:: POSTCARDS. of a different sort ::

K A T R I N A' S .. . W R A T H

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Introduction

Washington/LaFontaine ... Front Beach/Harbor Rd ... Shearwater/Gen. Pershing/Calhoun

Ocean Ave/Jackson ... 90 Bridge/Front Beach-West of Washington

Journal <1> <2> <3>... Art from Katrina

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A Visit to "Hidden Treasure" – the house on Front Beach

Journal - Sun. Nov. 6, 2005 7 a.m.

Morning walk – a portrait of loss...

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Nov. 2004........... .................................Nov. 2005

Upon coming back to this place that I fell in love with in Nov. 2004 ... I had to get up close.

Looking to the homeplace from the beach.

In the Live Oaks, the Spanish moss was, for the most part, non-existant. Leaves were missing and the trees actually
looked sad but they remained standing after suffering unimaginable stresses.

From a distance, you cannot grasp the loss and destruction in the same way you can when you're actually walking
within the loss and upon the destruction. Needless to say, in the case of Katrina's wrath, a picture is not necessarily
worth a thousand words. Nor is it able to speak a thousand words... so I write this journal along with some close-ups...

As I walked across the road and up into the yard, I felt a deep reverence and a strange sensation of intrusion, but I continused slowly with my head down and prayed the owners would understand my deep concern and my sense of commitment to this place. I still don't understand my own feelings about it, or my sense of emotional attachment to it.

Immediately, I saw that sand from the ocean and the beach was imbedded in the once beautiful rich green carpet of
St. Augustine grass which was now brown.

A piece of metal folding chair was lying next to part of a broken mirror. There were broken mirror pieces all around, and it was old mirror, very thick. What had it reflected before in its long life?
How many faces and in what room did it hang? Perhaps it was over a fireplace somewhere, now its last remaining life attempts only to reflect the sky and clouds above.

"Stephenson Brick" along with seashells, glass, and paper.
There were also a lot of zip-lock bags scattered around in the yard. It all seemed very strange and surreal.

Unbroken plate among debris.

Broken Christmas plate and a sliver of some unknown piece of china.

Sidewalk from driveway to front porch. Signs of life renewing
itself around the former entrance ... plants and grasses making their presence known. They seemed to shouting softly, "Katrina cannot keep us down." I am reminded of my favorite movie, "Dead Poet's Society," and the scene in the entrance area of the school where Robin Williams has his students gathered. He tells them to lean in, look at the pictures of the
former students, listen, listen, and you can hear them saying softly, "Carpe Diem...carpe diem..."
I wonder if whoever lived here will be able to rebuild and live here again.

View of East side of the home, now a pile of lumber, bricks, and household elements.
Roll over this image to see a closer view.

What remained of the driveway was covered in a chaotic pile of lumber and other building materials. I stood there in disbelief and stared around and wondered how this could happen. As I turned around to walk back down the drive and into the yard again, I saw a child's red teddy bear lying on it's side, left behind by Katrina and perhaps washed from who knows where.

Roll over to see a close-up of "Teddy." How far was his journey which now had him lying among broken concrete, rocks, lichens, steel, dry leaves, sand, and shells?

A small grouping of mortered bricks, white tiles, and half of a blue bowl.
The St. Augustine was turning green again and I know the coast will too.

A broken blue metal picture frame was lying on top of the mortered side of some bricks with what appeared to be Hostas sprouting up through the dried grasses and sand. What picture had it held before Katrina? A child's, a lover's? And from how far had it come?

A concrete leg for a garden bench was lying in sand and dry leaves like some great architectural element
which was missing it's counterparts. Washed up with Katrina's surge on Front Beach, reportedly at 30 feet,
the bench leg was now without it's former garden location and it's former usefulness.

Decorative iron lies among all manner of debris including an unbroken vase and an entwined chandelier – visible below...

Roll over to see a close-up.

Looking down the drive toward Front Beach.

Before I walked up here this morning, I spoke briefly with a man sitting in the red truck. He was reading a newspaper.

I asked him how he was making it. He said he came to the beach to get away from where he lived.

Ironic, you might think, with all of the apparent destruction right here, but even with all of the destruction,

the distant ocean views and the sound of the waves and the few remaining sea gulls offered a kind of hope and perspective.

Just to the right of the driveway above, the house was only a pile of rubble with porch columns broken and lying around.

Looking south – view of the beach from what used to be the front steps and porch area.

On the south west portion of the front yard the effects of Katrina's surge left a huge washed out area.

In memory of this home and in honor and those who lived there.

<1> - morning at Oakshade

<3> - last day in OS

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© 2002 - 2006 --G a r a-- G i l l e n t i n e / s a r a b l u e s k y