Post Katrina:
The Coldest 70°: A Michigan Man’s Mission Trip to Post Katrina Mississippi
-By Stephen Aldrich, MT Contributing Editor -
Several emails, phone calls, one group interview, and two team meetings later, my team members and I were set to depart southward to Kiln, Mississippi. Kiln, a small town like many areas affected by Hurricane Katrina, had big problems needing to be addressed.
Four and a half of the eight days were spent working on properties of people whose lives were devastated as quickly as their material possessions were. The common theme where
we were housed in Kiln, Bayou Talla Fellowship, was, it’s not about the place, rather, “It’s about the people…”
Volunteers came from all over the country, including Pennsylvania, New Jersey, North Carolina, Virginia, Alabama, California, Washington, and of course Michigan. The work was completed through the ministry and servitude of Bayou Talla Fellowship and coordinated by Samaritan’s Purse, a sister organization to the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association.
The first day was delayed as our group from North Ridge Church, in Plymouth, Michigan was required to undergo a
routine orientation pertaining to the work and lives we’d come in contact with. However, the remaining days would consist of having breakfast, getting work orders clarified and sequenced, loading tools and equipment into our vehicles, then, heading to the work site, working until around dusk, then coming back to shower, have dinner, share our daily experiences and then rest up for the next day.
While three meals and early bed times may seem more like a vacation, as opposed to a serving others experience, it
was plainly the opposite, in that the ongoing work we’d perform would necessitate such measures to ensure our aptitude for continued work throughout the week. Also, bear in mind, there was no sleeping in. Each day started with breakfast at or around 6:30 a.m.
Volunteers were required to complete a variety of tasks from tearing out carpet, hauling back pieces of peoples roof tops from the middle of a field to stripping homes to clear the way for re-construction. You have to be ok with doing whatever’s asked, not what sounds like the best.
The fourth day of eight, was spent working at a man named Steve’s house. The description of the job was listed as a de-mudding, which is more descriptive of a hurricane ravaged site, shortly after the flooding, due to the complete water-logging of possessions, accompanied by a significant force of dirt or soil, turned mud. Steve’s house was propped off the ground by 11’ stilts, and in addition had canal-front property. In fact the area, in which he lived, was called the Bayou, which is a collection of interlocking canals, and was several miles from the coast.
Steve, middle aged and living alone, who was formerly a commercial fisherman, until the industry got hit with Katrina, is residing in a FEMA trailer, still on his property, until the site of his former house is given its final demolition, then, re-constructed.
Steve’s house had been hit with over 30’ of water and had a small boat pierce through the side of it -- what's left is lifeless appeal. The task was great, but again, our God was bigger. Along with several members from The North Ridge team, we were afforded the invaluable support of a North Carolina team. We would spend two days at this site. The first day, Steve, the owner, was home. To show his appreciation that day, Steve prepared for us some local blue-plate specials, including fried catfish, rolls, and shrimp and sausage jumbo. The food was enough to make want to stay!
The site was classified as a de-mudding, however, it was more like a de-dirting, due to virtually endless traces of dirt embedded belongings and objects. Whether found in closets, washing machines, or underneath the wall panels and in the insulation beneath, there was dirt, dirt, and more dirt.
By the time we were done, most of the man’s appliances, clothes, and related belongings were lying on the side of the road, ready for trash pick up. The house itself was still propped on top of the stilts, yet had no walls or objects within. Instead, it simply was an area with four corners and a roof. The new look of it resembled an empty group picnic area. In spite of the distraught view of Steve’s home, we were able to do more than bring tools and clear waste. We were able to bring the love of Jesus and His family, to a man who knew neither, clearing imprisonment
of fear and replacing it with hope.
Over the course of the week, we’d be hauling, gutting, and chipping (brush). While there was no external reward
involved, the best way to describe it is as a humble privilege. More than rebuilding properties, we were re-building lives, and hope for them. It was about the people…
As mentioned, some of the volunteers, including myself choose to enter our daily experiences into a journal, so as to later better recollect our senses; what and who we heard, touched, and saw. The following are bits and pieces, excerpts, and moments from what we sensed.
On the second day, coming from Nashville to Kiln, the wide and far spread
devastation Hurricane Katrina had on the deep south was rapidly becoming clearer and clearer. The first indication was spotted around 90 miles out from the coast, where while traveling down the highway we could see fully mature trees snapped in half. This was not just a patch, but instead a trend that extended for miles and miles on end. Imagine sixty-plus feet tall trees bent over themselves. Unbelievable? No. This preliminary scene was easy to see and believe. The hard part was registering how. Then, it quickly began to dawn on me…the damage seen on national news stations couldn’t possibly support the true depth of what was and now is.
That same day, we arrived at our destination with about an hour left of sunlight. We decided to drive to the coast to survey the front lines of damage.
“Bare…” My first thoughts of what was before my eyes this site, this land, this former home and community are now, “Bare…” That night, I wrote in my journal, “It looked as if there was a tree plantation, which, without invitation, had random piles of ruble, moreover, peoples lives, dumped and scattered between and on them.” I went on to write, the trees that still stood afterwards appeared as if they were, “Accidental Christmas Trees, laced with indiscriminate debris.” It was the coldest 70° day I’d ever felt.
Two days later, myself and several other men took another trip back to the coast, this time to Bay St. Louis, Mississippi. Of this trip and the one before, the images which most assuredly had lodged a place in my memory were, (in no particular order), the 12’ staircase, still erected, with no home or structure affixed to it, or the two people reclined in lawn chairs hanging out on the trash scattered beach, staring into the sunset, or the American flags boldly waiving in the air, while attached to a cable or a make-shift flag pole, or the tractor that seemed to be a
door stop for a massive palm tree, or the sign degrading an insurance company. Having become familiar with the people and some of the area’s upcoming plans for a few days, perhaps, the image that took first place was the hand painted plywood sign, stating, “Katrina was big, but our God is bigger.” Amongst, the ever-present visual display of destruction, there too was a constant stimulus of and for construction
-- that stimulus was hope.
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