Taking Chances with the Weather

Mississippi has gone full tilt into casinos. That should provide jobs, even if many positions are minimum wage. There are 11 casinos in the Gulfport-Biloxi area alone, according to one pamphlet.
"We're going to Gulfport today," said Andy. "That's a town that was annihilated by Hurricane Katrina." Route #84 carried no traffic early Sunday morning; only an occasional crow pecked away at an opossum carcass. "This is probably as good a day as we will get weather wise." A few drops spattered the windshield and heavy grey clouds threatened more to come.
In Waveland, Mississippi, on the Gulf of Mexico, we had the oil changed at a Walmart Super Center.
"We were operating out of a tent after Katrina," said a Walmart clerk. She and I talked about all the snow up north. "When we get even an inch of snow, everything closes," she said. "It just grinds to a halt. The last time we had snow, well, let's see, I guess that was right before Katrina."
Here, time is measured by the Hurricane--before or after Katrina. It was understandable.
We drove through Pass Christian on the water. Lot after lot was empty, vacant, devoid of the gorgeous homes and of debris remnants, as well. "They cleared it all up," said Andy. For Sale signs on the outskirts of town suggested some people chose to take insurance money and leave, or maybe some who left before the storm just didn't return. Lots of new high-rise complexes lined Route #90. "I think the tidal surge was 22 feet," said Andy. "Those new buildings would still flood. Most are raised ten feet, and the lots are probably six or eight feet above sea level, but look how many are still for sale." From the looks of the balconies and overhangs, many high-rise apartment units were empty.
The white sand beach of Pass Christian and Long Beach and Gulfport ribboned along the grey water. "The beach looks wonderful, considering the oil spill," said Andy. Patches of new sea grass on raised sand mounds dotted the shore. For miles, the beach stretched in silence. Not a soul walked the sand on this overcast winter day, even though pansies bloomed in the median and palm trees swayed gently by the roadside.
A white egret hunted for dinner at low tide in the murky waters of Davis Bayou at Gulf Islands National Seashore. It tipped its head to listen, stepped forward, one long leg and then the other, and with a quick thrust of beak in water, speared a tiny fish. At an alligator pond near Starks Bayou, a turtle rested precariously on a fallen log. We walked three short trails, avoiding a few raindrops, shooing away no-see-ums that circled our heads, watching for alligators.
"It's warm enough," said an elderly gentleman from Atlanta, as we chatted on the boardwalk. "It's 61 degrees, but alligators like the sun, and they won't get any of that today."
We read a nature display nearby. "Andy, look," I got his attention. "This area was under 15-20 feet of water when Katrina struck on August 29, 2005." The display explained that nature heals herself. "In the bayou the rise and fall of daily tides bring nutrients to and from the salt marsh, making it one of the most productive natural environments on earth." I read the interpretive trail guide. "It would seem man needs to take some lessons from nature," I said. "We destroyed so much with all our thoughtless building, and nature knows how to heal herself."
We drove along the shore in Biloxi. "The casinos are back," said Andy, "but many of the homes have not been rebuilt." Lot after lot was vacant with For Sale and For Lease signs everywhere.
"The difference is that Mississippi politicians got money to clear the debris immediately," said Andy. "At least the clearing is giving things a chance to grow again. In New Orleans, there are still whole neighborhoods left in ruin. And there are so many more plots of land available than the current market can bear."
"But maybe they'll get it right this time," I suggested. "Maybe they'll create more stringent building codes and build away from the sand beach like they have in Gulfport and create parks closer to the water as buffers like they did in Biloxi. It's no wonder people are impatient," I said. "In five and a half years the bayou has healed, but so much more has not."