The Storm

They call it “the storm.” I think words like ‘hurricane” and “Katrina” have too many syllables and take too long to say. So, in the shorthand that develops from these events, the residents of Pearlington, Mississippi simply call it “the storm.”

The storm hit Pearlington directly. The damage in New Orleans was caused by the flooding after the levees broke. Some other parts of Louisiana had homes that were flooded by overflowing bayous. But the town of Pearlington has a clear claim to the wrath a category-five hurricane can bring.

Homes were literally washed away. Shirley Thompson’s house was washed a block away. Her husband, Hezekiah, lost all his mechanics tools including his air compressors. The store where Shirley worked was washed away. The storm took not only their house but their jobs. Jean "Dallas" Trammel found herself hanging to a tree for eight and a half hours surrounded by 20 feet of water until the water receded. “We just came down the tree as the water went down.”

Michael Hanley showed us his pond behind his house where he and his son used to fish for catfish. The storm drove up the Pearl River seven miles from the coast line and brought the ocean to his pond. Thirteen feet of water surrounded and entered his two-story house. The saltwater killed his catfish but “for three months we were catching crabs in that pond.” The ocean had traded him crabs for catfish.

We had heard on our last trip with Presbyterian Disaster Assistance that the medical community was seeing heart attacks in people with no known history of heart problems. This is a mystery assumed to be caused by the stress brought by the storm. While we were in Pearlington we got word that a 24-year-old man in the town had dropped dead of a heart attack. There was no money for a funeral. When we ate lunch the next day at the Baptist church the pastor told the community they would take up a collection “so we can get this boy buried.”

It’s hard to know where to start in describing the week. The work is not as organized as most volunteers would like but we saw first hand that this was about the only way it could be done. There are so many faith-based and non-profit agencies helping because all the other avenues of funding are overwhelmed. The best and fastest way to get your house rebuilt is by a patchwork collection of volunteer help and assorted grants and donations.

The homeowner we grew to know best is Shirley Thompson. Her 87-year old mother lives down the street. Both of their homes were washed off the foundations and carried away. Shirley had insurance but it paid only a fraction of what it will cost to rebuild her house. The money was enough to build only a shell of a house on her land. She had walls and a roof with shingles and had come to the end of the money. She was walking on nothing more than faith with the rest. While we were helping carry in sheetrock for her walls, the word came that somebody had found grant money that would pay for her plumbing. She takes each day on faith that God will provide the siding and electrical wiring and volunteers to install it.

There’s so much to tell. I will post this and continue writing. See you next Wednesday.

Back from Mississippi

Aren't you proud of me that I can spell Mississippi? What I'm most proud of is that now I know how much this state was damaged by the hurricane last year. It's a very overlooked fact.

But right now I still have the rental van to turn in and I won't tell you how long it's been since I washed my hair. Give me a day's grace and I'll have something more intelligible to say tomorrow morning.

We had a great time. Everything went well until the last three hours when Insterstate 20 stopped dead. It was one of those wrecks that involved a eighteen-wheeler, a tanker truck and a camper and a fire. We were sitting on the freeway long enough that people got out to walk their dogs and grab a smoke. We went to the other car in our caravan and traded off trail mix then Ila went to the car behind us and offered him some. Turned out he was chewing tobacco and had to decline. He did offer Ila some chew, which I thought was nice. Traffic jams are what you make them.

I'll be back tommorow. Watch this space.

The Sweet Potato Campout

Forgive me for being late today. I totally forgot it is Wednesday. We've been digging out from under having the youth from church come to our house for a campout. It was a blast for all of us. The kids came out to East Texas to glean the fields for sweet potatoes. They will take a portion of the sweet potatoes they gleaned to the Garland food pantry. The rest will go to the North Texas Food Bank. Betty Cordell, the event coordinator says you can feed more people and cheaper by gleaning than by any other method. The kids' labor is free and the sacks they put the potatoes in are donated.

It turned out that the field was fairly close to our place so we invited them to spend the day and night. We have a field across the creek that's perfect for camping. We put up a couple of tents and were in business.

I got out all the games and balls and the dart board. Beaven charged up the golf cart. They love the golf cart. Beaven bought it for his Daddy when George went into an assisted living campus and he had a long walk to get to the dining hall. Turns out everybody in places like this have them. After Geoge died years ago it came to stay with us. It's great for getting from one end of the place to another, especially if you're carrying something heavy. The kids love it because it's just about the next best thing to driving a car. And, riding in our fields there's nothing they can hurt and nothing to hurt them. They piled about six kids on the thing, some hanging off the edges. This wears the battery down so next time we'll have a "two at a time" rule.

We even had a campfire. Don't tell the Wood County fire dept. Yes, there's a burn ban. But it was a tame but very picturesque little campfire and I'm sure they didn't mean these kinds of fires were banned. We cleared off a spot and set out buckets of water. And the fire was just magnificent.....not too big but very flame-y and pretty. They roasted marshmallows and had S'Mores.

I had a team volunteer to bake sweet potato pies from what they gleaned. Last time they were here after the gleaning they fried sweet potatoes. I like to do something with what they spent their morning scratching around in the sand for. Kind of connects their work with it's purpose. The pie was delicious and I think everybody loved it.

The next morning they planned a worship service. As they planned and remembered back to confirmation class they kept remembering parts of a worship service. They asked if they could have communion and I had to remind them what they learned in class: that only ordained clergy could offer the sacrament because it was an important act of worship. Thus educated, we decided that they could have "something like communion" in the form of milk and cookies and the words "Remember how much Jesus loves you."

The weather was glorious and after everyone left it started raining and rained until the next day. Kind of like God was waiting just for us.

Beaven and I are leaving tomorrow morning for the gulf coast hurricane disaster area to help with some more houses. This time we're going to Mississippi. Most of the demolition is finished and the work will be either drywall or painting, depending on what the team ahead of us had finished. The camp manager told me New Orleans still has mud and mucking out to do. But the Presbyterian Disaster Assistance works mostly in other areas of the gulf. I'm not sure New Orleans has a recovery plan even now, a year later....

I may be a little late with next Wednesday's posting--we'll be just getting in from Mississippi. Right now I've got to go load the car.

The Odds and Ends of Life

Beaven and I may be either (1) watching too much TV or (2) becoming hearing impaired.

A couple of days ago he was sitting in front of the computer in the room where the TV sits. I walked passed him and noticed that Alton Brown was devoting a whole episode to okra. Now, that alone should tell you how empty our lives are. Nonetheless, I have to admit I got excited at a cooking show about okra. So I exclaimed with great excitement, “Hey, okra!” Beaven didn’t take his eyes off the computer but answered in exasperation, “Again?!! How many times a day is that woman on TV?”

I admit that our life out here in paradise is fairly calm. I’ve enjoyed our little rainy spell and had the windows open all day. But I’ve earned a little peace and quiet. After all, I was a Girl Scout leader for almost ten years. I have been promised one of the really cushy green velvet chairs in that special corner of heaven reserved for Girl Scout leaders who took third grade girls camping in the rain.

When Emily signed up her girls for Scouts last week I was glad. Glad that my time to sit back and just watch had come. Relieved that we didn’t have to waste another year’s money in dance classes. Proud to have my granddaughters become part of one of the best organizations a girl can join. And the whole family was especially happy to have an unlimited pipeline to cookies every spring.

Emily told me she went to an orientation meeting for Sarah’s troop. This troop is going to be led by one of the girls’ grandmother. That sounded pretty pedestrian--a little gray-haired lady teaching them how to tie a square knot. Then Emily explained the lady emailed her asking Emily to help out with the camping. Then, the punch-line: Emily mentioned the lady’s name was Micki Perry. Elizabeth and I both froze.

Could it be that the great Texas Red was back in action? So we asked Emily if this ‘grandmother’ had red hair.
“Yes.”
“Lucille Ball I love Lucy Red?”
“Yes, why?”

Somehow Emily had missed out on Day Camp when Texas Red was running the show.

Texas Red was almost a legend in Girl Scout circles in our neck of the woods. If I thought I got any extra respect for actually seeing the alligator in Alligator Pond, it was nothing compared to leading the singing at Day Camp every year. That’s when you get your name in neon around the Girl Scout crowd.

My favorite story of Micki was from my first primitive camping experience. Most of the details I can’t remember except there were about a jillion little girls running around in the wilderness while the radio was reporting thunderstorms and tornadoes in the area. They finally called all the troops to come in from their remote areas and into one of the buildings for shelter. I had an especially worried troop assistant paying close attention to the weather radio and driving me nuts. So I told Micki that Patti was worried about what the radio was reporting and asked what I should do. I will always remember her calm yet sterling advice:

“Tell Patti to turn the radio off.”

She also had the added notoriety of writing a couple of really torrid, trashy historical romance novels. Of all her achievements and leadership she brought to Girl Scouting in Garland the only thing about her my eldest daughter remembered was the bodice rippers.

I guess the last time I saw her was in the grocery store when her first book was about to be published. She told me she would have to come up with a “nom de plume” because nobody writes these books under their real names. I suggested she write under the name “Chastity Hotflash.”

But she didn’t use that name. This was no big disappointment to me. I can always use it myself someday.

Fernie Flamingo

Beaven and I took the grands to the Fair yesterday. Between our initial Corny Dogs and petting the kangaroo at the Children’s Barnyard I ran into Fannie Flamingo’s sister. Fernie has a Funnel Cake stand in the Creative Arts building. I had forgotten all about Fernie, even though Fannie has mentioned her to me several times. I think Fannie may be a little jealous of her because all Fannie will say is that Fernie “was always Great Grandmother Fannie’s favorite.” In fact, I think Great Grandmother Fannie gave Fernie the secret recipe for her famous Seven Seed Souffle just before she flew off to the big birdhouse in the sky.

Fernie has lived in Arkansas most of her adult life. She married a furniture maker and moved to the hills right out of high school. Sadly, her husband, Farnsworth, was taken from her in a tragic accident with a Delta floor-mounted industrial joiner- planner. One of his tail feathers got caught in the planner blade and all that was left of him was enough feathers to make a rather small pink pillow. Fernie still has that pillow and sleeps with it every night.

For the past ten years she has traveled all over the US with various state fairs selling her fabulous funnel cakes. Fernie is a fantastic cook. Her time spent at Great Granny Fannie’s side was well-spent.

I was so excited to see her that when I heard she was staying in a trailer on the grounds of the Fair I told her to come on over here and stay while she’s working at the Fair. Oh, she was so happy to get that invitation! I guess life on the road can wear thin.

She told me she would earn her keep by cooking for us. And, cook, she did. Indeed. Cooked a lot. Man, can that bird cook. She's cooked just about everything food item sold at the Fair, mostly the fried stuff. We've enjoyed Corny Dogs, French Fries and Tater Tornadoes as well as Onion Strings; we’ve had fajitas and tamales and cotton candy (she brought in an old machine from work) and candied apples. I've had Belgian Waffles for every meal.

I’m afraid that Fernie doesn’t do a very good job of cleaning up after herself. I have grease splattered all over my kitchen. Little mounds of flour dot my countertops with a dusting of powdered sugar on top of it all. Once the grease congeals I’m afraid it will be too far gone to scrap off the counters. The grandkids have been asking her to stay with us permanently after the fair closes. I’m just not sure our arteries can take it.

This will have to be short. Fernie has built a campfire outside in the back and took bags of chocolate, marshmallows and graham crackers. I think she's working up to S'Mores and a few choruses of Kum Ba Ya. I have to go stop her before they arrest her for violating the county burn ban.