Delayed posting from September 14

Things are shaping up at the Aid Centre. By noon I was put fully in charge
and it was an extremely hectic day. Stuff was arriving as word of the
plight of Pearlington spread and trucks had to be unloaded, things sorted
and some items even protected. My job is to coordinate all this, as well
as all of the people coming in every day to have their basic needs met. It
is generally "slightly-organized-chaos" and at one point I had to put a
Sheriff's Deputy in charge of holding back the residents whenever a truck
arrived, to give us time to see what we had and where we were going to put
it.

Some aid was extra precious - tents, lanterns, gloves, boots, as well as
underwear and socks. These I cordoned off behind Police tape, to ensure
that they were distributed evenly and to the families most in need -
which, of course, I had to adjudicate on the spot. The residents are
mostly pleasant, even though most of them have just the clothes on their
backs. Children are starting to return to their families and one little
girl made a point of telling me that "my house broke."

The stories are coming too now. The cars on the highways were parked
there, to keep them safe. Pearlington is three miles from the Gulf, but a
15-foot surge came inland an unprecedented 4.5 miles. Everything was
submerged in a toxic stew of sea water, sewage and mud. Nothing is
salvageable. I was told stories of folks climbing higher and higher in
their homes, until they were forced to climb pecan and oak trees to escape
the flood. Many were there for five or six hours, until the water receded.
Many are being treated now for serious chafe wounds on the insides of
their thighs, where they had to shimmer quickly to safety, sometimes
pushing their children ahead of them.

Some cry as they tell me. One man teared up behind his sunglasses, as he
explained over and over to me that he'd been quite self-sufficient before
Katrina. He HAD a generator and a chain saw - brand new - now he had
nothing. It's a hard thing for a Mississippi man to be unable to provide
for his wife and babies. I filled his arms with the things I had, rubbed
his shoulder and watched him leave. I went and cried myself then, alone in
the portable toilet. They have to be so strong for a while yet and now is
not the time for them to fall apart. That will come later and I hope I can
come back and help..

A few are clearly despondent, moving already into that phase of the grief
cycle. Anger is coming and already I have had to carry some of it on my
own broad shoulders because I had no generator to give them, no word of
their future, no mops or shovels to muck out the mud. Most are being stoic
and I tell them that Canada is sending them love. They cry with me, then
move along to fill their boxes with canned stew or rice.

Wonderful people from all over the country show up at our doors. Most
bring worthwhile things and take my list to go back for more. One small
Florida church collected $300,000.00 after they were mentioned on national
TV. Suddenly three housewives were in the relief business and doing a
remarkable job. They promise to return tomorrow with what we need. I
believe them. Occasionally we get a box of junk from someone's basement. We shake our heads and throw the dirty clothes or useless trinkets in the
trash pile. What were they thinking? Occasionally, we get one of those
kind that demand to know when and who will send them a letter of
gratitude. I take their names, smile and thank them. After they leave with
their chests puffed out, that piece of paper goes in the trash pile as
well. This is unconditional or nuthin'. Young "Nibletts" from Talahassee
chats me up for as long as I'll let her, which isn't long, with judgements
about "those people" and how much they smell. I hand her a box and tell
her to put it in the back. We never see her again.

Men are going door to door in their trucks, bringing aid to those who
can't get out to the Centre. We find the old and infirm, young Moms with
babies and hurt people. Nothing is too hard for this team. We even build a
man a bed for his crippled legs, out of wood that used to be his
neighbour's house. I hide tents for the old and for groups of families
huddling together to survive. The Sally Ann and others feed everyone
wonderful hot meals and we call each other by where we're from. William
the state trooper is called Florida; my colleagues at the Centre: Steven
(Chain Saw Man), Anastasia, their two teenage sons and family friend Anita are the Okies from
Oklahoma, while I am "Canada Jon." Residents now know our names and we
know theirs. Smelly hugs abound and I'm afraid I'm starting to drawl and
call people "Hon", "Sugar" and "Baby". It must be the incredible heat;
over 98 degrees outside today. Fifteen degrees hotter inside.

I feel like I live here, helping my neighbours; my life, my bed, my shower
all but forgotten. But not my Marian Rose. She is my life and I stand in a
rare quiet moment to consider how WE would fare, if our beautiful home
were suddenly drowned and destroyed. As long as we had each other, we
would survive, I think. In the end that's all we ever really have: each
other. When they thank me for helping them, I only say that I'm sure they
would do the same for us. And they would. If you want to know if North
Americans are hard working and generous, just have a crisis and you'll
find out soon enough.

Tonight I have been invited to camp with the Okies at a mobile RV park
they found. Steven and the boys cleared the fallen trees enough to pitch
our tents and the company will be a welcome thing for me. It's the third
day without a shower and it's so hot at night I get maybe three hours real
sleep. The mosquito problem is growing in the wake of all this muck and
carnage, but we liberate some bug spray and off we go.

More tomorrow..sleep safely and well. Hug your loved ones closely. Don't
waste food and do something nice for a neighbour. We're all in this
together.