An hour south of New Orleans, I passed through the small towns of Empire, Port Sulphur and Buras. The damage there was even worse. Shrimping trawlers had run aground beside the roadside and lurked like strange specimens out of context. A large rectangular fish truck was propped at an odd angle against a tree as if a giant's hand had reached down and rearranged it more to his liking. As we drove toward Port Sulphur, large sections of land just off the edge of Louisiana's Highway 23 were obscured by water, looking more like lakes. About 100 feet out, I could barely see the tops of trees, their branches reaching upward as if trying to untangle themselves from the muck below, to escape their watery prisons. Just minutes down the road, a detour took us around a doublewide trailer that sat squarely across the median blocking two lanes of the highway.
But, although we had a job to do, we did get a day to see the sights. I chose to spend mine with a cup of chicory coffee and a plate of beignets (square doughnuts heavily dusted with powdered sugar) at the famed Cafe Du Monde. Past the little town of Desallemandes, an hour from New Orleans, I took an airboat tour of the swamp country with a couple of true Cajun tour guides. I also walked along New Orleans' famed Bourbon Street, listening to the drifting sounds of blues and zydeco.
It was surreal. It almost appeared that things were going on as usual, as if nothing had changed, when just miles away, whole lives had been altered forever. But, when I looked more closely, I noticed representatives of the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), police at every turn, and now and then, a desert-camo humvee rolling through the backdrop of the fairly bustling street scene. I had always wanted to visit New Orleans, but I don't think I ever envisioned doing it this way. The city and its people left an indelible mark on my life.
I found it difficult to return home after only a month, and to turn away from a situation that for many is far from over. I can close the cover on this chapter of my life experiences. I can return to normality and try to find the right words to describe my experiences there in answer to the questions family, friends and coworkers ask.
I can jump back into my awaiting life, back to work and back into the arms of the one I love. But Louisiana has changed me. It has made me more thankful for what I have, given me the opportunity to touch the lives of others, and to be more keenly aware that nothing in life is ours forever. We have to live and appreciate each and every day, each tiny detail of our lives, because in life nothing is ever certain. If you think it is, ask a former resident of the Ninth Ward.
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