Thoughts not assigned to a particular day – Andy Silton

Roughly a year ago, Maggie and I participated in the first trip to the Mississippi coast. We have vivid memories of the first moments when we reached the Gulf of Mexico at Gulfport and saw the extent of the damage. We were shocked, despite having viewed endless hours of news coverage. On our first day on this trip we traveled along the same roads. There are signs of progress and hope. Last year’s empty beaches are filled with sunbathers and swimmers. St. Peter’s by the Sea, which had been a shell of structural steel is encased in construction scaffolding. There are undoubtedly more repaired houses and restored businesses. Casinos and luxury condominiums have sprouted along U.S. 90.

While there has been progress, much remains the same. The drab green tent village at Pass Christian is still active, and weeds are growing through the cracks on hundreds of cement slabs. FEMA trailers occupy countless lots in Biloxi. In front of many abandoned homes For Sale signs serve as tombstones for properties abandoned their owners. The span between Bay St. Louis and Pass Christian has been reconnected, but during our visit, Katrina claimed two more victims when construction workers fell from one of the spans.

As we drove away from the beach, whether at Bay St. Louis or Ocean Springs, we realized how vulnerable the Gulf coast is to another storm. The dunes have not been replenished, and a mere tropical storm would probably inflict a great deal of pain on Mississippi’s residents. After almost two years much has been accomplished, much remains undone and sadly much is not even started. There is hope, but it is fragile.

Within the fragile environment, Camp Victor is a source of strength. John, the house manager still presides over the facility, but his rule is more relaxed. The facility has weathered the assault of year’s worth of volunteers remarkably well. After a long day of work, it is truly a blessing to return to a place where the showers run hot, the bathrooms are clean, and the bunk beds are comfortable. Camp Victor is simply a great refuge because the staff and volunteers spend long hours sweeping the sawdust and dirt tracked in by my boots, and preparing the meals which I inhaled in the evening. The t-shirts swaying from the rafters of Camp Victor are, in my view, far more impressive than the banners hanging from Cameron Indoor Stadium or the Smith Center. Those shirts are a constant reminder of how many people have devoted their time and effort to the mission of recovery.

The house we worked on is not in the heart of Biloxi where virtually every house was damaged. It is not on low ground or close to any body of water. It is just some random house, east of Pascagula, where Katrina destroyed the roof. While the homeowner Kenyatta went off at work, her relatives let in a small crew of St Philipians, who proceeded to make holes in the walls and ceilings, and stir up great clouds of dust. Her faith in us is apparently far greater than our skill. Luckily Rebecca channeled our zeal and kept us focused on the mission.

Unquestionably, we worked hard and left the house a bit stronger, and more pleasing to the eye. However our efforts (Jackie and Virginia’s endless hours in the kitchen, Chris painstakingly daubing of the ceiling to create texture, Maggie scraping tape and mold from the window, Sue’s precise measurements and sawing and Randy’s carpentry wizardry under the eaves) paled in comparison to Ernestine’s dedication. Ernestine, Kenyatta’s sister was visiting from Panama City with a small army of children, when we showed up to make repairs. Our week’s work in southern Mississippi turns out to be a rather small act of devotion. Ernestine has devoted herself to being a foster parent to developmentally disabled children. Having raised her own children, Ernestine could have decided just to enjoy being a grandmother, but instead she cares for children with profound problems, and she has taught her grandchildren to treat her foster children with love and respect. I went to Mississippi to do a little bit of good, and received much more from Ernestine and her family than I gave.

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