The Great Inversion in the Sky

It was a fun adventure trying to explain to people what I was doing for the holidays. Wellll, going to New Jersey for a week, then to Salt Lake City, but flying into Las Vegas and driving up, but then to Bullhead City for New Year's, and then flying back to New Orleans on New Year's Day (which has since changed, but more on that another time)...

Mike came with me to Salt Lake City to celebrate the wedding of my dear sweet friend Hilary and her husband Patrick. I was honored to be a bridesmaid!



I'd only previously been to southern Utah to visit Bryce and Zion from a Las Vegassy direction (Mike too, since we went on that trip together). The drive up I-15 from Vegas to Salt Lake City involved a lot of mountains and eventually, snow. The long vistas got my head spinning a little, especially on the low sleep, high caffeine kind of way we were running through the holidays. But Mike and I took turns driving and made it the six hour drive through space and time safely.

Space and time? Oh yeah. We left Vegas at 6AM for our six hour drive. Except, I got time zones all wrong, which would be a continuing theme on this whole trip out west. Utah is on mountain time. Nevada is on Pacific time. Arizona is on whatever time it wants and that confuses me (Arizona does not observe Daylight Saving).


Salt Lake City and the Wasatch Mountains... through the seasonal smog

Anyway. Hilary and Patrick had a beautiful wedding and threw an awesome party afterward. It was so great to visit with Hilary and her husband and a few other college friends, and to dance the night away like a crazy lady.


classy people at the end of the night...


Great Salt Lake behind us, the sun in front of us...

Salt Lake City was pretty neat, but I was surprised by the smog. In winter, with the cold air at high elevation, pollution just kind of sits in the basin between the Wasatch and Oquirrh and other mountains, with warm air on top (atmospheric inversion! ask me about it sometime) holding it down. Still, lovely.


Great Salt Lake State Marina, Oquirrh Mountains

I'd like to see more of Utah. Good thing Hilary and Patrick live there. Congratulations, Lamberts! and yaaaay Utah!

the ocean

I always try to see the ocean when I'm home, just to make sure it's still there.



Jamie and I were going to meet up, potentially to record a Christmas greeting to our beloved Katie over in Chinook. I had suggested we meet up at the Sawmill in Seaside (a pizza place and bar) instead of going all the way down to Katie's neighborhood by Island Beach State Park, where we usually hang out.

I forgot what happened to Seaside this fall until I got over the bridge. Ugh.




The Sawmill, all melty and unsafe for occupancy but still standing thanks to some serious sprinklers

It was hard to go over there, but I'm still confident in the strength and resiliency of New Jersey. I'm glad I made it to see and feel and hear and smell the ocean for a few minutes before heading west. I may like to wander, but home is home.



Till next time, New Jersey.

tidings of comfort and joy

Some background music for you:



Church is so important and so personal for me. It's been a really fun and interesting few years of exploring many different churches, but the truth is: I came into this season with a heavy heart.

This year has been marked with a deep sense of loss after finding that I needed to move on from both the church I grew up in and my other church home, my camp. I'm grateful for many years of many good things from both beautiful places, but find myself heartbroken and feeling homeless.

That's not to say I don't love Bayou Blue-- I love my little rural church very much, for many reasons. I also love Louisiana and New Orleans and bayou land and wetlands and trees and grasses and mucky soils, but that doesn't quite make it home. You know?

So, speaking of home. I landed in Newark last Wednesday. I am so, so, so happy to be in New Jersey (you don't know how beautiful Newark Airport and Elizabeth Seaport look until you're feeling so far away from home on so many levels, although the fresh blanket of snow and the glorious view of the Manhattan skyline complete with Freedom Tower didn't hurt, either). This may come as a shock, but I've kept pretty busy. I had a long-overdue nerve block, and after a few hours of rest, a 245ish mile roadtrip on Friday, time with Mike's family on Saturday, and another trip up north Sunday into Monday to accomplish holiday baking and soil expedition.

Not going to church right now isn't really an option in my book. Not only are we strongly encouraged to attend worship regularly as employees of the church through YAV, but I'm at a place on my own journey that requires constant attention. My solution this past Sunday was to attend worship at the church I was baptized in up in Montclair. It worked out very well-- I was welcomed very warmly as soon as it was mentioned that I'm a Spain, and my great aunt was there. It was especially good to be with her, as it was the first anniversary of Uncle Fred's passing. We went to a Christmas hymn sing before church together, where the carol "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" stuck out at me because of the tidings of comfort and joy part.

What am I taking comfort in right now? I am blessed beyond measure. I have an awesome family and am marrying into one equally as great. I have incredible friends. I have work that I enjoy. I have amazing adventures to places I never imagined I'd see. I have good health, now greatly improved by that nerve block and getting off the high dose of pain medicine that has fogged my brain for the past seven months.

My brain might be clear of tramadol but is definitely bogged down by something else. Being a sort of gypsy is exciting and fun in many ways, but I do miss having a home. There are no easy answers with this stuff, and I didn't have a good solution for tonight, so I went to the church I grew up in. I was thankful that a few of my friends were attending the late service, which made it a little less painful to sit out of choir for the first time in at least 20 years. I stopped by the choir room to visit and say hello to old friends, who voted by cheering that I get a robe and join them, but I couldn't do it. I needed a little distance. Funny, how I'm feeling sad because I feel so far away, and yet I need some separation too.



I love the themes of Advent. Hope, Peace, Joy, Love. While I'm not feeling especially peaceful this Christmas, I am definitely grateful for the many ways that the others manifest themselves in my life. Reuniting with loved ones. Remembering my way all over NJ. Walking without limping. Soil expeditions. Planning another epic Christmas dinner (creole deep fried turkey being the centerpiece). Gearing up for more adventures-- Utah and Arizona in the next week, New Jersey again in February, and of course all over South Louisiana.

I have great hopes that all of these things will settle out in time. It's just a heavy weight to carry meanwhile.

Wishing you a very happy, hopeful, peaceful, joyful and loving Christmas.

sweet sixteen in Zimpel Manor

Today begins the sixteenth week of our household's complete existence, and my last week in New Orleans before the holidays. We're still getting the same questions about our household being a bad reality TV show or if we've all synched up yet, but we've come a long way.

Our first time all together, at orientation:


Our first meal all together, at Zimpel Manor:


And now? We received our first compliment in response to announcing we all live together, when we went out for wine and cheese a few weeks ago at St. James Cheese Company (where I clearly had a beer with my soft cheeses, thank you). The awesome woman behind the counter celebrated how joyful we were and how awesome our household must be.

She's not entirely wrong. We certainly have our fair share of bumps in the road (this is, after all, New Orleans, and if you've never driven here... I don't necessarily recommend it*). They are new every morning, with additional layers and nuances as time goes on and we discover more permutations of our quirks. However, for a household of eight people, we function reasonably well. I don't believe any of us are starving and we have yet to go over on our grocery budget. We rarely if ever need to wait for a shower or toilet. Even the thermostat wars are really more like peace rallies. We all pretty much point to the same night when we clicked as a domestic unit of sorts: the night Alyssa tried to be my wedding planner.

Since then, we've reached new levels of householdery. For one, we have received mail addressed to Zimpel Manor. Granted, it was from our boss, but who cares. Furthermore, we can now all pretty much identify whose clothes are sitting in the dryer. And speaking of clothes, this happened last week, on the same day, completely unplanned:



(photos courtesy Kalyn)

I mean, it was only a matter of time till Hot Dog Johnny's happened, but even Anna Leigh and Alyssa's shoes looked similar. We may not be totally in synch in the way that most people mean when they ask that question, but we're clearly on some shared wavelengths around here.

Happy Sweet Sixteen, Zimpel Manor, and many more!



*Fun fact: The roads in South Louisiana, especially New Orleans, are terrible. I've heard stories about this being related to the Federal government holding infrastructure money hostage until states raised the drinking age to 21, but whether that's true or not, subsidence, poor drainage and Live Oak roots sure do wreak havoc on the roads here.

out of the fog

It's hard to remember that it's December when it's still pretty consistently warm enough for t-shirts. I mean, it only just became fall, like yesterday, when a cold front dropped the temperature by 40 degrees and dropped about 1/4 of the cypress leaves:


At home, I usually have my Christmas concert to snap me out of November mode (I love Thanksgiving!), but the weather and the fact that my work has been quiet for the past week or so has really kept me in this foggy bubble with little regard for the upcoming holidays.

Then it was actually really foggy this morning out in bayou land. Visibility approximately 50 feet:


And this at 11:30 or so was a vast improvement over the conditions when I drove out to Bayou Blue before 8AM. 

I decided to combat this oblivious aloofness by listening to Christmas music all day. I'm not usually one for songs about Santa, but this one added a little boogie to my ride home from the bayou and a little Advent into my heart:



Wishing you and your loved ones peace and joy this Christmas season.

Audubon Aquarium of the Americas

I've been having one of those weeks when I don't have much to show for my work. On top of that, my new friend from the Episcopal service corps, Lindsey, had taken today off to come plant trees with me, which was cancelled on account of that neato cold front that swept across the continent today.



So even though I felt like a bum and didn't want to get dressed or leave the house, when Lindsey suggested we go to the aquarium, I agreed. For one, she's cool and generally has good ideas. Second, she found a great deal on Living Social: half price admission! And I knew I'd enjoy it once I got there.

I was right. That place is SWEET.


penguins!


parakeets!


sting rays!


nettles!

And lots of cool fish and an enormous albino gator and some cute otters and some other cool fish and sharks and stuff! I found this display rather curious--



I guess those oil companies can pat themselves on the back for funding a nice tank that shows how oil rigs can form interesting habitats for all sorts of creatures. They left out the part where the oil leaks kill wildlife or how the construction of said rigs destroys wildlife habitat in the first place, etc. etc.

I find it interesting how many oil companies are getting away with murder in the Gulf. Conservation groups and local residents are having trouble holding them accountable for the damages they have caused along the coast. The government doesn't want to hold them responsible, because oil brings so much money into the state... BUT at what cost, exactly?


But, stepping off my Wetlands Advocate soapbox, the aquarium was pretty cool. I can't remember the last time I went to one. Good change of pace in an otherwise pretty quiet week in my little world down here in South Louisiana.

28: Gonna. be. GREAT.

I was born 28 years ago yesterday. I spent most of the day on Grand Isle, monitoring vegetation with NRCS. (In other words, took a long walk down a beach on the Gulf of Mexico looking at trees and sometimes dune grasses.)


View Larger Map


NRCS and the local conservation district planted about 100 Sand Live Oaks along the island about a year ago. Quercus geminata was native, but has mostly disappeared from Louisiana. With some acorns from Mississippi, a plant expert grew a whole bunch of them. Over 90 of the trees have survived the first year.



I learned a new tree (8): rattlebox, called such for the dried up seed pods that dangle from the branches well after the leaves have left for the year--



Here are 27 things I did when I was 27, in no particular order:

1. Completed/ survived my first semester as an adjunct professor.
2. Completed/ survived my first full year without a nerve block since 2000.
3. Moved to Arizona for the winter.
   
4. Pet a baby burro.
   
5. Visited at least nine national parks.
6. Earned a free national parks pass for racking up over 250 volunteer hours with the federal government.
7. Dealt with my breakup with Peace Corps.
8. Discovered a deep and abiding love for soil.
   
   (here I was discovering a wolf spider with my shovel, and exploring the free soil pit bestowed upon me when my favorite tree in the woods at Johnsonburg fell)
9. Met Josh Ritter and Austin Nevins.
   
10. Said goodbye to Uncle Fred.
11. Said hello again to my cat, Red (short for Red Oak, the state tree of NJ).
    
12. Returned to a job that I loved, to support people that I love.
    
13. Ran my fifth Muddy Buddy.
    
14. Signed up to move to New Orleans.
15. Discovered an allergy to anxiety.
16. Traveled to five new states (UT, WV, KY, AL, LA).
17. Tried satsumas for the first time.
18. Rode on an airboat for the first time.
19. Helped plant about 850 trees and 5000 plugs of grass.
20. Didn't get my dream job.
21. Went on a mission trip to Rhode Island, serving as the musician.
22. Went to quite a few major and minor league baseball games for the first time in many years.
23. Acquired a new basil plant, which has traveled from VA to NJ to NY to LA successfully, and is still growing.
    
24. Learned that NJ has a volcanic cone.
25. Had my nails painted for the first time since I was in middle school.
    
26. Celebrated the marriages of Jon and Janet, Matt and Robyn, and Lauren and Andy; was asked to be a bridesmaid for Hilary and Patrick and Amanda and Mike.
27. Promised to marry an awesome human being.
    

I laughed! I cried! I saw new places and learned new things!

Turning 28 also marks a solid decade of vegetarianism.

I know very little about what 28 will bring aside from lots of things having to do with Louisiana's wetlands and getting married, but I'm feeling pretty good about it. In the wise words of my favorite Katie Brendler Katie Katie Brendler, "GONNA. BE. GREAT."

Ewe Thina

Ewe Thina. The audio is of the 2013-2014 YAVs singing at orientation! I love this song.

The third verse made me think of this picture I took in Malawi in 2010, so I laid it over the whole song.

The Sabi Star tree, also called Impala Lily, grows in eastern and southern Africa. It flowers in the winter, the coolest and driest part of the year. It blooms under the harshest conditions.




I've never especially liked the color pink, but this has been the background on my computer since I came home from Malawi. It's a good reminder to always try to bloom under adversity.

I thought it was an appropriate match to not only the song, but the group singing it.

success!

I don't write nearly often enough about my adventures as a NRCS Earth Team Volunteer. It's been a phenomenal experience, and I love love love it. It's pretty awesome that my position as a YAV allows me to keep volunteering with them, as part of my work but also in my free time when I can find it.

Today's adventure was especially poignant. The landscape we were investigating had such a great story to tell.


We (two NRCS employees, a Fish and Wildlife employee, and me) took an airboat out into Bayou Sauvage to monitor some vegetation, aka check on a few grass plantings that happened about three months ago. These are not plantings I did, but it's exciting to know that this is what some of my plantings might accomplish. But first, we look backwards--


Bayou Sauvage used to be a lot of cypress swamp. That cypress swamp in particular was heavily harvested to build New Orleans... two or more centuries ago. The stumps are still all over the place. Many have sunken, but the ground was a lot more solid at this particular stop, and there were stumps and knees sticking up everywhere. Even in an airboat, it was tough to get through here.


After many years of logging and then lots of other human activities (development of levees and canals that change hydrologic patterns, among other shady business... humans are the worst), this area became open water. Tons of erosion happened, and expanded out from there to create a lot of other islands and open water areas where there once was good healthy swampland.

Something humans have done to try to fix this problem is use recycled Christmas trees to help catch sediments, reduce erosion and rebuild marshes. It took some trial and error-- there were a few busted up old cribs nearby from a less successful iteration of the project, but now trees are bundled together and airlifted by helicopter. And it's working! The circles show piles of dead Christmas trees that were laid down in the water here. The arrow points to an area that you can't even see the old trees, because the grasses have taken over successfully after enough sediment built up to sustain the ecosystem.


And finally, back to the present. These grasses were planted about three months ago. Grasses are one of the first steps to protecting an area from erosion and building it back up, first into health marshes, which can later progress into healthy swamps*. Here, people planted bullrushes in particular, but I've been planting cord grass and there's this other horrific sounding thing called cut grass that sometimes gets used (called such because it has sharp edges and will cut you). They've taken like little champs, anchoring soil, helping catch more soil and expand the area, creating more habitat for migratory birds and a healthier ecosystem now and to come. It's so exciting to see the progress in such a short time, and to know that I have done this to places. There are places in southern Louisiana that will probably hopefully be just as successful in the coming months and years. That is really, really exciting to know.


Watch out world. I'm coming to conservation you. Just as soon as my hands get warm. It was surprisingly chilly for south Louisiana. Everyone was complaining but I was having a blast wearing a hoodie AND a windbreaker!


*Fun fact! The difference between marshes and swamps: marsh implies grassy wetlands, swamp implies forested wetlands.

faith and hope and satsumas

Today's sermon at Bayou Blue was basically, "Have hope, but get up off your you know what and do something."

I'm pretty good at getting off my butt most of the time. I've planted dozens of trees and hundreds of plugs of cord grass, sat in on countless meetings for countless organizations (which ok, involved sitting on my butt, but I had to get up to get there), hiked all over southern Louisiana to learn about this place, and in my spare time, do absurd things like the Color Run (even though my housemates and I walked the whole thing).

Last week was definitely a big exception. Aside from the literal difficulties of getting off my ass these days, there was also the great frustration of e v e r y  s i n g l e  p l a n  I'd made for work for the week falling through. All of them. Every day. On Thursday I went to Houma and Thibodaux to visit museums. On Friday I visited the branch of Jean Lafitte National Park in the French Quarter. I read a lot. I still fell short on hours (thank goodness I'd built up a good supply of surplus over the past few months, because I basically shot it all last week).

And what about life in general? There's the more figurative get off my butt and do something... like get a job. It's not that I haven't tried-- I've applied to literally over 175 positions in my field since graduating from college more than five years ago, most of which had multiple openings/locations. That doesn't include the countless jobs I applied to that don't involve my beloved geography degrees. That's so much rejection. The worst of it came a few weeks ago when I didn't get my ideal job at home in NJ. Even 300 volunteer hours, a personal recommendation, and a home field advantage can't help me.

Frustrating. But: have hope. Thankfully, I am doing something I enjoy right now, at least, when my plans don't all evaporate and I actually have things to do. And ultimately, this long string of not getting any jobs I've applied for except Target during the holiday season (ugh) lead me to said something I enjoy. Also thankfully: I never received the official rejection note, rather, a very kind and encouraging email from the wonderful soils mentor who let me dig all of those holes in the past year and got me correcting all of you when you call it "dirt". And, I suppose, I should be thankful that I didn't have to face any difficult decisions or hard goodbyes prematurely.

After church this morning, this sweet Cajun man was talking about shooting a possum that was destroying his satsuma tree (for those of you outside of southern Louisiana, satsumas are these wonderful clementine-like oranges, slightly more tart perhaps). I mentioned that my housemates and I love satsumas. So he drove home right then, and returned ten minutes later with a big bag FULL of them, fresh and ripe and sweet and wonderful. I may or may not have had about a half dozen of them today, and there are still several dozen left.

It's the little things that keep me motivated and remind me to remain hopeful. I'm still getting good experience in my field here, and I'm getting delicious citrus on top of it (you know, and the general support of a great community). I have no idea what's next for Mike and me, where we will be or what we will be doing, but I'm in a pretty safe position in the meantime. So I'll keep hoping, and I'll keep getting off my butt as best and as much as I can.

House.

My mom left this morning after a wonderful, whirlwind three day visit. We wandered around the French Quarter, took a trip out to New Orleans East to see Bayou Sauvage, tried on wedding dresses, ate lots of southern Louisiana food (including vegetarian jambalaya (!!!) for me and a lot of different seafood for her), and volunteered at Program of Hope.

We also thoroughly enjoyed the music and legacy of Professor Longhair. (!!!!!) I discovered his music in college-- better late than never. A friend put "Big Chief" on a mix for my birthday one year, and I have walked this earth nearly every day since with that piano riff stuck in my head.



Mom discovered his music on Thursday night when I took her to Fess Fest at Tipitina's, featuring Hugh Laurie and Joe Jackson and many other very, very talented individuals (including a group of high school students with some serious chops). Better later than neverer!


"There are at least 100 people in this room and 10,000 in this city who can do this better than me. Well, *!@# 'em. I got here first." -Hugh Laurie

Seriously, amazing concert. Every musician, every song was just awesome. It's a little disorienting at first to hear Hugh Laurie speak with his native English accent rather than his very well faked-for-TV New Jersey one, but he is a fantastic host and a talented musician. It was very clear to the room that for him, playing Fess's music at Tipitina's was a boyhood dream realized. I love seeing musicians who are just elated to be playing.

Something else cool about the concert: proceeds went to the Tipitina's Foundation, which supports the preservation of Louisiana's incredible music culture. They run a lot of education programs for youth, but they're also partnered with Project Homecoming, where three of my housemates work, to restore the house that Fess lived in, where his daughter and grandson were living until Katrina wrecked it. By this spring, they'll be back in the house, with some renovated space to live in, some renovated space to rent out and some renovated space to serve as a Fess museum. I'm really excited about that this will all be completed while I'm still in New Orleans to see it.

In the meantime, Mom and I decided to go see it as it is now, especially because my housemate Anna Leigh is one of the people working on the house, and could stop and give us a tour. It's coming along great, and they were able to save and refurbish some of the original pieces, including a few windows and the brickwork of the fireplaces. Touring everyone else's job placements the first day I was in New Orleans, I saw a big mantle and his front door sitting in storage over at the Project Homecoming headquarters, waiting to be fixed up and put back where they belong. Kind of cool.





It's exciting to see things being rebuilt. It's also really exciting to take part in it in some small way (so selfless, buying that ticket to hear Hugh Laurie play Professor Longhair's song. What a sacrifice.). (I'm hoping to go in with Anna Leigh sometime soon and lend a hand on one of my days off, too.) It's very cool to see the full circle of things.

This isn't from Tipitina's this week, but it'll do:

Zimpel Manor

Before the eight of us were all in New Orleans together, Alex, Kalyn, Jess, Alyssa, Hannah, Anna Leigh, Sydney and I got all sorts of ridiculous comments about being prime fodder for reality TV. Scratch that, we've lived together for two and a half months and we still get snarky questions and comments constantly-- "Are you all on the same cycle yet?" "Where are the video cameras?" "That must be awful!" etc. etc.

It hasn't been without challenges. Dirty dishes (and clean dishes that need putting away), laundry room traffic, trying to balance work with ridiculous You Tube videos when hanging out in the living room, miscellaneous tiffs over miscellaneous things... we are eight human beings with infinite quirks living in one house, after all.

It hasn't been awful though, honestly. We're slowly moving from strangers somewhat peacefully coexisting into an actual community. We'll still have our disagreements and frustrations as that develops, but overall, I think we're defying everyone's expectations of being an over-dramatic nuthouse.

Last night was a rare weekend evening that we were all home. Actually, it was my first Saturday night home after a month of weekend travels for conferences and retreats. Earlier in the evening, a few of us were sitting around as I begrudgingly scheduled an appointment to go wedding dress shopping with my mom while she visits later this week (the shopping is begrudging, visiting with my mom will be great!). Alyssa and Kalyn kindly offered to help me find the perfect dress, which really turned into a hunt for the worst dress ever:


We liked the see-through bodice and choker. (source)



More see-through corset action, with side train! (source)


The veil appears to have more fabric than the entire dress. This one was appropriately found on a website called UglyDress.com! (source)

The silliness continued to later in the evening. Because I had to wake up early to get to Bayou Blue, I attempted to say goodnight early. The whole house was hanging out in the living room, laughing about... everything.



I had actually gone out to say goodnight in effort to get them to quiet down a little, but I joined in the fun instead. Cuddle attacks and continued joking about awful wedding gowns and bachelorette party plans (at which point I threatened to secretly move out and hide down the bayou for the rest of the year) kept the laughter going.




I ended up forcing myself to go to bed, because despite the extra hour of sleep from the end of daylight saving, I knew I'd be exhausted today if I didn't. But I didn't mind the continued laughter. It was just fun in a quiet sort of way (as in calm and unassuming, most definitely not as in volume) to all be together and laugh about nothing in particular. No matter what reality show drama type expectations people have when they hear about our household, I drifted off to sleep with my ear plugs in, smiling about the strange but happy little community we're creating here in New Orleans.

Sandy/Katrina

One year ago today, I woke up to a New Jersey that had changed abruptly, drastically.


When I woke up today, I did not anticipate that my experiences in the past year post-Sandy would intertwine so intimately with my experiences today, visiting east Plaquemines Parish with a guest from Liberia (a man named Jefferson Knight, a self described "social worker fast turning environmentalist").

Jefferson is currently on a whirlwind US tour, discussing environmental issues-- degradation, conservation, justice, policy, especially pertaining to wetlands as well as the oil industry. He is hopeful that he will be able to take some lessons and connections home with him to help mitigate some of the problems that are likely to build up as his home country develops its new, major oil industry. As multinational corporations force people off their land, they are cutting down mangrove swamps along the coast and filling them in to build new housing. So, deforestation/wetlands destruction, and inevitable oil industry related pollution... plus climate change, plus miscellaneous other related human-environment issues... he's trying to learn from our mistakes.

Jefferson and I took an hour drive to the very peaceful, pretty southeastern edges of Louisiana, just a little bit beyond where I planted trees on Monday to visit with Zion Travelers Cooperative Center, a community development group on the east bank of Plaquemines (plack-mean) Parish (which I just learned means persimmon in French). We met with several pastors, a councilman and ZTCC's administrative assistant to talk about some of the efforts to mitigate the environmental problems. What was intended to be a conversation about wetlands and the oil industry eventually turned to the same topic that lurks in the background of every story in southern Louisiana: Katrina.

I still think it was an incredibly productive conversation for all parties. I learned a lot today, and Jefferson seemed satisfied with the visit. Rev. Tyronne, the executive director (and also the pastor of a Baptist church also called Zion Travelers) took us on a tour of the very southeastern parts of LA. The name Isaac came up a few times, but what was more amazing to me was how many places were still lying damaged and vacant since Katrina in 2005.







Being from New Jersey, living in Louisiana has been quite an adventure in seeing a community a few years past a hurricane with a now-retired name. While Sandy was a completely different storm than Katrina, it was devastating and the effects are still very noticeable. When our discussion turned to hurricane experiences, there was some discussion of how Sandy stole Isaac's thunder. Louisiana has had so many storms in the past eight years that they aren't really getting the same attention as say, the New York Metropolitan Area experiencing its first sizable hurricane (that had just diminished from hurricane status very shortly before making landfall in northern Atlantic County, NJ).

At the same time, Sandy's devastation and the following twelve months of constant discussion about flood mapping and insurance has helped southern Louisiana, these folks believe. Because of course concessions need to be made to manage such an important, densely populated region, even though people suffering from similar structural, economic, environmental and emotional damages in Louisiana were accused of being foolish for building in such an unsafe place (never mind that it was a safe place when they first settled here, with expansive wetlands to act as massive speed bumps to storms and never having seen a storm like Katrina before her). So because of the attention that NY-NJ are getting post-Sandy, perhaps some changes will be made that will benefit southern LA, too.

These people were not celebrating our devastation in NJ. In fact, they took time to mourn my home on this first anniversary of the storm. It's not fun to think about the politics involved in storm recovery when people are clearly suffering in very immediate and visible ways, but these connections are very real.


This boat has rested on this levee since Katrina because its owner cannot afford to get it moved. Imagine what that did to his work as a fisherman. This made me think of this in my hometown one year ago today--


(source)

I am constantly amazed at how southern Louisiana feels worlds apart from home in New Jersey, and yet in many ways, it's not really so different. I'm glad I kept busy with productive conversations about conservation today instead of dwelling on this first full year after Sandy.