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.

cypress and tupelo planting

Today! I got to! plant! trees!!

(7. tupelo)

Coalition to Restore Coastal Louisiana and Lake Pontchartrain Foundation were hosting a planting event, mainly for visitors from Environmental Defense Fund and similar organizations who were in Louisiana for a conference. I tagged along because it was open to the public (and because I like trees).

We planted in Big Mar, a wetlands area that is growing thanks to the Caernarvon Diversion, a freshwater diversion that is bringing new silt. The area has grown over the past 10-15 years. Planting trees speeds up the ecosystem restoration a little bit by anchoring the new land and expanding wildlife habitat.


View Larger Map 

I didn't take to many pictures of the actual work because I was too busy doing it, planting with another volunteer, Gertrude, a retiree who cheered on every baby tree as I dug each hole. Yes, she actually called them "baby trees". She also let me dig all of the holes while we cheered for the cypress and tupelo gum saplings together. We were obviously a perfect pair.


It was a beautiful day!


I went for my first air boat ride to get to the site!


I got to play in the mud!

All in all, the group planted 250 trees. Gertrude and I planted about 30 of them ourselves, setting up plastic shields on each one to protect them from nutria and other critters until they are a little more established (CRCL will return periodically to track the growth and success rates as well as to eventually remove the shields).

I like my work.

Presbyterian Women

This weekend is the Presbyterian Women's retreat at Feliciana Retreat Center. I've now been there three out of the nine weekends I've been in Louisiana. The theme was hymns. I love those. We kind of talked about me being involved with the music a little bit, but it turns out, I'm straight up leading it. All of it.

I do specialize in flying by the seat of my pants. Many thanks to my housemate Kalyn for lending me her guitar this weekend. While there aren't pictures, I assure you the ukulele also most definitely made an appearance.


Someone ELSE brought up Guide My Feet, so this happened:






I also found out, with approximately 24 hours' notice, that I would be leading a session on youth and music. So the flying by the seat of my pants went a step further. I managed to prepare a bunch of songs and explain how I routinely convince Jr. High kids to sing, and talk about how we're all technically children of God, so we can all share music. My presentation went something like this:

minus the Katie Brendler and the purple jumpsuit. The purple jumpsuit did not come to Louisiana.

We also enjoyed high tea! We even let a man join us (the retreat leader's husband).



Me, snarky? Never.



I'm actually pretty pleased with my hat, but I have no idea what to do with it now, as I don't generally attend tea parties.



Originally it was going to be my placement supervisor and two other women from Bayou Blue and I, but Kris is recovering from some major hip problems and couldn't handle the car ride. I drove her back from New Orleans, where she'd been stuck all week at a friend's house, unable to drive, and then took her car, a Prius, to Feliciana with the other two women. Driving a Prius is like driving a computer at first, but I wasn't disappointed to arrive 120 miles north having gotten about 50mpg. Here, Miss Jennie, Miss Vicky and I represent Bayou Blue.


 Pleasant weekend. The weather has been glorious-- but still most definitely not fall...

when I grow up...

"Vocation is where our greatest passion meets the world's greatest need."  - Frederick Buechner



I don't really remember any especially strong feelings as a child concerning what I wanted to be when I grew up. I remember my astronaut phase. I'm pretty sure I said teacher once or twice. At the end of high school, I wanted to go into film editing. In first grade, we had to draw pictures of what we wanted to be when we grew up, and I told the sixth graders who were helping us with the assignment that I wanted to work with animals but I didn't want to be a vet and have to put them to sleep when they got old, and some sixth grader told me to be an animal counselor. I don't know what the what that is, but I'm pretty sure I just drew a picture of me with some puppies and kittens and probably some toads.

I didn't declare Geography in college until I received a notice from the registrar's office letting me know the deadline to declare if I wanted to graduate in 2008 was at the end of the week. I didn't figure out what I think I want to do with that for an additional 3-5 years (you know, like last week or so, and I still have about seventeen thirty-seven fifty-one a million other ideas.).

This whole vocation thing has been a challenging journey, clearly backed up by years of not having any idea what in the world I should/ want to/ am best suited to/ am called to do.One of the most incredible things about being a YAV is this whole thing about vocational discernment, which seeks to answer basically all of those questions, at least to some degree.

It has been extremely powerful finding this intersection of my interests and my faith-- finding real and productive and meaningful ways to act out my beliefs. I have a whole congregation supporting me in doing so, as well as my actual boss, my site coordinator, who helps guide us through various readings and conversations about how to work on this faith stuff, what it means to live in New Orleans, and who on earth I am as a human being and as a part of this intentional community.

Despite the many challenges along the way, this is a very comfortable place to be situated. I cannot speak highly enough to being intentional about figuring it out (rather than waffling in frustration over not having figured it out, which was one of my many previous methods that didn't really accomplish much). Vocational discernment is treating me very well. I really like being intentional.




A little pep talk to back it all up (stop being boring, it's time to do something, I want to be on the road that leads to awesome, this is your/my/our time, etc.):




I think you should watch this if you haven't already. Heck, if you have, watch it again. It's great, except for the part when he quotes Journey, because I hate that song. But "What will be your Space Jam?" really speaks to me as a geography major.

Why are young adults leaving the church?

This is probably a reasonable time to remind you that I speak for myself, and not on behalf of YAV, PC(USA), or any of the other organizations I cooperate with. My deeply personal beliefs and opinions may or may not reflect theirs.

Born and raised Presbyterian Church (USA), I have come into the church on my own as an adult. It is absolutely the right fit for me. And please remember, whether you agree with me or not, our beliefs are equally precious (I say that as much for me as I say it for you, dear reader).

As a young person involved in The Church, I am asked pretty regularly why are young people are leaving The Church, do I think? I have all sorts of opinions on the subject, some from person experience of watching friends and family fall away from active involvement, some from things I've read (An Open Letter to the Church and Why millennials are leaving the church are two that have stuck with me), some from easy assumptions on why people might not be interested in a lecture on Sunday mornings with nothing going beyond the four walls it takes place in.

There's also this article about fact checking and the use of technology in faith, and this article called "Seven Ways Christians Blow It".

My take? I could talk about it all day, which is why I'm surprised that well over a week later I am still struggling to answer the seemingly simple, harmless, opposite question posed to me by a gentleman at the PEC conference: why have I stayed with The Church?

As one of my smart friends say when he's stalling, trying to think of a logical answer, "That's a great question!"

I'm presently that awkward age between young enough for youth group and old enough to have a baby to be baptized and send to youth group.

I stayed involved with various choirs because I am passionate for music and I loved the community despite the steep age gap, which went something like this: me, the choir director's wife (+2 years, and has since left because they have cute kids), the choir director himself (+what, 4 years?), and then I'm pretty sure his mother-in-law is the next oldest person, and it increases sharply from there (I'm sure I'm forgetting a soprano or something, but the average age is still most definitely retired). So while I love the opportunity to make a joyful noise, it is not a community that I spent time with because they are in the same stage in life.

I stayed involved with the youth group because I love those kids dearly, and I think it's important for youth to have people besides their parents cheering them on. Even this has been complicated, perhaps by my young appearance. On mission trips, I am rarely taken seriously as an adult outside of my own youth group, because once I put on paint pants and an old t-shirt, I look roughly 18 at best (while wearing grown up clothes brings me up to maybe 20 if I'm having a good hair day). And at church, where they all knew I had returned after graduating from college, I was asked if other adults would be chaperoning retreats with me. Yes, usually there were, but I was really bothered when one dad asked me once, "Is your mom going on this trip, too?" No. My mother hasn't been a youth group leader since the late 80s, when she was my age.

Have I been asked to take on other responsibilities? I was nominated to serve as a deacon once, when I was deep in the dark pit of writing my thesis. There was not time to serve on committees and finish grad school and sleep and eat real food once in a while and talk to people besides aforementioned youth. I've been asked to be a confirmation mentor, but not by any adults, by the again aforementioned youth I've spent so much time loving. I was sent on a mission trip to Malawi once. It was incredible and life-changing and important and beautiful, but I had to beg people to listen to my stories and include me in subsequent Malawi ministry related things, even though one of the deals of sending me in the first place was that I would report back afterward.

But this isn't really about my oh-so-complicated relationship with my ever-so-beloved home church.

You still with me? Thanks. I really, really appreciate it.

When I think about the ways that I along with other people roughly my age experience The Church, it has nothing to do with four walls and adopting dozens of choir grandparents and loving middle school jerks kids and fixing up houses around eastern North America and visiting farms in southern Africa. It has a lot to do with a lot of other things--

I like to be challenged in ways that involve a little work and a little support to be successful. Don't spoon feed me my faith. Make me think a little bit. Help me figure it out.

Trust me with stuff. I want to help. I have ideas. But my life is seventeen different kinds of topsy-turvy with half the work telling me I'm a slacker for not having a full time job. I had six W2s in 2012. I barely broke the poverty line while paying down student loans, commuting to at least two of those jobs, and volunteering to get experience in my field in hopes of someday actually getting one of these mystical full time jobs. So trust me with stuff, like I'm an adult, but find ways to include me without asking for a three year commitment.

Don't call me a youth. This has happened as recently as last week.


Somebody please figure out how to include me in fellowship with people who are roughly my age. I don't know the answer. I don't hate people who are married and have children, and I'd love to hang out with them, but I don't think we can automatically be grouped together without a little bit of intentionality. Having someone my parents' age organize it for us doesn't work, either. Young adult fellowship should not be an older version of playdates.

I don't require loud, contemporary music. Actually, I really like hymns a lot. I'm totally open to a good Smörgåsbord, but new praise songs won't automatically win my heart.

Neither will coffee, or brunch, or beer, but I will welcome those things as accessories to the experience.

Please stop it with the gay thing. I'm pretty sure we're just supposed to love each other. The Bible is full of great stories and good advice and guidance, but you can't tell me you believe it's infallible and perfect as you continue to wear polyester and eat shellfish. The Bible has a lot of other things to say about marriage that our culture doesn't like to adhere to. Humans wrote it. Humans are the worst. Humans are also complicated (and so is marriage!). Please don't tell them they're wrong or try to keep them separate or prevent them from being happy. If you don't like it, stay out of it. I don't think it really affects your life or marriage.

Encourage me to overlap my spiritual life with the rest of my life. Spiritual practices go well beyond sitting in a pew on Sundays. How was I unaware for this long that fellowship and hospitality, that teaching and studying can be spiritual practices?! Seriously. This occurred to me this year when it came up as a question in one of my YAV interviews. I fumbled my way through that answer.

Encourage me to build my spiritual life into a meaningful life, period. Vocation is a very powerful thing.



Do I add much to the general discussion about this stuff? Probably not, but this stuff isn't just words on pages (web pages or real pages). I am a real life young adult who really feels this way.

This has gotten totally long and out of hand. I'd love to talk about this more if you're interested. A lot of this has come up in my brain lately because I've been trying to weigh my values with my wedding plans as I'm currently scheduled to get married in the beautiful sanctuary of a church that I no longer agree with, as well as seemingly harmless but ultimately very convoluted questions posed by well-meaning gentlemen at great conferences. I would actually love to hear your opinion as Mike and I think on these things together.

I'm fairly confident in my faith and its many outlets (spiritual practices, now that I know what they are!), but I like to have an institutional outlet for it, too. I can't figure it out all on my own. I think it's really important for people to seek what is true to them. I'm just a young adult trying to figure it out for myself, too.

tough week.

Sometimes, the world is the worst.

This week, there was another school shooting. Part of me is glad that it wasn't all over the news, drawing more attention to the awful situation, sensationalizing and politicizing the tragedy and giving other people awful ideas. But part of me is also really, really sad, because we have so many incidents like this that it doesn't make for big news anymore.

This incident hit me particularly hard because this was a middle school in the district Mike had interviewed with when we traveled to Nevada together almost a year and a half ago. Cue the existential crisis and "what if"s, as well as the fear that this can really happen anywhere.

The other thing weighing heavily on me is news of a fatal two car accident in Mike's area, one car with a pair of adults and the other with a pair of teenagers (ages 14 and 17). The news hasn't reported anything about alcohol being involved, but the story around town that Mike heard is that the 14 year old was driving, drunk, an outlet she chose in response to her mother's boyfriend sexually abusing her and her mother not believing her. I'm hopeful it's just a rumor, but that story is not unrealistic at all, given the myriad social problems in his region. It's so sad to almost find thankfulness in that situation, that the child is at peace. What a shitty way to find peace.

The world is so messed up. Sometimes I get very overwhelmed by big problems, like southern Louisiana eroding away, or fracking, or pesticide use, or homelessness, or abuse, or hunger. But these two things this week, these things are just crushing my spirits. My problems are so small.

I am trying desperately to juxtapose these huge problems with the little things that make this a world I want to live in. Volunteering at Program of Hope with a few of my housemates this morning, watching Hannah and Alex interact with kindness, respect, and love with some of New Orleans' homeless community. Seeing Anna Leigh come home each day covered in all sorts of construction debris as she guides volunteers in rebuilding homes through Project Homecoming. Feeling Alyssa's enthusiasm as she helps recruit and provide hospitality for those volunteers after they've worked so hard restoring the community all day. Hearing all that Sydney is learning at her job with Jericho Road Housing Initiative and watching her help act that out in the community. Hearing about Kalyn's leadership  in supporting Habitat for Humanity at the Restore. Watching Jess face numerous challenges in her position at the community garden but never waver in her passion for food justice. Knowing that dozens more YAVs throughout the US and world are doing good work, too.

Finding out that Mike's girls' volleyball team won their final game of the season, and the excitement that followed despite the fact that it was only their second win overall. Learning he made a donation to the school district for one of those girls to play. Hearing that he's raised grades and test scores in that ever-challenging community.

Talking with other people who are excited to care for our earth at the conference and in my day to day work, and all of the people who have supported me and cheered me on in my work through letters, postcards, packages, emails, phone calls, hugs and high fives.

That's what I need to focus on right now, all of the little good things. Because there are always going to be terrible things happening in the world, but there will always, ALWAYS be more good things happening, whether it's reported on the news or not.

Presbyterians for Earth Care conference

Gah! I went into the Presbyterians for Earth Care conference anticipating a good opportunity to learn a little bit and connect with other Presbyterians who are interested in our planet's future. It turned out to be a great opportunity for conversation and company, and I left feeling a little more confident in my path. I think that assurance is crucial in my work, which occasionally borders on being life-crushingly depressing.

As I said, the company was great, especially this small cohort of younger women I found myself a part of. A small cohort of smart, gifted, passionate, fun women (there were no young adult men there). We had a "Roughly 40 and Under" gathering in the corner of the larger wine and cheese gathering one evening. One of the older members of PEC leaned over and said to me, "Promise me you're plotting a revolution, and us old folks will leave you alone." It made me laugh, but had some truth to it. It was good to have people my age to spend time with on a personal level, but it was also empowering on a professional level to connect with other people who are crossing conservation and faith.

It was frustrating to be referred to as "the youth" more than once, but I'll go on about that another time. (I know I look young, but I am an adult! And so what if I was 18? I still have good ideas!)

What I really enjoyed about the conference is that the session topics covered a pretty wide range of conservation-related issues, not just Plant trees! Don't pollute! Ride your bike! Go green! etc. That's why I feel so strongly about conservation-- it goes well beyond saving the earth. Environmental problems carry implications for health, food sovereignty, land loss, energy, politics and economies, and so much more. That's what I'm dealing with in southern Louisiana: it's not just that the land is eroding, it's that this puts people at risk for loss of livelihoods and cultures and food sources as well as health problems from interacting a little closely with the leftovers from the BP disaster (yes, that stuff is still here).

An interesting session that I took a lot of notes on was Environmental Justice Through Indigenous Eyes, with Dr. Dan Wildcat, a Yuchi member of the Muscogee Nation. Unfortunately it was via Skype, and the computer died, so part of it was via speaker phone, and I lost some of the discussion. What I did get was very centering for me as I consider other conservation issues and efforts. Some points:

• We live on a living planet. That in and of itself is deeply spiritual.
• The Iroquois in particular say something like, there are many persons living on the planet, humans are just some of those persons.
• "Natural resources" is a powerful term. To whom are they resources?
• Thinking of the environment not just as anthropocentric; think about things like the rocks being our elders! (They are a little bit older than us...)

And his powerful benediction, in which he charged us, "Give us the power to pay attention."

I'm trying my very best to pay attention!

I also attended sessions on advocacy (including one called "Eco Justice Advocacy: What Can We Do When Congress Isn't Doing Anything?, which was proposed a full year before this conference), fracking (which is seriously terrible stuff that I don't think we know enough about yet), food sovereignty, and community gardens. I had a chance to hike and plenty of good meals with good company. Our plenary speaker pointed out in one of his sessions that finding such a diverse group of experts at the grassroots level is uncommon. That really empowered me and was totally life-assuring. I feel like I'm doing the right thing right now.

fall in Arkansas

Last week, I travel to Arkansas. Not a new state, but a new part of the state for me. I was attending the Presbyterians for Earth Care conference at Ferncliff Camp and Conference Center and Little Rock, which required a drive through Mississippi, the northeastern corner of Louisiana, and the southeastern corner of Arkansas.


View Larger Map

I admit I dozed till we were out of LA... and most of the rest of the day... (we left at 6:30AM and I was easily up till at least 2 the night before)...

But I was awake for northeastern LA, as well as most of the ride home. It was interesting to see what just a few hours' drive north does to the landscape and climate. For one, it was FALL in Arkansas!



 (It was still pretty warm in southern Louisiana when we left.) Also, there were rocks there!



(Southern Louisiana doesn't really have those occurring naturally. I'll gladly give you the geography lesson if you're curious.)

It was interesting to see how quickly the landscape would transition from small, fairly nice, well kept homes to run down trailers and dilapidated shacks. It was even more interesting to think, the latter are homes nonetheless.

I was also fascinated to look at the map later and see the the boundaries of Louisiana and Mississippi don't entirely follow the river, but are caught behind some remnant oxbow lakes leftover from the earlier days of the Mississippi River's meandering (more geography lessons for later, if you'd like).

Wide open spaces and vast agricultural land occasionally gave way to small towns, including Lake Village, AR, which had a bustling Chinese food restaurant that we stopped in (Kris asked a question about including some extra fresh ginger and garlic, which the very Caucasian server was very caught off guard by, before letting us know that they didn't have any of that but could add some garlic powder) (and man that was the saltiest Chinese food I've ever had).


Always and adventure, and always leaves me wanting to explore more.

in loving memory

You can take a cemetery tour in New Orleans. No, you can take cemetery tours here. Seriously, Google that. The stone mausoleums create an interesting landscape as one drives around and through New Orleans, and really all of southern Louisiana. The ground is too low, too wet to bury anything. And while there are countless stories and second line parades to take in, I hadn't stepped foot inside of the beautiful wrought iron gates of a single one, until today.

In the midst of other errands today, I drove past the New Orleans Katrina Memorial on Canal Street. I'm not sure what compelled me to stop and go in, but I did. It was a small, quiet place that could easily blend in with the several other cemeteries surrounding it, the street car line that drives right past it, and the busy intersection just beyond it. There was plenty of parking right in front of the entrance. I was the only person there.

Today marked seven weeks since I arrived in Louisiana, and I have quickly learned that Katrina and every other hurricane in the last decade are immediate on people's minds. I remember meeting with Dave The State Climatologist shortly after Sandy to discuss the progress of my Geography of New Jersey course. He was to teach it the following semester, and we lamented how a lot of the course topics would become wrapped up in the storm. But it's true-- that kind of weather permeates every aspect of your world. I've said it many times, that Sandy was a very different storm than Katrina, but I think I have some appreciation of how that's a wound that won't heal for the people who went through it.

So I walked around.

This understated memorial is the final resting place of countless people who could not be identified after Katrina. That might be the part I struggled with most. In 2005 and after, we were actually incapable of identifying all of the victims. Despite all of the technology in studying DNA and dental records or even just stringing clues together about missing people... and there were still people unclaimed. Lost. Forgotten.

But here they lie. The memorial site was developed out of the old Charity Hospital cemetery, where other unidentified remains and remains donated to medical research were laid to rest. (Charity Hospital closed after Katrina due to the damages from the flooding.) The development was made possible by at least two dozen local funeral homes.


As I walked around the simple sidewalk in the small park, it was amazing how quiet it felt despite being right on a busy road in the middle of a busy city. I could hear a few birds singing. I could hear my slow footsteps. I'm sure I could hear the traffic just a few feet behind me, but I was totally absorbed in the memorial. There were a few wreaths on stands. This one was my favorite, with a fake bass and a fake duck--



Each of the five or so wreaths I saw were old, falling apart, dried up in the sun. I wondered how long they've been there-- I'm hopeful just since the most recent anniversary of Katrina in August, but who knows. The whole place was an interesting juxtaposition between highly maintained landscaping and barely remembered individuals.

Sugar, Sugar

We're harvesting, please drive carefully! As if the billboards weren't enough, I lost count after two dozen sugarcane trucks driving toward the plant in Raceland on my way to Thibodaux today. The streets are littered with cane debris, and the town has a very different smell than it did when I was there last week, now that the plant is firing at full capacity for the harvest season.

I returned to Thibodaux to explore a dry swamp with Billy Taylor, the retired sawyer (please note, Bill Taylor Boat Launch Road is named after his father, not him, he insisted).


View Larger Map

While he's not an expert in ecology, he has a lot of knowledge about the trees and how they grow, and it's a lot easier for me to learn this stuff walking around with someone explaining it rather than just sticking to the books (no matter how much I love my very well worn copy of Trees of North America: a field identification guide). I can now add elm and tupelo gum to my list. I get the sense that he also appreciates being taken seriously for his knowledge. At the end of today's adventure, he gave me a hug and said, "I never thought I'd be this fond of a yankee."

So since I'd already driven out to Thibodaux, I decided I'd explore a little. Billy concluded my tour with a drive through Laurel Valley, an old abandoned sugarcane plantation just outside of town. There were dozens of dilapidated cypress board buildings, beautiful as deserted places often are.







 It was very peaceful and quiet.

Driving back toward Thibodaux, I noticed a little museum affiliated with this old plantation. I was hoping to visit the local branch of Jean Lafitte National Park, but you might have heard the government is currently closed... (It's actually putting a cramp on my efforts here, as I can't access any NRCS resources online that I've been using, nor can I work with the employees to plan my next projects, nor can I use the national park as my classroom!). So I went to the museum, which had a lot of wonderful antique farm equipment as well as some livestock, including a litter of kittens that I miraculously managed to leave without kidnapping*.



But it's sugarcane season in southern Louisiana. I'm curious to see that progress after weeks of driving amongst fields full of tall canes. It will be interesting to see and hear about something other than seafood and oil for a little while.

*Instead, I give you an updated photos of sweet little Red, a cat that I did successfully kidnap as a kitten, who is doing very well with Mike out in Arizona. She even helps with the laundry!

Tropical Storm Karen

Ready!




I want to be clear: I am not being flippant. I know these storms are serious, especially in a place like Louisiana, where the effects are serious and the memories of Betsy, Katrina, Rita, Isaac are all very present and real every day. I just also wanted to be clear that the sensationalism of the Weather Channel is uncalled for, as Karen drifts eastward with slower winds than the average nor'easter.



We did a little bit of storm prep-- bought candles, filled the freezer with extra containers of water to freeze, to help insulate our food if we should lose power, filled extra jugs and bottles of water, stocked up on peanut butter, jelly, bread, and canned veggies. I was determined not to lose my head though. As my dad says about football players who make it to their end zone, "Act like you've been there before." Be cool.

I have been there before, twice in the past three years. First was Irene, who ruined what might have been the best day of my life, with Josh Ritter and Dispatch playing nearly back to back at a music festival on Governor's Island. That *!@#%.

I was at camp. Irene passed through overnight, knocking out the power well in advance of knocking down quite a few trees and flooding a few lower spots on site.



The skies were nearly clear when I woke up the next morning, and was promptly invited out to play football by the few international staff members who were still around for camp's post season.

 

We were without power for a week, with limited water, food and phone service. There wasn't much work we could do in the dark buildings, so we cleared fallen trees and tried to clean up the pool. It was an interesting way to bond, enjoying eclectic feasts together before everything went bad. All in all, could have been way worse.







Sandy was another story, exacerbated by a wicked nor'easter the following week. My family fared well in Toms River, being the only house for what seemed like forever with power. We welcomed quite a few people who didn't have power, as well as quite a few animals...



It was actually really hard to have electricity, and to see the mess on the news. We couldn't look away. And then I took care of the 11 year old daughter of some friends for a week, which was good because I was paying less attention to the news in favor of making sure she wasn't being traumatized by anything aside from trick-or-treating being cancelled nearly everywhere in the state. It was bad because it made me bottle up a lot of angst. But we made it through just fine. Jersey strong and whatnot.


I was still working part time at camp, which lost power for two weeks. I went to visit my friends there with the 11 year old, and borrow a couple of their kids to go explore some of the trees thrown by the storm (we did a soil lab together for my class!).







So here we are, sitting in New Orleans, which was a little bit breezier than usual today, but otherwise pretty unfazed. I try to be realistic about this stuff-- I hate the hype. But I'm also very thankful for the sake of the entire east and gulf coasts that it's been a pretty calm year for this stuff (knocking furiously on wood with less than a month to go in hurricane season).

Laissez les bon temps rouler!

Something tells me that if Grandma Day sees this, she'll tell me I'm playing with my hair too much, but it was a beautiful breezy morning down by the Mississippi River!

Mulungu ndi nabwino, nthawi zonse!

I love happy updates from Malawi.

The Maize Mill Miracle from Villages in Partnership on Vimeo.

Without a maize mill, women work from dawn till lunchtime, breaking their backs to grind the maize needed just for that day's meals. With a maize mill, this frees up hours of their day to go to school, to address other needs, and eliminates some of the cause of a lot of musculoskeletal problems.

My time in Malawi was so deeply moving, that I know I want a life of service. I'm getting more of an idea of what that means, especially as my current work is volunteer service, and I'm hoping for a career in service to my country.

In the meantime, I love love love hearing good news of progress in the Sakata area of Malawi.