Tonight I joined a small mold removal expedition. A small house that the architecture students are renovating (to be volunteer housing for two years, and a rental unit thereafter), had a section in the southwest corner ceiling joists that needed attention. It was about a 8' by 12' section. I volunteered to help one of the other architecture students, as well as the leader of the Mold crews and another volunteer who has done mold jobs in the past. We arrived at the house around 8:30, and donned tyvec suits, respirators, goggles and gloves. We each assigned ourselves a joist, climbed ladders, and began scraping. Scraping is step one of a four step process. We used a medium-sized stiff bristle brush, as well as a toothbrush size, for more detailed scraping (such as knots in the wood). I was slow from the start, a little overwhelmed by doing such work for the first time. Also my goggles kept fogging up, and it's hard to work at night with only one floor lamp (plenty bright, but harsh shadows). After scraping, we took a break to let the dust settle. We sat out on the crumbling front porch. It was a nice night...not too cold or too warm. The concrete steps are also crumbling. I now understand why I'm told not to live in East Biloxi: random lone men periodically wandered by, and a few teenagers who's suspect smoke drifted strongly in our direction. We got back to work: the guy vacuumed the floor, while the three of us wiped down the beams with a 48-hour mold preventative solution. Tomorrow morning they will come back and paint the beams with "Killz," a latex paint sealant. So that's three steps....there must be a fourth that I'm forgetting. Anyway, it was much harder work than I thought: I like detail work, and have the patience for it, but I felt a bit rushed, and wasn't sure how thorough I should have been scraping. Some of the mold was clearly visible--the kind of mold everyone's used to seeing--but I'm sure I missed some that I didn't know to look for. Anyway, I hope to go back out on a mold crew one Saturday, and work on a bigger job. If you work three days on mold, they give you a bracelet.

The house will be great when the students are finished. It's pretty small, as I said, but right now it feels big because it's so open. It was a nice night, but happened too fast...every day I experience something new, and I get exhausted just trying to take it all in, much less perform the work well. Hopefully I will get better at it as time goes on.....

Sunday I rose early to make the first trip to Bay St. Louis to St. Rose de Lima church. I started to write about this in an earlier post, and thought I would be able to write more, but it was really an experience unlike anything I've ever had, so I don't know that I can write much more about it. I plan to continue attending the mass every week, so perhaps after a while it will settle in and I'll understand it better. But anyone who can should come down here and go just once.

The rest of the day I was aimless. Maybe in a bit of a daze after the experience. I couldn't really get off Base, so I hung around and witnessed the arch students hard at work, and wished I had work to do too. I ended up spending a few hours cleaning the kitchen because people had come in to make ad-hoc lunches, ate them, and then left. During that time a few passed through the kitchen, and I was too shy to say hi. I was still unsure of everyone and everything here--how many people actually lived here? For how long? Who was friends with who and why? Washing the dishes was satisfying because it took my mind off of these questions for awhile. I made a few phone calls, and then went for a run. I was told about a good run up to the Back Bay. I ran across the street, past the post office, a straight shot down the road, interrupted by a flashing red stoplight intersection. I turned right, as I was advised, and ran past a few houses with small yards and dogs that ran back and barked at me. Further down, what looked like a creek opened up on the left, but I soon realized it was a bayou. Three teenage boys were fishing on its banks, and one of them called from his truck to another, "Do you have any money?" A joke and banter ensued, but I can't remember what it was. (I can never remember jokes, so I can't ever tell them. My brother picks up my slack). On the right a fence ran with me. A gravel road appeared on the right, and I turned onto it, happy to get off the asphalt. I ran on the gravel as it wrapped around a fenced in baseball field, with a sign on it declaring that it was the property of the U.S. military. The scoreboard seemed sad. The road now curved downhill and a small lake (manmade?) appeared, with a few picnic tables scattered on its banks, under tall trees. A couple picnicked. The road became paved again, and I took a left and ran past multiple tennis courts, and uphill. The trees became dense, almost a forest. Under them, a basketball court, but the hoops seemed short. The court was full, mostly black kids and one white on the sidelines. I crossed a road perpendicular, and another field opened up, this time full of Indian men playing...cricket! The trees got denser still, the road straight, and all of a sudden, cleared again. I saw the bay. I ran faster to get down to its banks. There was another picnic area, this time covered. Along the bank a long car was parked. I started running towards it, but noticed that someone was sitting in the driver's seat. I ran past, to the point. I stopped for a few minutes. The sun was setting behind the bare trees. My first sunset, my own. Across the bay were big houses, many looked new. The closest one was white with a weird terra cotta roof, and thick stone walls that ran straight down to the water. The walls seemed pointless to me...how were they keeping anything out? Someone could swim through the water and onto the property.

Back at camp, I helped cooked dinner with three of the arch students. They really have their sh&@ together. I felt a little useless, but did what I could to help.

Monday was my first day at work. I got a rundown of the projects, and quickly began to feel overwhelmed. But I was later told not to worry. I don't feel like I did much of anything that day, except witness what the building was like, who else works there, what they do. The next day was our final day of Americorps training. It was mostly a waste, as we stood around outside, in the dusty dirt parking lot, waiting for the organizers to think up more blindfolding games. I would have preferred a game of capture the flag any day. At least then we would have gotten some exercise.

Wednesday morning it was back to work, and my first Coordination Center meeting. I'm not ready to get into the politics with this entry, but even on that first day, a lot became apparent to me without anyone having to take me aside and explain it. I had a bit more work to do, mostly involving getting to know the house designs and uploading text, photos and images onto the test site for the new online project management tool that my employer is starting to use. It will become part of the Construction Administration we are doing for these prototype houses. The houses were designed by various architects around the country, and we are responsible for getting them built properly (the first one is all volunteer labor, the following will be contracted out), on time, and on quite low, and equal, budgets, considering they are all very custom, somewhat experimental, and designed for the specific needs of the families who were chosen to live in them.

Thursday night we got fed up with lack of an interesting dinner (it's very hit or miss here) and since I had told the arch students I had never had crawfish (a few of them are from Miss), they insisted we go try some. We went to a place on the way to Ocean Springs, and had 3 lbs. for $8.95. They are not quite in season yet, but they were good. I'm still not totally comfortable with the head-sucking part, but I think I'll get used to it. After the crawfest, we went to a bar in Ocean Springs called the Grocery, which also has live music. This time, though, it was a bit disappointing....a cover band that ruined a few really good songs by trying to change them too much. They would have been better off either giving up the cover idea and doing their own thing, even if weird and wacky, or playing the originals sans interpretation.

One day last week I joined the students after work (they have class in the same building that we work in, and as I think I've mentioned, their teacher is my boss, and their other teacher is runs a design studio that we work closely with) as they headed to the beach to hang out. They started an impromptu game of volleyball, and I clammed up and decided not to join. But as soon as they started, I wish I had. I realized as I watched them that they were quite a special group. They're all so different, but they were having a great time together. I was the informal ref, and one team was demolishing the other. The losing team was constantly stumbling all over each other, and piling up on each other, making fun of each other...having a total blast. I envied them, not just as students, but as a group of people. thrown together for this incredible semester. But I think my envy is contained; I am used to being an outsider, an observer, and am pretty comfortable with myself at this point. I don't want to be in school anymore, and I know that it's okay not to belong to a group all the time. Still, I hope that I'm able to become more settled here, and make some sort of life for myself. The reality is, the students will be gone in a few months. But for now, I just enjoy my interaction with them. They are constantly amazing me. They are true refreshment and unending spirit. They remind me that age has nothing to do with anything and individuality is everything.

I think I went to sleep early that Friday, but everything blurs together. Saturday is clear: I went to the pool with one of the students (we borrowed another's car), but we arrived to find that it didn't open for a few more hours. So we drove to the beach, and walked around for awhile, looking at all the debris that still remained, in small scale but large quantity, washed up on the shore. We had a great talk about ecology, sustainability, ideas for the future of the Coast. We talked about substructures that could have boathouses slide on top of them, and rest for awhile, until a storm came through, at which point they could slide back onto a boat again and sail away. Utopic ideas that quickly faded when thoughts turned to the logistics. Still, I think it's something to pursue while I'm down here. My friend found a few treasures, and we lost the car keys and then found them again. To kill more time we stopped at the big bookstore, and I finally picked up Jane Eyre again. Finally, we made it to the pool, swam a bit and I heard more about this friend's life, her tragedies, her beliefs. Sometimes I can do nothing but listen. I feel helpless to help, but I think that's okay. After swimming we had a great lunch at a place called Schooner's in the old part of town (which isn't much...it's a ghost town. All the shops are closed on the weekends, even Saturdays. The real town, I'm told, is the casinos. They are supposedly each like their own city). After a fried shrimp salad, we sped off to a local park, where she was to meet the rest of the students. They had just received the news the day before that they are going to rebuild a small house that was some years back relocated to the park and turn it into a community center/farmer's market. They had been concerned that they might not have a design-build project. But at the last minute some grant money came through.

One of the architecture students (actually he's doing his thesis, so this semester here in Biloxi is a bit of an independent semester for him) from Minnesota offered to drive a friend and me around. My friend is also from Minnesota, though not a student, but an Americorps nine-monther like me, and she arrived a few weeks before me. She had also been here for a month back in October. Anyway, we wanted to see more of East Biloxi, as well as Ocean Springs, the next town East that we'd heard had been relatively untouched by the storm (and where a lot of people from the office live). Our guide further enticed us with the possibility of visiting the community center building by SHoP architects, in a town west of Biloxi, called de L'Isle (sp?).

When we got in the car, I prepared myself:  I thought I was about to be shocked. But I wasn't, at least not at first. He drove slowly, but not slowly enough for me to take photos. First he went down the main streets, and south to highway 90, which runs along the coast. As the newly rebuilt gleaming casino towers came into view, he explained that immediately after the storm, the city had amended the code, and created a 80 foot  ring around the peninsula, so that the casinos could build futher inland. Before the storm, they were only allowed to build over or in the water, hence the boats. Just north of 90, on the oceanfront property, part of the new Ohr O'Keefe Museum came into view. The Gehry addition had been under construction when Katrina hit. All that remains are mangled bits of steel structure, a jigsaw puzzle. Our guide told us of how one of the casino boats crashed right into the construction site (probably 100 feet inland). The boat became so intertwined with the structure that it had to be cut away, and the steel carted away, piece by piece.

90 began to curve north as we arrived at the end of the peninsula. it used to continue east, and become a bridge that traversed Biloxi Bay to reach Ocean Springs. Now all that remains of that bridge are the first twenty or so rows of low pilings (the bridge apparently hovered just above the water). They are dwarfed by the new bridge being constructed high above. It looks bulky and unnecessarily mammoth, a missed opportunity for a graceful, small feat of engineering. But everyone just wants the bridge back again. My friend inquired if they at least included a bike lane. We balked.

We swung back west into East Biloxi, now meandering down some side streets. Many are now just half-full blocks--entire lots are bare, save some rubble and perhaps a slab foundation. For some reason I could not picture the houses that should be there, even though those that remain are mostly humble one-story bungalows, or more accurately, double shotguns. Perhaps hard to imagine what was, because much of what's new does not fit in at all: if they are one story, they are brick and heavy, very few new light timber framing (unless it's a rebuild of an existing structure). Or they are raised ten plus feet in the air and look quite odd, like a teenager who is growing out of proportion, and has too-long legs and arms. Still, there remain many of the original houses than I thought, though in dire shape. Some have beautiful carved wood details above their porches, which remind me of the tragic buildings of sci-fi Budapest....soot-blackened beauties. The Biloxi houses are not at all black, but those that remain look like they are still wet from the storm, drenched and now wilting, unable to dry out, as if they have been reduced to cardboard caracatures of their former proud selves.

We also drove through the Hope VI development, which had been almost completed before the storm hit. Most of the houses appear to be in decent shape, but a lot of the windows were blown out, and the site became an experimental testing ground for the research of the volunteer group that runs the Base camp. Mold is a big problem down here, and a four-step mold removal process must occur. The volunteer group used the hundred-plus Hope VI houses to test four different methods of mold removal and mitigation. The houses look like an abandoned, unfinished movie set, except that they are enclosed in fencing. This addition of security seems unnecessary, but adds to the sense that the houses are expressing some sort of collective frustration at not being able to house families.

After covering a fair amount of ground in the side streets, we headed north out of town, and picked up highway 10, which runs East-West north of the Back Bay, on the mainland. It now serves as the only connection between the peninsula and Ocean Springs to the East, and Bay St. Louis to the West. We headed East for about 15 minutes before exiting at Ocean Springs. After passing through a long expanse of scattered strip malls too far apart, we turned onto the main drag, crossed the railroad track, and entered a quaint, quiet, picture-perfect town. It was the opposite of East Biloxi, with its many instances of spray-painted trees or found plywood that serve as the only recognition of the fact that a house once stood on a parcel of land. Ocean Springs filled the void I could not re-create in my imagination, and went beyond. Along the main street were boutiques, cafes, an organic grocery store (which we demanded to stop in and salivate over), and block after block of beautiful, well-kept modest houses. I decided right then that I want to move over to Ocean Springs as soon as possible. My only hesitation is that I might feel like I'm betraying Biloxi, but I think my housing will be fairly humble: something along the lines of a room in someone's house. Anyway, we didn't need to drive around Ocean Springs too much--it was all a dream. Even the local park was filled with a multi-racial mix of families, gathered under a gazebo and sprinkled throughout the various jungle gyms and swings, with each member of the definition of family perfectly represented.

After this quick glimpse into the idyllic, we went back up to 10, and west about 30 minutes, then cut south again, to a random spot not really in a town, but maybe just outside of one (we never saw de L'Isle). Our purpose for this random destination was to visit a new community center building designed by SHoP architects. I vaguely remember seeing pictures in a magazine awhile back. Anyway, it's two buildings really: one long one broken in the middle by a walkway through which the outbuilding beyond is visible. The main building is a single line of shops who's front doors open onto a large, inviting front porch/community gathering space, and who's back doors open onto a parking lot (and set up a sort of back door-alley situation). The front porch is covered by an intricate exposed rafter system that turns to take on the shape of  porch too, is quite large, but very inviting, despite its sparseness. The building visible through the cut mid-way through the main building is also like a mini, orthagonal version of the larger building: it's essentially two rooms separated by wood plank porch walkways, but housed under the same roof. The larger building has something like a butterfly roof, that pitches deceptively in a few directions, but inverts above the center of the building, above the walkway. Really the pictures are the best way to describe the building: it's not complex, but has complex moments. (I'm awaiting a card reader for my camera, so I'll post them soon.)

We drove back to camp. It took about half an hour. Along the way we crossed back over the Tchoutacabouffa River. What a name for a river, or anything. We also crossed over inlets, and rode through wetland areas, which used to have forests, but now looked burned out. Scattered sparsely through them, new houses rise and gleam. It's bizarre to see McMansions raised up 12 feet, like they're on stilettos or something. Some aren't raised at all; they must be rich and just not care (i.e. they are building without insurance).

Back at camp we must've eaten dinner. Dinner is at 6:30. Or maybe that was the night when we missed dinner and went down the street to Backyard Burgers. Just a fast-food joint really. In any case, that night a bunch of people had gone to The Shed for dinner. The arch students were on the move, and I hopped into one of their cars, and we drove back out to Ocean Springs. We arrived and found a big gravel parking lot, and next to it a bunch of picnic tables, and behind it, the restaurant, a long, low cabin-like building, home-made looking, with clerestory screen windows, and white lights strung over every inch of the ceiling. It's kind of like a lightning bug. Inside, I tried a Southern Pecan beer, and settled in to listen to Strawberry Slim, an older guy, dressed in something like a one-piece mechanic's jumper. His voice was raspy, but strong, and his performance kept building over the next hour or so. I meandered back outside, and joined the other volunteers at large picnic tables. Soon I heard him really get going on his harmonica, and went back inside. A bunch of locals seemed to know him, and the whole bar was clapping along with him. We didn't want to stop and neither did he. I wish I could describe his sound, but all I can say is, to me, it was old-time, the best kind, the realest blues thus far to my green ears. He was tall, and yes, slim, and had a silvery stubble and a lean face, sad droopy eyes, but with a sparkle, the strawberry part of him I guess.

That night I went to sleep feeling alive, having heard pure music direct, and then woke the next morning, ready to hear even more voices rise in song, coming deep from within them, and strong.

Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday were spent at Base, doing Americorps training. This mostly involved "teambuilding" exercises to help all 30 + of us get to know each other better. The training could have been consolidated into one day. There was very little substance, so there's not much point going into detail about how we spent the days. But the best thing that came out of the training was meeting two other Americorps volunteers who are stationed in Bay St. Louis (see the description of the visit to St. Rose de Lima in the first post). They are working with other volunteer groups there, doing similar work to what the group that runs the Base here is doing: mostly rebuilding of existing houses. As I said earlier, Bay St. Louis was hit harder than Biloxi. In fact, Katrina made its final landfall near Bay St. Louis, at the mouth of the Pearl River and coincidentally, Bay St. Louis is the highest point on the entire Gulf coastline (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bay_St._Louis). We have already been invited to go stay with our fellow Americorps volunteers there, and will probably do so next weekend, when they have their "second Saturdays," and the art galleries have open house.

On Wednesday training ended early in the afternoon and a friend helped me set up my tent in the backyard! It was a lot easier than I thought (as luckily there were plenty of flexible rods for the structure, as well as a much-needed rain screen for the somewhat frequent heavy rains). There was already quite a tent city when I arrived: four of the MASH army tents, three of which the arch. students have inserted groups of individual tents into, and created their own little palaces (one is carpeted, has a living room, a propane heater, etc.), as well as about a dozen scattered around the acre (or two?). The land is next to a former golf course, which backs onto Beauvoir, Jefferson Davis's plantation. His home was considerably damaged by the flood, and it looks as though they are still trying to save it (though some would have preferred it to be entirely washed away). I've heard people mention that this property was the home of Davis's slaves, but haven't gotten that confirmed. Anyway, the backyard has a few large trees, is fenced in, and the soil is mostly sand. So shoes come off before entering the tent. Thetent is quite large enough for one person: I can stand up, and found a cot,  on top of which I placed an air mattress and sleeping bag. A few days later I added I long folding table (of the church basement variety, except the top is white plastic instead of faux wood), which I put on the other side of the tent. Instant desk! There's about 18 inches between the cot and the desk, so I think the tent is about 7 by 7 feet.

Thursday night I went out for the first time with the students, to a karaoke bar where a lot of volunteers from Base frequent. A group of Americorps volunteers who had been here for a few months were leaving, and they gave them quite a sendoff. It was good to get off Base and meet more people. And the students found out that I'm older than I look!

Either Thursday or Friday I convinced one of the students to go to the Natatorium with me (and he drove...I quickly had to become comfortable with asking people for rides, and luckily, they always ask me if I want to join them when they go anywhere, even if it's just Wal Mart down the street). It's actually only a few miles down the road, in a neighborhood called Irish Hill, just east of here. In case I forgot to mention, the Base is in West Biloxi, about a ten minute drive west of East Biloxi, where I work (the City of Biloxi has a great GIS mapping tool at http://www.geoportalmaps.com/atlas/biloxi/viewer.htm, and if you scroll down the list under the Table of Contents, you can click on the "Katrina" portion of the list and see where the flood water went, and what FEMA's recommended elevations for rebuilding are). The Natatorium is behind a junior high school (of the one-story 1960s brick variety) and became one of my favorite pools the moment I walked in (Garrett Park will always be number one). It's another larger hangar-like building, steel frame, light corrugated metal roof. The pool itself fills most of the building: a diving area at the far end, 12 or so lanes at 25 yards next to that, and then another open area at the near end. One side of the building is constructed of garage doors with glass lites, so that entire side of the building can open up! I haven't seen it yet, but hope that it is still operational. The pool costs $2 per visit, or $15 for 12 visits (which I'm trying to sign up for). The facility was virtually empty that afternoon, and I and my friend had lanes to ourselves! And afterwards: a great shower! It's not an overly used pool, so the locker rooms are very clean.

I believe Friday night I watched "Bottle Rocket" with a few of the arch students, who occasionally have movie marathons. There's a DVD player in "the spin cycle," the outbuilding that houses the two washing machines and dryers (which are heavily abused and you ponder the possibility that your clothes will come out dirtier than they went in). This outbuilding is about ten feet east of the Base building, and adjacent to the four outdoor showers. I was pretty tired, as I hadn't slept too well my first few nights in the tent (it rained heavily that Wednesday night, and I heard every drop, fearing that they all would find their way inside my tent, though none of them did), and turned in after the first movie.

Back to Wednesday night dinner for a moment: every night the camp has a meeting during dinner to discuss what each of the work crews did that day. The crews are divided up by chronological phase of a house's renovation: mold removal and mitigation, framing, drywalling, finish work. Also at these meetings, newcomers are asked to stand up and introduce themselves. I was in such a daze on Tuesday night that I didn't introduce myself. But on Wednesday night I got up the nerve, and stood up and said hi. I was still in shock I think, so I don't think I said anything interesting. Anyway, after introductions and discussion of the day's work, the chore board comes out, and they ask everyone to sign up for cooking meals and cleanup afterwards, as well as other odd jobs, like "Ira," which is a job named after a 16 year old who came down to volunteer and had just gotten his driver's license, so all he wanted to do was drive people around and take people to the airport. There is also a job for someone to just be nice to everyone all day, and for another person to be tough and make sure things stay under control. After people sign up for chores (which are in groups of four), they ask those volunteers who are leaving to say goodbye. This is how I learned how special this place is: people get up every night and inevitable someone starts crying, and says something incredibly moving about their time here. In the last few weeks I have met various retired couples, or others who just took a break from their busy lives and came down on a whim. They all end up very changed by the experience. Because it really is pretty great that these volunteers go out six days a week, 8 til 5 and perform tough labor for nothing. And many of them have come to know the homeowners and their stories quite well. I feel like I'm on the periphery of all of this, but I plan to start volunteering on one of the crews (I'd like to try mold) on Saturdays.

Now I remember the first part of Thursday night: every Thursday they have talent show night, or open mic night. Anyone can get up and sing or play music or read poetry or tell stories or pretty much anything. That night I heard some interesting stories, and some good and not-so-good singing, but it was just nice to realize that all are welcome here, whether you're very talented or not. It's just another of the many social activities that I found a little off-putting at first, but that I sooned learned to appreciate as examples of how special this volunteer camp is.

I've now been in Biloxi for over a week, and since I'm unable to gather my thoughts coherently, I'm going to try a pared down approach and backup in order to sum up what i've seen and done so far:

Day One: I arrived mid-day and mid-Mardi Gras. The first thing I noticed when I stepped outside the airport building was the wet air. I was driven first to lunch (away from town, to avoid traffic), then into East BIloxi, to see the first prototype house, under construction (the framing is almost complete). It's on Division Street, the main drag of that part of town. Division runs East-West along the peninsula, and sits mid-way between the Gulf on the South side and the Back Bay on the North side. Next we stopped by another project under construction, in a former Catholic church, and what will soon be our new offices. The electrician was walking through, and promised that the place would be 'live' soon. There were Amish teenagers doing some of the millwork and painting one of the outbuildings nearby. The next stop was to visit the current offices of AFH, the Gulf Coast Community Design Studio, and the East Biloxi Relief Coordination Center, all operating out of  the 2nd and 3rd floors of a back building attached to a church, also on Division. There I met some of the staff, and the students from U. of Minnesota and MIssissippi State, who are spending the semester here. They were just coming back from one of the parades, and needless to say, were very happy to meet me and share their beads. Everyone seemed to be heading out early, or not working much at all, so I hopped a ride with the students back to Base (the volunteer camp). We sat in post-parade exodus traffic for two hours. Even though we barely moved, it gave me a chance to soak a few things in, and we eventually drove by 'the beau," otherwise known as the Beau Rivage Casino. It has been completely rebuilt, like all of the other casinos (as well as some new ones). It looks like it belongs in Beverly Hills, or maybe just a movie set. It is all fountains, and fake gardens and bright tan stucco, with the parking deck being just as prominent as the hotel. I also saw the train tracks, and the predominent style of house down here: the double shotgun/bungalow. More houses were in decent shape than I expected to see. But as we drove from the middle of the peninsula towards the Gulf side, I realized that the empty lots were not just green space. HIghway 90 runs right along the beach, and on the Gulf side of it there used to be miles of diners, gas stations, convenience stores, etc. mixed in with the towering casinos. Of that one-story strip mall, only their signs remain. On the north side of 90, there are but a few plantation-style houses left, where they used to be a continuous string. And the two blocks behind them are nothing but those foundation slabs that weren't completly wiped away, and what everyone refers to as "Dr. Suess" trees, and random piles of sandy earth. When we finally arrived at Base, I was ushered into a huge gym, with people swarming all through it, a boom box not blasting, but definitely a strong background to the overall hum of energetic youth. We went upstairs (the gym has a second floor loft, open to the first floor but with no windows at the perimeter, and  which holds a ring of double rows of bunks, where most of the volunteers sleep) to find me a bunk for the night. Luckily I've had help from the beginning: a fellow Americorps volunteer, and the students, who are all incredibly nice. I dumped my stuff and went back downstairs to eat dinner with the entire camp. I was exhausted, so I don't remember much of that night. But I do know that I didn't sleep much; some people nearby came in late and woke up early. Zero privacy, welcome to camp.

Next post will be Day Two.....

I arrived in Biloxi in the middle of Mardi Gras. The first thing I noticed as I walked outside was the breeze.


The motto of St. Rose de Lima Catholic church in Bay St. Louis, as printed in its weekly bulletin, is "You are never too bad to come in. . . and never too good to stay out." The town of Bay St. Loius was one of the hardest hit by Katrina, but I didn't see much of it on Sunday. Instead I saw a beautiful white stucco church, fully intact and practically gleaming under a bright clear morning sky. Inside, I heard an Indian priest backed by a gospel choir. I never thought I'd be able to attend a Catholic mass AND hear all those strings of prayers and litanies, usually spoken so plainly, like orders, transformed into continuous, beautiful song. We arrived five minutes late and the place was packed. Not two minutes after we stood in a spot in the back left corner, behind additional rows of folding chairs arranged behind the pews, an usher approached and pointed to an empty chair that a man had just given up for us. We declined, and another woman sat down. Another few minutes passed, and another usher approached, and pointed upstairs--another free spot. My friend obliged.