January 26, 2006
Hello Everyone—
Here’s an update on the efforts we’ve been making to help the horses and people affected by Hurricane Katrina.
Pete and I got everything loaded the night before leaving, got up and headed west early, hoping to make it home before midnight. It was a blustery day, though, and the wind made it hard to keep the trailer steady, even with two-and-a-half tons of feed and hay on-board. I’d seen a bad wreck the day before—a smoking 18-wheeler lying on its side in the ditch off I-10—and I was a little nervous. So, we made a pit stop to check the tires and even out the air pressure. After that things seemed to go better.
As we rode, Pete read me several chapters of Sinclair Lewis’ classic It Can’t Happen Here, the book I’ll be teaching next Monday night in my American Literature class. Unfortunately, it has nothing to do with horses, but its title reminded us of our mission in a strange way. Six months ago, the thought of a hurricane changing the course of so many lives was not anything we could have imagined. The gist of the book is how quickly we could lose the way of life we value—but also take for granted—here in America, if we don’t stay alert to the big picture. But, wow, is that hard to do! I keep wondering when do I have time to sweep the kitchen, I’m so hard pressed to get everybody fed, the horses worked and groomed, go to work, grocery shop, do the laundry, sleep—well I admit, I’m not that motivated to sweep the kitchen. But still, everyone I know is stressed for time just getting through the mundane necessities of the day. When do we have time to learn or think about national events? Nevertheless, it’s part of the job we inherit as citizens. Lately I’ve been trying harder to hold up my end of the bargain, and, if my kitchen floor is any indication, I’m doing better.
A schedule conflict at work had caused us to leave a day late, so I knew Kenny Ray was probably wondering where we were. I managed to get him on his cell phone and he told me—through the crackle—to be ready for a surprise.
In Mississippi, there’s still a lot of clean-up going on. We saw workmen with huge cranes repairing the 100-foot towers of the billboards along I-10. Phone crews are still repairing lines, and tree surgeons work on as if there’s no end in sight—and, looking around, there isn’t. It’s surprising, even though we’re there every other week, to still see the huge trash and debris piles on both sides of the roads. And it’s not the same debris as months ago, such as ruined furniture and insulation. Now we’re seeing the crushed foundations and piled up brick from houses too devastated to salvage.
When we pulled into Kenny Ray’s, it was obvious what the surprise was: Ladner’s Feed store has reopened!
The back building of the former feed store now has a new tin roof, double doors, and lots of floor space for feed. Kenny had even managed to recoup his storm-damaged Purina sign from the old store. And the demolished front store has been completely cleared away. Kenny Ray had a big smile on his face.
“You’re back in business!” I said.
“Little by little,” he said. “We’re getting’ it done.” He told us he’s been able to get some feed from his supplier—a little horse feed, but mostly bags of chicken feed, goat feed, corn, dog and cat food.
We had just started unloading when a man we had never met came in and began helping us. An old friend of the Ladners, he had just stopped in to say hi. A bearded man drove up wanting some lime to keep away the flies. Several days of heavy rain during the past week had brought them back with a vengeance.
“You want hydrated lime,” Teresa told him, and while Kenny Ray put a bag of the stuff in the back of his pickup, she gave him directions on its use
“How much I owe you?”
“Free, from the county,” Kenny Ray told him.
After we unloaded the feed, I pulled the trailer around to the main barn, where we unload the hay. By this time, three more people had arrived in a pickup. They were laughing and talking with Kenny Ray and Teresa in the store. One, a lively gentleman with a tanned face and a quick eye was noticing the bags of feed piled up around him.
“I just got me a horse,” he cackled.
“You got a new horse?” I asked. “What kind?”
“He’s a race horse!”
“Where’d you get a race horse?” asked Kenny Ray skeptically.
“Got it at the auction.” The two fellows with him were smiling and rolling their eyes.
Teresa told us, aside, “That’s Kenny Ray’s uncle Arvine” (pronounced OR-vine). Kenny Ray heard her and said aloud, “You can’t believe a word he says.” Arvine cackled again and rubbed his hands.
It turns out that Arvine is the brother of Kenny Ray’s mother—a much younger brother, as he is only a few years older than Kenny Ray. His sister Carmella had just died and he was preparing to clean out her apartment. “Ninety-two years old and she never owned a house,” Kenny Ray told us. “Always rented.”
“If you see any cast-iron cookware, bring it to me,” he told his uncle. Arvine said he needed some hay to take to his granddaughter. While he paid Kenny for it, Pete loaded it from our trailer to his truck, and Arvine and his companions took their leave.
“Arvine’s got goats,” Teresa told us. “Used to have 25 but now he’s only got about 6 or 8.” Suddenly, I made the connection. “Arvine must be Dana’s grandpa,” I exclaimed. “He was the one that lost his goats in the storm and we advertised for them in one of our first reports.”
“That’s right,” Teresa said.
“Oh, I wish I’d realized that before he left,” I said. “I’d have liked to send word to Dana.”
We were almost finished unloading the hay when a couple drove up looking kind of lost. “Do you need something,” someone asked.
“Do you have any feed? the young man asked.
“What kind of feed?”
“Chicken feed.”
“Got chicken feed, yes, come in here,” Teresa said, ushering him into the new store.
It seemed just like a grand opening, with people coming in and out, laughing and talking. Kenny Ray had set his big refrigerator up in the new store. He keeps bottled water and soft drinks in it to offer his guests. As the last bale was unloaded, Pete and I went back to visit the horses in the barn. We fed them treats and visited for a while. When we got back to the truck, the young woman who had come in for chicken feed was busy sweeping the loose hay from the floor of our trailer. Pete said it was maybe the most touching thing he had seen. People who have had everything they owned literally swept away, jobless and homeless, think it only natural to help in any way, wherever they can. It reminded us of DeWayne Ladner, going from house to house, volunteering to help get vehicles started, not accepting pay—just wanting to help.
“As we were visiting, Kenny Ray started talking about his baby donkey—the one that’s still lost. He had seen a notice with a picture of a donkey that had been rescued that looked like his, but when he called to find out about it, the man said that it had already been claimed. He wouldn’t give Kenny directions to the shelter that had the donkey so he could go look at it. “He made sure to tell me he was a law man,” Kenny Ray said. “Said he was a deputy and there wasn’t nothing I could do.” Kenny told us the story again of how just after the storm a man had seen the baby donkey on the highway—had to get out of his car to move it out of the way so he could pass. So Kenny knew it was alive. “Somebody could’ve put it in the back seat of their car,” he said. “He wasn’t very big.” And for the first time he told us that he’s also missing a horse—a Paso Fino that he bought in Florida. “Haven’t heard nothing about it,” he said. “Nobody’s seen it either dead or alive.”
Teresa then began to talk about a story she’d seen in the paper about dogs that had been picked up from Mississippi being sent to adoption centers in New York City. She told us that their close friend Roxanne had lost a beautiful and rare white collie, and she wondered if they would ever find it with the animals spread to the four corners of the country. I felt a shock go through me. I had actually received email pictures of the dogs on airplanes bound for far-away cities, with stories about relief workers doing such a great job moving the animals to places where they could be cared for. A philanthropic person had rented a plane, booked all the seats for rescued dogs, so they could fly out of the disaster area. There were the dogs, belted into their seats, smiling into the camera. Like many rescue workers who had been in the area immediately after the storm, I felt relief looking at these pictures. So many of the dogs I picked up in the days after Katrina seemed abandoned and were on the verge of starvation. There was no fresh water available, and it was impossible to know if their owners were coming back. We took their pictures, gave them vaccinations, wormer, food and shelter, and tried to create a paper trail so owners could track and re-claim them. But what I hear now, these many months later, is the grief of dog owners who have not been able to track down their dogs. Maybe their dogs didn’t survive the storm, but it’s one more of those haunting sorrows that may never be laid to rest. When a grieving dog owner sees that picture of the dogs being flown away, they are left to wonder where in the world their poor dog might have landed.
It’s one more example of how we could better prepare for such disasters. Better links are needed and better records kept of where animals are picked up and where they go. Local adoption centers and shelters were just too overwhelmed in the days following Katrina (and they still are). Help had to come from far away friends. Is there an answer? One precaution dog and cat owners could take is to put waterproof identification on their pets’ collars giving a telephone number to call in emergencies. And, of course, it should list the number of a family member or friend in another area, so that if it does happen here, and the phones in one’s home area are wiped out, a lost animal might still find its way back to the family that loves it.
There was another good surprise though. Kenny Ray showed us that his house has a new roof. He’d used most of his insurance money to buy the shingles. He told us he would be working on the barns as he got the money. “Little bit at a time,” he said. His rye grass in his cow pasture is now ready, and he said he planned to bring the cows back from a location further north as soon as he could bulldoze all the debris out of the field. He had had to dump all the rotting feed from his old store into the cow pasture because authorities wouldn’t let him put it in the dump (for some reason, unexplained). More work.
Next to arrive was a man named Mark Statham, who, with his wife, Trudy, owns and operates Tru-Mark Grain, Inc., a feed distributorship in Summit, MS. He hugged Teresa and Kenny Ray, and they gave him a warm welcome. It turns out that when Katrina hit, Mark had wanted to organize help for the Gulf Coast, but was told in no uncertain terms that the government would not allow civilians into the disaster area. (This is similar to what we experienced in the days following the storm.) He tried to call Kenny and Teresa, but the phones in Lakeshore were all out. On the Lakeshore side, there were also reasons why they couldn’t contact people inland. Most of their contact information had been washed away, so they only had the phone numbers of those people stored in their cell phones. All the phone lines were down, and cell phones—the only means of communication for weeks—would only work in a certain high spot in Bay St. Louis, and then only after midnight. They had made a number of calls that way, but had once been stopped by a gov’t militiaman for being out after curfew. Luckily, they said, he was one of the nice ones. Eventually, Teresa had received a card from Trudy asking if they were ok, and communication with their friends was re-established—but not before some anxious days had passed.
Kenny Ray and Teresa recalled that difficult time. “For the first few days,” Teresa remembered, “the salt was in the air terrible. It got over your skin and in your mouth. So Kenny Ray rigged up a shower in a part of the back barn that was still in tact. It became the community bath house.” (There is an artesian well on Kenny Ray’s property, and it was one of the only sources of potable water in the area during the weeks following the storm.)
“One couple came in,” smiled Kenny Ray. “I don’t know where they were from, hadn’t had a shower in four, five days. I took ‘em back to where the shower was set up and that woman had her pants down before I could get the door open.” We all laughed and could tell he was tickled to remember that.
“Yeah, that salt was bad,” Teresa said. “Every time we found a horse that was wanderin’ around lost, it just drank and drank. They was thirsty.”
“Fella I know had five prize cows—butterball fat,” recalled Kenny. “Couple of days after the storm they just laid down and died. No drinking water.”
Mark recalled the quote from The Ancient Mariner: “Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink!” This was exactly the case in Lakeshore. There was water all around, but toxic, sludgy, undrinkable. To die of thirst in the middle of a puddle.
It was time for us to go. We asked about future needs. Kenny immediately said more hay. He had a handful of bales of Alfalfa hay, but of poor quality and not fit for most horses. Teresa said that even this stopgap hay had to be trucked in from Tennessee.
So, our efforts continue doing some good for some good people. We would like to be able to take in an 18-wheeler full of nice coastal Bermuda hay, so everyone could feel a little more secure. But, that’s not possible right now, so we’ll just keep pecking at it. All of us working together are getting it done, though. Little by little.
Thanks to Peggy Creadon, Sallie Ausley, Kathryn Curle, Linda Zeigler, Mary Sprinkles, Ronny, Sam and all the folks at Morgan Hay growers, Monica Colquett, and all of you who send encouragement and donations to keep the hay train rolling.
One of my friends used to say this prayer for grace at dinner: Dear God, thank you for this food, without which we could think of nothing else.
To which I say a big “Amen!”
Cheers,
Sara Warner
P.S. Here’s one more surprise I got later that night—an email from Dana:
From: DanaD9498@aol.com
Hi Sara,
I'm not sure if you remember me.... I wrote you after Katrina about my
grandparents missing goats in Lakeshore, then again when we found them.
You've been sending me your updates every since and I have enjoyed them
more than you know. I pass them along to my uncle who works at Stennis
and he prints them and takes them to the grandparents to read. They
aren't rebuilding in Lakeshore, and are with my uncle in Crossroads
(up near Picayune and Bogalusa) so they have really loved reading
your updates about Lakeshore and get so excited when someone they
know is mentioned by name! I actually think they are related to everyone
in Lakeshore in some way..LOL. Kenny Ray is my grandfather's nephew.
Anyway, wanted to let you know that my brother is here from Tennessee and my
dad from Connecticut and they picked up Grandpa today and took him to Lakeshore.
The first stop is always Kenny Ray's place and when they got home my dad was
telling me about the really nice lady from Florida who was there bringing hay
and feed. I got so excited..... I know it had to be you and I could
have kicked myself for not making the trip today! After all the reading
I've done, I feel like I know you..... of course if I had been there I
would have been totally star struck and in awe of you so I would have
run out of things to say to you then I would have felt like I had an
obligation to fill the awkward silence and would have started rambling
and not making any sense at all.. kinda like I'm doing now. . .
Kenny Ray sent a couple of bales of hay back to me which are so
appreciated! In this area it is hard to come by and when we find
it it's anywhere from $6.00 - $8.00 per bale... and it's not even
decent!
Sorry for getting carried away... next time you are there, ask
Kenny Ray if he remembers me... tell him I'm Arvine's granddaughter... Carleen
is my mom... (ummmm... I think maybe Kenny Ray and my mom were engaged or
something in another lifetime) and thanks again for the updates and for
all the work you do.. and if you ever have extra hay on your hands and
want to stop in Gulfport, I'm only about 4 miles off the interstate..
hee hee and would be glad to feed you or something....
Keeping you in our prayers,
Dana Davidson
What a sweetie!
Please continue to donate what you can by sending checks to
Sara Warner at 1939 Sand Basin Road, Grand Ridge, FL 32442.
Or email me if you have items you would like picked up.
Sent: Thursday, January 26, 2006 2:22 AM
To: Warner, Sara
Subject: (no subject)
—sw
