not, Friday evening late is a bad time to tell people in and around the Big Easy that, surprise, a hurricane might be a comin’ before the weekend is over. People are out at football games, either pro or high school, people have gone out to party with friends, or just to share a good meal, or have curled up on their couches with the latest hot DVD rental or newest novel to entertain them. They aren’t watching local television where they have a chance to catch a special weather report.
I was, but it was still only a watch and wait game.
Saturday August 27
This morning we find that Katrina still hasn’t turned, but they’ve seen a couple of jogs east and a little more north, so those are good signs. Now they are saying she’ll probably hit Alabama, maybe around the Alabama/Florida state line, but we need her to take that straight north turn soon. She’s still supposed to. There’s a high over the east side of Florida and a high over us in Louisiana, which leaves an opening in the middle. She’s supposed to turn and follow that opening.
Since nothing is for sure, they say to get prepared. Time to do the hurricane dance.
For those of us who live this far south, we know it as well as our parents knew the two step. I consider it my own little hurricane-go-away dance. It always works. You simply go to the store and spend bill money or add debt to your credit card to buy tons of bottled water, batteries, bread, can goods, ice, dog food, snack foods, and such…oh, and stop by the gas station to make sure your car is filled to the brim and get cash from the bank -- more bill money. Once you’ve done all of that, the hurricane smiles and heads away, or if she comes, she gives you a good blow without much damage and you find out you bought way too much stuff and spent way too much money.
So just to run her off or weaken her down, I went out and did my dance that morning.
Something went wrong this time though. The update that came in after lunch -- we call it dinner but I don’t want to confuse anyone -- was worse. They were now saying the Mississippi/Alabama state line probably. That’s too close for comfort. We could get a good side blow from that, depending on how wide the storm was, though we would be on the good side of the hurricane. The left side is the weakest.
But there was a threat of worse news. The chances were building that Katrina might take the turn too late and even make a Louisiana land fall.
I still didn’t believe it would hit here, not really.
Better safe than sorry, so we headed back out to buy more supplies. The news was reaching people by then though, so it was hard to find more of some things, like water, bread, ice and batteries. But we did get them. Even bought a five day cooler that promised to keep things cold for five days in ninety degree weather.
While out I met up with more than one friend who asked what was going on, and had to explain to them that Katrina hadn’t taking her north turn yet which put us more in her expected path.
It was too late for some things at this point. I’m on three daily medications. Two that I can’t miss. One for high blood pressure and one for being a diabetic, what we call having sugar. My drug store where my doctor had called my next refills in to, closed at noon. I have a dog that has seizures and he can not miss his daily meds either. I couldn’t get him more this late, since his vet has to order it and it takes three or four days to arrive at her office. It was also too late to buy plywood to board up the windows with, since the lumber store closed at noon.
Sunday August 28
Long before daybreak Sunday morning I was up checking on the news. Katrina hadn’t turned during the night, she was heading for us and had gotten stronger over night, reaching a category five. To give you an idea of how bad that is, there is no category six.
I didn’t know how we were going to do it, where we were going to go, but I knew it was time to prepare to run from this one.
(I’ve heard people say harsh things about those who didn’t run, especially those in New Orleans who stayed because everyone knew it would flood so badly, but you have to remember that leaving for a hurricane is hard. It takes money, lots of it, it takes a tank full of gas just to get started, it takes a vehicle and one that is in good enough shape to get you far away, it means leaving almost everything you own behind for looters to do with as they will, it often means leaving family and friends behind because some can’t and some won’t go, it means finding a place you can go to, and if you have pets, finding a place that will take you and them, or it means leaving them behind to die. Lots of people had also just left a short time ago for another hurricane, which like the others turned at the last moment. It’s a very hard thing to do, to leave, and this time there wasn’t much warning or time to prepare or decide.)
On this morning for this hurricane, even though I had never left once in my whole life and we are above sea level and our area was only under a voluntary evocation, I decided this was the one to leave for.
And then we didn’t.
We spent a few hours getting things packed, figuring out where to go -- the only family I had outside of the warning areas was my sister way up at the tip-top of Arkansas almost on the Missouri state line -- how to fit eight dogs in our truck, what few possessions we could squeeze in and what those should be. That was really hard too. My son lives next door to me, so he was doing the same things, getting ready to follow where we went.
Then we found out the lumber store had opened so people could get plywood and we rushed out to buy some. I think that’s where we lost the momentum we had going to leave. It took hours to board up the windows on both our home and our son’s. During that time Katrina took a little jump to the east and she dropped from 175 mph sustained winds down to 155. That lowered her from a category five to a three. We also heard from one of my son’s friends who had left that morning and was now stuck in crawling traffic up in Jackson Mississippi. She said service stations were running out of gas and lines to get any were long even up there and that she feared it would be worse as the day went on.
By the time the windows were all boarded up, we were all packed up and knew we were going to head to my sister’s, it was nearing nightfall and we decided it was probably safer to stay and face a category three hurricane in our brick home that to risk being stuck in traffic or running out of gas some where, still maybe in Katrina’s path.
Was it the right decision? Even now I’m not sure.
We didn’t sleep Sunday night at all. Not long after dark the first feeder bands from Katrina began to let us know she was coming. Really they are just gusting winds that give us a little hint that a storm is out there. We weren’t supposed to feel the real start of Katrina until after midnight. Which will take us to Monday.
Friday August 26, 2005
This was such a very normal day. The last normal day we would have for a long time. I bought groceries, paid bills, did e-mail, cleaned house, just like any other Friday. But of course just like with all last normal days before the abnormal ones begin, we are often clueless and left expecting the expected to go on.
Since I’m in southeastern Louisiana -- in Bogalusa actually, right on the Louisiana/Mississippi state line a little ways above New Orleans -- I always keep an eye on any tropical reports that come in during weather, so I knew about Katrina. I knew she was out there, that she had crossed over the bottom part of Florida and was in the Gulf, but I wasn’t worried. The expected path was for her to hit a high building over us and turn back north and give Florida another punch.
Then Friday evening came and suddenly all bets were off. She hadn’t made that turn and we begin to get our first real warning that we needed to watch this one close, just in case -- though they still expected her to stop moving west and to take that north turn. Of course there had been about six in the last couple of years that were slow to turn that we had to watch close, but the bad ones always turned.
And yet, even if not, Friday evening late is a bad time to tell people in and around the Big Easy that, surprise, a hurricane might be a comin’ before the weekend is over. People are out at football games, either pro or high school, people have gone out to party with friends, or just to share a good meal, or have curled up on their couches with the latest hot DVD rental or newest novel to entertain them. They aren’t watching local television where they have a chance to catch a special weather report.
I was, but it was still only a watch and wait game.
Saturday August 27
This morning we find that Katrina still hasn’t turned, but they’ve seen a couple of jogs east and a little more north, so those are good signs. Now they are saying she’ll probably hit Alabama, maybe around the Alabama/Florida state line, but we need her to take that straight north turn soon. She’s still supposed to. There’s a high over the east side of Florida and a high over us in Louisiana, which leaves an opening in the middle. She’s supposed to turn and follow that opening.
Since nothing is for sure, they say to get prepared. Time to do the hurricane dance.
For those of us who live this far south, we know it as well as our parents knew the two step. I consider it my own little hurricane-go-away dance. It always works. You simply go to the store and spend bill money or add debt to your credit card to buy tons of bottled water, batteries, bread, can goods, ice, dog food, snack foods, and such…oh, and stop by the gas station to make sure your car is filled to the brim and get cash from the bank -- more bill money. Once you’ve done all of that, the hurricane smiles and heads away, or if she comes, she gives you a good blow without much damage and you find out you bought way too much stuff and spent way too much money.
So just to run her off or weaken her down, I went out and did my dance that morning.
Something went wrong this time though. The update that came in after lunch -- we call it dinner but I don’t want to confuse anyone -- was worse. They were now saying the Mississippi/Alabama state line probably. That’s too close for comfort. We could get a good side blow from that, depending on how wide the storm was, though we would be on the good side of the hurricane. The left side is the weakest.
But there was a threat of worse news. The chances were building that Katrina might take the turn too late and even make a Louisiana land fall.
I still didn’t believe it would hit here, not really.
Better safe than sorry, so we headed back out to buy more supplies. The news was reaching people by then though, so it was hard to find more of some things, like water, bread, ice and batteries. But we did get them. Even bought a five day cooler that promised to keep things cold for five days in ninety degree weather.
While out I met up with more than one friend who asked what was going on, and had to explain to them that Katrina hadn’t taking her north turn yet which put us more in her expected path.
It was too late for some things at this point. I’m on three daily medications. Two that I can’t miss. One for high blood pressure and one for being a diabetic, what we call having sugar. My drug store where my doctor had called my next refills in to, closed at noon. I have a dog that has seizures and he can not miss his daily meds either. I couldn’t get him more this late, since his vet has to order it and it takes three or four days to arrive at her office. It was also too late to buy plywood to board up the windows with, since the lumber store closed at noon.
Sunday August 28
Long before daybreak Sunday morning I was up checking on the news. Katrina hadn’t turned during the night, she was heading for us and had gotten stronger over night, reaching a category five. To give you an idea of how bad that is, there is no category six.
I didn’t know how we were going to do it, where we were going to go, but I knew it was time to prepare to run from this one.
(I’ve heard people say harsh things about those who didn’t run, especially those in New Orleans who stayed because everyone knew it would flood so badly, but you have to remember that leaving for a hurricane is hard. It takes money, lots of it, it takes a tank full of gas just to get started, it takes a vehicle and one that is in good enough shape to get you far away, it means leaving almost everything you own behind for looters to do with as they will, it often means leaving family and friends behind because some can’t and some won’t go, it means finding a place you can go to, and if you have pets, finding a place that will take you and them, or it means leaving them behind to die. Lots of people had also just left a short time ago for another hurricane, which like the others turned at the last moment. It’s a very hard thing to do, to leave, and this time there wasn’t much warning or time to prepare or decide.)
On this morning for this hurricane, even though I had never left once in my whole life and we are above sea level and our area was only under a voluntary evocation, I decided this was the one to leave for.
And then we didn’t.
We spent a few hours getting things packed, figuring out where to go -- the only family I had outside of the warning areas was my sister way up at the tip-top of Arkansas almost on the Missouri state line -- how to fit eight dogs in our truck, what few possessions we could squeeze in and what those should be. That was really hard too. My son lives next door to me, so he was doing the same things, getting ready to follow where we went.
Then we found out the lumber store had opened so people could get plywood and we rushed out to buy some. I think that’s where we lost the momentum we had going to leave. It took hours to board up the windows on both our home and our son’s. During that time Katrina took a little jump to the east and she dropped from 175 mph sustained winds down to 155. That lowered her from a category five to a three. We also heard from one of my son’s friends who had left that morning and was now stuck in crawling traffic up in Jackson Mississippi. She said service stations were running out of gas and lines to get any were long even up there and that she feared it would be worse as the day went on.
By the time the windows were all boarded up, we were all packed up and knew we were going to head to my sister’s, it was nearing nightfall and we decided it was probably safer to stay and face a category three hurricane in our brick home that to risk being stuck in traffic or running out of gas some where, still maybe in Katrina’s path.
Was it the right decision? Even now I’m not sure.
We didn’t sleep Sunday night at all. Not long after dark the first feeder bands from Katrina began to let us know she was coming. Really they are just gusting winds that give us a little hint that a storm is out there. We weren’t supposed to feel the real start of Katrina until after midnight. Which will take us to Monday.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Ice, bread ease some suffering in Bogalusa
The below was taken from the Bucks County Courier Times at
http://www.phillyburbs.com/pb-dyn/news/111-09102005-539364.html
Ice, bread ease some suffering in Bogalusa
September 10, 2005 10:08 AM
By JO CIAVAGLIA
Bucks County Courier Times
Three days ago, the first "luxury" items in nearly two weeks arrived in hurricane-ravaged Bogalusa, La. - ice and sandwich bread."
They gobbled it up," said Richboro retiree Keller Taylor, a Red Cross volunteer.
Taylor is helping feed thousands of people in this eastern Louisiana suburb, which took a direct hit from Hurricane Katrina. About a third of homes have been leveled.
The volunteer is one of two Bucks men who arrived last week into the chaos of Louisiana to help with the historic Red Cross disaster relief effort. Bristol Township retiree Ed Sherman is assigned to an emergency shelter in Lake Charles. Three other local Red Cross volunteers arrived in Louisiana this week, and a fourth is in Massachusetts helping coordinate volunteers.
On Thursday, the first shipment of bread that Bogalusa residents had seen since the Aug. 28 storm arrived. The day before, Taylor drank his first iced beverage since arriving there a week ago Friday.
Bogalusa remains mostly cut off from the rest of the world, Taylor said. Aside from the Red Cross, the only other relief agency there is the Southern Baptist Disaster Group, which has chainsaw crews removing fallen trees on people's homes and on the roads. Utility crews are bulldozing debris to clear roads.
Most residents are living without power or running water, which aren't expected to return for weeks. Inactive, downed power lines remain scattered all over the roads. Some much-needed trash collection has started. There is little communication with the outside world. Local officials are putting out fliers with general relief information updates.
Taylor said he was told food stamps soon would be available. "But frankly it won't help until supermarkets are repaired."
Martial law is in effect, with the National Guard enforcing a dusk-to-dawn curfew. There's a ban on alcohol sales throughout Washington Parish, where Bogalusa is located.
Twice a day - at 11 a.m. and 4 p.m. - the Red Cross trucks, with police escorts, pull into the parking lot of a destroyed gas station off Highway 21."
When we come in, there are people waiting in their cars for us," Taylor said.
Instantly, lines 40-people deep form. Taylor serves about 500 to 600 meals in an hour - an average of about 1,150 meals daily. But it's never enough, he said. Some people leave hungry.
Over the last few days, supply lines have improved significantly. Several truckloads of food arrived, along with propane, which is used in portable kitchens to cook hot meals, Taylor said.
"We're just going right through it," he said about the latest supplies.
Bogalusa is a town where people lay down roots that only burrow deeper with each generation. Families with severely damaged or destroyed homes have moved in with relatives - living 17 to 20 people in a house - rather than go to an emergency shelter, Taylor said.
Taylor says it's hard to say if there are any emerging signs of a return to normalcy.
"Folks are coping. At this point, we're coming up on the two-week mark. They know what has happened. They know what their situation is. They know what their circumstances are. It's tough."
After two weeks in the chaos, Taylor is scheduled to return Monday to Bucks County. He's undecided about whether he'll return. "I need time to think about it," he said.
http://www.phillyburbs.com/pb-dyn/news/111-09102005-539364.html
Ice, bread ease some suffering in Bogalusa
September 10, 2005 10:08 AM
By JO CIAVAGLIA
Bucks County Courier Times
Three days ago, the first "luxury" items in nearly two weeks arrived in hurricane-ravaged Bogalusa, La. - ice and sandwich bread."
They gobbled it up," said Richboro retiree Keller Taylor, a Red Cross volunteer.
Taylor is helping feed thousands of people in this eastern Louisiana suburb, which took a direct hit from Hurricane Katrina. About a third of homes have been leveled.
The volunteer is one of two Bucks men who arrived last week into the chaos of Louisiana to help with the historic Red Cross disaster relief effort. Bristol Township retiree Ed Sherman is assigned to an emergency shelter in Lake Charles. Three other local Red Cross volunteers arrived in Louisiana this week, and a fourth is in Massachusetts helping coordinate volunteers.
On Thursday, the first shipment of bread that Bogalusa residents had seen since the Aug. 28 storm arrived. The day before, Taylor drank his first iced beverage since arriving there a week ago Friday.
Bogalusa remains mostly cut off from the rest of the world, Taylor said. Aside from the Red Cross, the only other relief agency there is the Southern Baptist Disaster Group, which has chainsaw crews removing fallen trees on people's homes and on the roads. Utility crews are bulldozing debris to clear roads.
Most residents are living without power or running water, which aren't expected to return for weeks. Inactive, downed power lines remain scattered all over the roads. Some much-needed trash collection has started. There is little communication with the outside world. Local officials are putting out fliers with general relief information updates.
Taylor said he was told food stamps soon would be available. "But frankly it won't help until supermarkets are repaired."
Martial law is in effect, with the National Guard enforcing a dusk-to-dawn curfew. There's a ban on alcohol sales throughout Washington Parish, where Bogalusa is located.
Twice a day - at 11 a.m. and 4 p.m. - the Red Cross trucks, with police escorts, pull into the parking lot of a destroyed gas station off Highway 21."
When we come in, there are people waiting in their cars for us," Taylor said.
Instantly, lines 40-people deep form. Taylor serves about 500 to 600 meals in an hour - an average of about 1,150 meals daily. But it's never enough, he said. Some people leave hungry.
Over the last few days, supply lines have improved significantly. Several truckloads of food arrived, along with propane, which is used in portable kitchens to cook hot meals, Taylor said.
"We're just going right through it," he said about the latest supplies.
Bogalusa is a town where people lay down roots that only burrow deeper with each generation. Families with severely damaged or destroyed homes have moved in with relatives - living 17 to 20 people in a house - rather than go to an emergency shelter, Taylor said.
Taylor says it's hard to say if there are any emerging signs of a return to normalcy.
"Folks are coping. At this point, we're coming up on the two-week mark. They know what has happened. They know what their situation is. They know what their circumstances are. It's tough."
After two weeks in the chaos, Taylor is scheduled to return Monday to Bucks County. He's undecided about whether he'll return. "I need time to think about it," he said.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Phone In And Out -- More Out Really
After I sent that post to my blog yesterday morning, my phone went again. I haven't been able to get a call, make a call, or get on line, since then, until now. Even the cell phones went out again. I thought we were going to lose water again too. The pressure went down to almost nothing for a couple of hours, but then came back to normal. I might have to boil it to use it, but at least it's there. Anyway, I better make this quick since the phone line could go again at any minute. Just wanted to let everyone know that I'm not being stuck up here. (Smile) I will answer comments and messages as soon as I have the time and the phone line long enough to do it. (Smile) Thanks so much for all of the good wishes and thoughts. They mean more than you know.
Monday, September 12, 2005
Katrina is Gone and I'm Back
So great to be able to send a message or post to my blog! Just wanted to let everyone know that I'm okay and home. Well, kind of home. I'm actually living next door to my home in my son's home. We ended up heading to Arkansas after all, three days after the hurricane. My sister lives in a little place at the very top of the state. From the bottom of the MS/LA state line up to the top of Arkansas is a lot longer drive than I would have guessed. (Smile)
We spent over a week there and then came home Saturday. We were lucky and got power back to our homes a few hours after we got here. We have phones too.... though they often work only when they want to. We have running water, but it's not safe to drink. As you can see, my son has internet service back even, but it's dial up and there are five of us in the house and only one phone line....which like I said is up and down, so I'm still set to no mail on all my groups and won't have many chances to be on line. (I'm still a little shell shocked and have a lot of other stuff to take care of too.) I'm not even on my own computer, so I don't have my address book or anything from it.
We are fine though, and that’s what I want to let people know. We have food, bottled water, power, phone, meds, and can even flush a toilet. (Smile) Those are important things! Water first in line, food next, but the other things are important too. If your whole town doesn't have phones, there is no 911. Without power there is not only any lights or refrigeration, but hospitals can't helppeople, a heat index of a 110 can be deadly, and stores lock their doors and if they do open they take cash only.... which you can't get because the banks are closed too. I'm on two meds that I can't miss, and I have a dog on seizure meds, and drug stores for people and vets for animals don't open without lights either. (I was able tobuy a month's worth of all three while staying with my sister.) I managed to get a call through to our police department from my sister's last Thursday or Friday, they did finally have phones, but even they didn't have power then though the hospital and some other places were getting it. Since about 60 percent of our town has power now, and maybe almost as many have phones, a few stores and even some fast food places are opening during the day. The stores seem to have most items, the fast food places have a very limited menu, but it's a menu.
People still aren't allowed out before dawn or after dark, and going to Wal-Mart yesterday meant driving through roads pilled with hunks of cut up oak and pine trees on both sides, and walking by armed soldiers to enter the store, but just being able to go to my own Wal-Marts and buy some supplies felt great.
I lost my car -- gotta love the insurance companies -- since my car was eight years old, they are going to give me a whole 1,500 for it. Never mind that it only has 50,000 miles on it, was in great shape, and has been babied and cared for and never even missed an oil change. It was flooded, and to them it's a total write off. My son lost his car too, but it's newer so he'll even get a tiny bit more back than he owed for it, or that’s what they said.
His wife's car and my husband's truck came through okay. The truck only got some minor damage from a falling tree and was tall enough that water didn't get into the important stuff. My daughter-in-law's car was parked at a friend's house and was up high enough that it is fine too, so we were really lucky. That left us two vehicles to get out of here with. It took us a couple of days to cut enough trees away from them to get out....but it took the local National Guard and the city that long to clean enough roads and a highway for us to get out on anyway. My home....which I can see from my son's front door.... doesn't look too bad. It's got a little roof damage and there are huge oak trees down through the yard, over the shed and through the fence and such, but it looks like I should just be able to walk across the street and go home. My little old brick house stood the wind and the one tree that hit her -- a pecan which is much smaller than the giant oaks that fell around her. My home hadn't flooded in the 21 years I've lived in it, but during the worst part of the hurricane when we were waiting for the roof to comeoff, it was water that came. It poured in under the front door and, even to my shock, through the bedroom walls. Those walls we had put up with our own hands and unlike the older part of the home, they weren't brick. Seems wood does little to stop water.
We were lucky and the water only got knee deep. But it left so much damage, and now along with it, mold is covering all of those newer walls as well as lots of other stuff. The water went down before night fall after the hurricane, and then we mopped and cleaned and soaked up every bit of it that we could, the doors and windows were open for days before we left, and even when we left we kept some windows open, and the mold still won. My husband has gone in and gotten a few things out for me since we got lights and found the mold spreading over the walls, but he won't let me go back in.
So here I sit, waiting to see when our insurance man will come and what he will say and wishing I had gotten more insurance, including flood insurance.I'm not complaining though. We are all here, our pets are here, though one of them is really sick right now. We have a way to travel, we have a roof over our heads, we have food and water and lights and from this point on, as my mom would say, everything else is gravy on top!
We spent over a week there and then came home Saturday. We were lucky and got power back to our homes a few hours after we got here. We have phones too.... though they often work only when they want to. We have running water, but it's not safe to drink. As you can see, my son has internet service back even, but it's dial up and there are five of us in the house and only one phone line....which like I said is up and down, so I'm still set to no mail on all my groups and won't have many chances to be on line. (I'm still a little shell shocked and have a lot of other stuff to take care of too.) I'm not even on my own computer, so I don't have my address book or anything from it.
We are fine though, and that’s what I want to let people know. We have food, bottled water, power, phone, meds, and can even flush a toilet. (Smile) Those are important things! Water first in line, food next, but the other things are important too. If your whole town doesn't have phones, there is no 911. Without power there is not only any lights or refrigeration, but hospitals can't helppeople, a heat index of a 110 can be deadly, and stores lock their doors and if they do open they take cash only.... which you can't get because the banks are closed too. I'm on two meds that I can't miss, and I have a dog on seizure meds, and drug stores for people and vets for animals don't open without lights either. (I was able tobuy a month's worth of all three while staying with my sister.) I managed to get a call through to our police department from my sister's last Thursday or Friday, they did finally have phones, but even they didn't have power then though the hospital and some other places were getting it. Since about 60 percent of our town has power now, and maybe almost as many have phones, a few stores and even some fast food places are opening during the day. The stores seem to have most items, the fast food places have a very limited menu, but it's a menu.
People still aren't allowed out before dawn or after dark, and going to Wal-Mart yesterday meant driving through roads pilled with hunks of cut up oak and pine trees on both sides, and walking by armed soldiers to enter the store, but just being able to go to my own Wal-Marts and buy some supplies felt great.
I lost my car -- gotta love the insurance companies -- since my car was eight years old, they are going to give me a whole 1,500 for it. Never mind that it only has 50,000 miles on it, was in great shape, and has been babied and cared for and never even missed an oil change. It was flooded, and to them it's a total write off. My son lost his car too, but it's newer so he'll even get a tiny bit more back than he owed for it, or that’s what they said.
His wife's car and my husband's truck came through okay. The truck only got some minor damage from a falling tree and was tall enough that water didn't get into the important stuff. My daughter-in-law's car was parked at a friend's house and was up high enough that it is fine too, so we were really lucky. That left us two vehicles to get out of here with. It took us a couple of days to cut enough trees away from them to get out....but it took the local National Guard and the city that long to clean enough roads and a highway for us to get out on anyway. My home....which I can see from my son's front door.... doesn't look too bad. It's got a little roof damage and there are huge oak trees down through the yard, over the shed and through the fence and such, but it looks like I should just be able to walk across the street and go home. My little old brick house stood the wind and the one tree that hit her -- a pecan which is much smaller than the giant oaks that fell around her. My home hadn't flooded in the 21 years I've lived in it, but during the worst part of the hurricane when we were waiting for the roof to comeoff, it was water that came. It poured in under the front door and, even to my shock, through the bedroom walls. Those walls we had put up with our own hands and unlike the older part of the home, they weren't brick. Seems wood does little to stop water.
We were lucky and the water only got knee deep. But it left so much damage, and now along with it, mold is covering all of those newer walls as well as lots of other stuff. The water went down before night fall after the hurricane, and then we mopped and cleaned and soaked up every bit of it that we could, the doors and windows were open for days before we left, and even when we left we kept some windows open, and the mold still won. My husband has gone in and gotten a few things out for me since we got lights and found the mold spreading over the walls, but he won't let me go back in.
So here I sit, waiting to see when our insurance man will come and what he will say and wishing I had gotten more insurance, including flood insurance.I'm not complaining though. We are all here, our pets are here, though one of them is really sick right now. We have a way to travel, we have a roof over our heads, we have food and water and lights and from this point on, as my mom would say, everything else is gravy on top!
Sunday, August 28, 2005
I’m Not Gone Yet
Surprise, it’s a few hours later and we haven’t left yet. I’m waiting and watching and praying that the eye will move over just enough so we can stay. We are still getting things ready. Managed to find some plywood at the last moment so hubby and son are outside putting up the plywood on the windows.
I figure we have another two hours and then if we are going, we're gonna have to go. End of discussion time. There will be a point where it’s too late to run. It seems here in Bogalusa half the people I talk to are going and half are staying.
So which half is making the right choice?
I figure we have another two hours and then if we are going, we're gonna have to go. End of discussion time. There will be a point where it’s too late to run. It seems here in Bogalusa half the people I talk to are going and half are staying.
So which half is making the right choice?
Time To Go!
I didn’t want to do this, but we are running. I went to sleep last night praying so hard we wouldn’t have to, but hurricane Katrina got stronger during the time and didn’t turn from her path. She is now a category five, which is the strongest they record, and her eye wall that as of right now has winds sustained at over 160 miles per hour and gusts well over 200 mph, is heading right for us. They are calling her the perfect storm and say she might even get stronger. Of course, they have said to get…to run…that houses anywhere near the eye aren’t going to be standing when Katrina goes through.
Some how I’m loading eight dogs into a car and a truck and what else I can, and we are going. We are taking both vehicles because our house and driveway have huge old oak trees around them. My son got married three months ago and now lives next door. They will be running with us with their pets. My home is brick, so I figure I have a better chance of coming home to it than he does to his, but they might both be gone with everything in them.
I trying to remember that things are things and our lives are the only thing that is important, but the though of losing everything to this monster is just… I don’t even know how to explain it.
I better hush and finish getting ready to go. I haven’t figured out how I’m going to fit in all dogs yet, two of which can’t stand the rest and are kept in another yard. I need to figure out what I can take with me and where we are going to go. I don’t think there’s any where we can go stay, so we’ll probably drive as many hours away as we can, and then turn around drive back and hope they allow us back in.
Please send prayers our way!
Some how I’m loading eight dogs into a car and a truck and what else I can, and we are going. We are taking both vehicles because our house and driveway have huge old oak trees around them. My son got married three months ago and now lives next door. They will be running with us with their pets. My home is brick, so I figure I have a better chance of coming home to it than he does to his, but they might both be gone with everything in them.
I trying to remember that things are things and our lives are the only thing that is important, but the though of losing everything to this monster is just… I don’t even know how to explain it.
I better hush and finish getting ready to go. I haven’t figured out how I’m going to fit in all dogs yet, two of which can’t stand the rest and are kept in another yard. I need to figure out what I can take with me and where we are going to go. I don’t think there’s any where we can go stay, so we’ll probably drive as many hours away as we can, and then turn around drive back and hope they allow us back in.
Please send prayers our way!
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Okay, So Now I Really Hate Hurricanes!
Well, all the best wishes for a death over water didn’t work on hurricane Katrina. She’s coming and it looks like nothing is going to stop her. We’ve taken small hits over the years, been through a couple that were more than bad enough, but they said today that this is the one they have been warning us about. The big one. The last time one this bad hit us dead on was forty years ago. Her name was Betsy and people still remember her wrath. Not to give away my age, but I was only a few months old then.
I’m a couple of hours away from New Orleans, so since we aren’t below sea level like them, I think they will leave it up to us if we leave or not. I’m not sure what is the right thing to do. I don’t want to leave if we can be safe here. With eight dogs it would be a nightmare. But there are worse nightmares than traveling with that many dogs, like the roof coming off or a huge oak tree coming through our home, with us in it. I guess all we can do is keep watching each update as they come and then make up our minds what’s the best thing to do. We are already under a hurricane watch, Louisiana’s governor has declared a state of emergency, but our weather isn’t supposed to start getting bad until tomorrow.
If we go, it will be only until the hurricane is gone, but oh what she’ll leave behind for us. Days, probably weeks even, without power in this heat….our heat index is about 105 today. That kind of heat without even a fan is an awful thing to deal with. Then there is no lights, no TV, no microwave, no refrigerator, not even a washer or dryer…not to mention a computer. I have a laptop but without power, I could use it for maybe a couple of hours and then that would be that.
We are prepared. We did all of the running this morning. The stores were packed and crazy. We bought bread, water, lunchmeat, canned goods, chips, charcoal, and all of that needed stuff. Already have our lanterns and batteries and all put up in a big hurricane kit. We had to go back to the store a little bit ago for another ice chest and some more ice. Things had gotten even worse. It took stops at a number of places to find ice, and since I was worried about not having enough bread, more bread. The lines at every store and every gas station were huge. At least my running around is done.
Feel free to send prayers, light, good thoughts or what ever you’ve got, our way. (Smile)
I’m a couple of hours away from New Orleans, so since we aren’t below sea level like them, I think they will leave it up to us if we leave or not. I’m not sure what is the right thing to do. I don’t want to leave if we can be safe here. With eight dogs it would be a nightmare. But there are worse nightmares than traveling with that many dogs, like the roof coming off or a huge oak tree coming through our home, with us in it. I guess all we can do is keep watching each update as they come and then make up our minds what’s the best thing to do. We are already under a hurricane watch, Louisiana’s governor has declared a state of emergency, but our weather isn’t supposed to start getting bad until tomorrow.
If we go, it will be only until the hurricane is gone, but oh what she’ll leave behind for us. Days, probably weeks even, without power in this heat….our heat index is about 105 today. That kind of heat without even a fan is an awful thing to deal with. Then there is no lights, no TV, no microwave, no refrigerator, not even a washer or dryer…not to mention a computer. I have a laptop but without power, I could use it for maybe a couple of hours and then that would be that.
We are prepared. We did all of the running this morning. The stores were packed and crazy. We bought bread, water, lunchmeat, canned goods, chips, charcoal, and all of that needed stuff. Already have our lanterns and batteries and all put up in a big hurricane kit. We had to go back to the store a little bit ago for another ice chest and some more ice. Things had gotten even worse. It took stops at a number of places to find ice, and since I was worried about not having enough bread, more bread. The lines at every store and every gas station were huge. At least my running around is done.
Feel free to send prayers, light, good thoughts or what ever you’ve got, our way. (Smile)
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