December 13, 2005
Hello Everyone—
Here’s an update on the efforts we’ve been making to help the horses and people affected by Hurricane Katrina.
We’ve all heard the expression being “in it for the long haul.” Well, this is the long haul. There’s no doubt things are improving in Lakeshore, but there’s still a lot of work to do. I’ve been wanting to take time while we’re in the Lakeshore vicinity to visit other feed stores and see what the situation is from their perspectives. So this time, Pete and I set out with that in mind.
With all the holiday rush, I hadn’t had time to get the trailer loaded with feed, hay, or anything. So, as we rode down I-10, I called ahead to the feed store in DeFuniak Springs to see if they could load us up. They said they could, and we stopped in and got 65 bags of feed, 40 bales of hay, and a few bags of laying pellets.
It’s always instructive to see what vehicles are on the road. When you travel on I-10 you frequently see the same vehicles again and again as you pass each other, then pull off for rest stops, then pass each other again. So, over the course of six hours, you get an impression of what’s moving and shaking up and down the Gulf Coast. As we traveled west, we noticed several trucks carrying fairly large trees—palms mostly, but some oaks too. This suggested a shift in focus from clean-up towards build-back. Large, landscaping trees were obviously in demand.
At the Love’s Truck Stop in Loxley, AL, we saw new signs sitting in crates below those that had been blown to smithereens by Katrina. The Love’s in Loxley has become an inextricable thread in the weave of these trips. It usually has cheap diesel; it always has clean bathrooms, nice foamy soap, and hot water; and it plays oldies over a great sound system. Even the restroom has really good speakers. I don’t know how many times I’ve dragged in there, sweaty and covered with hay from loading, or cold and stiff from loading and riding too long in the truck, or half asleep trying to make it back home. I’ve come to believe the long-sought-after fountain of youth is located in the women’s restroom at Love’s. With Aretha Franklin singing R-E-S-P-E-C-T and a good hot face-wash, my weariness disappears. I am transported back to the wanderlust of my younger days, when no amount of driving seemed daunting, because every bend in the road promised an adventure. It also can’t hurt that the full-length mirror in the women’s room is one of those treasures that somehow makes you look ten pounds younger.
Frequently, there’s an unexpected slice of life at Love’s. Once there was a group of young folks at the pump having their car searched by two drug enforcement officers. Even trying not to be too nosy, we learned during our stop that one of the workers in the Arby’s next door had called the police because she thought the young people were stoned when she took their order. The officers weren’t having any luck finding anything illegal though, even with a canine helper.
This time when we were there, Pete noticed a very large man in a brand new, silver, extended cab F-250 pulling up to the pumps. The truck still had temporary tags and a file folder taped to the back window with FEMA scrawled on it in black magic marker. I’m not sure why this seemed indicative to us, or of what exactly. I know FEMA workers have to drive something. But when I thought of the people in Lakeshore trying so hard to get water-logged vehicles running again, and the way they are mostly getting short shrift from the insurance companies and disaster relief programs, the fancy new FEMA truck didn’t go down well. It just made me think, “What’s wrong with this picture?”
Crossing the many rivers and bayous on the way to Lakeshore, we noticed more wading birds. Natural rhythms are returning. Around Gulfport, big orange plastic litter bags now line the highway on both sides, making the I-10 landscape look like a super-highway pumpkin patch. And, the berms are much cleaner now, with a lot of the litter bagged.
At Exit 13, instead of turning south to Lakeshore, we headed north toward Kiln (what local people call The Kiln) to check out the feed situation. In Kiln, we stopped in at a hardware/feed store, thinking it might be one of the ones people had told us about. With all the signs still down and damaged, you kind of have to feel your way to any destination you haven’t been to before. At that store we met a man who told us that the people in this particular store were “not user friendly.” He said that after the storm they hadn’t even marked down their water- damaged merchandise, instead using the shortage of commodities as an excuse to keep their prices up. “I’ve got ducks,” he said. “I started out with a dozen, and now I’ve got 34.” He said he was taking off work for the day to go in search of cracked corn for his ducks. “I went through about 40 bags of corn since the storm,” he said. He reminded me of Judge Klein down in Lakeshore, who also spends a lot of time trying to keep his many birds fed.
This fellow told us he knew of a horse owner in Kiln who needed hay and supplies, and offered to take us to the man’s house. I had to tell him our load was already spoken for, and once again I found myself surprised to discover that people are still without needed feed and hay well off the coast. I guess I had been hoping that things were improving more rapidly north of Lakeshore. But the truth is that everyone we’ve met on our trips who owns animals, without exception, has to devote a lot of effort to securing feed for them. I told Pete there needs to be more of an outcry. I don’t think the word is getting out nationally how badly these people still need help. Feeding the animals, in itself, amounts to a daily crisis that needs a lot more attention in the media.
The difficulty seems to be that feed stores generally have big roofs in order to cover a large area that has to be kept dry. So they tended to take an unusually bad hit from the high winds of Katrina. Until the feed stores have their roofs back on, they can’t order enough feed to get their suppliers to deliver it. And it’s also a hindrance that not all their customers are able to pay full prices for feed yet, so they can’t afford to order. To date, none of the business or home owners I’ve talked to have received enough money from their insurance companies or from relief funds to repair the damage they’ve sustained.
We drove on north to look for another feed store, which we had been told was up and running. About ten miles further on, we spotted the Dixieland Farm Center. They were open for business, but undergoing repairs to their roof, which was still mostly missing. Hazel, the lady running the store, told us they would have to be closing briefly to rebuild parts of the store, but that they were trying to keep feed and hay in. They had no feed at the time, but they did have the supplement cubes in the drums—“Feed in a Drum”—that Bonnie had mentioned to us before. Hazel said they were expecting a shipment of hay from out-of-state later in the day, but she wasn’t certain when it might arrive. “The hay is donated, but we have to pay the shipping on it,” she told me. “So we charge $5 a bale in order to be able to get more.” I wanted to ask if people could afford to pay that much for hay, but I already knew the answer. Supply is short; the people who can afford to pay are buying everything that’s available. And, I’m sure it’s costing that much to haul it in. Even with diesel down to $2.49 a gallon, it still costs us around $140 per trip just to bring in a few tons of feed and hay. I can well imagine what it costs to bring in a semi-trailer load.
We chatted with her about our project to keep the horse-owners down in Lakeshore supplied. I explained that we didn’t want to compete with area feed stores by bringing in donated feed, if the area feed stores were ready to step in. “We really aren’t set up to supply that much feed over what we’re doing right now,” she said, “and all our hay is spoken for before we get it.” She also told us more stories about the difficulties getting the feed distributed equitably across the region.
Many of the items in the store were marked down 20% or more. Pete bought a new straw hat, which came in handy later. As we were leaving a woman came into the store asking for hay. She seemed almost desperate when she heard the truck had not come in yet. “I can give you a few bales,” I told her. We went out into the parking lot and loaded six bales off our trailer onto her truck. I chatted with her for a few minutes. Then, as we were about to leave, I said, “Well tell me your name.” She said, “Pat.” I said, “I’m Sara, Sara Warner. What’s your last name?” She said, “Ladner.” I laughed. “Well, the rest of this load is going down to Lakeshore to Kenny Ray Ladner’s. So, if you need some more hay, just give him a call. You’d probably have a little pull with him.” It’s a small world, especially in Mississippi if your name is Ladner.
We headed south to deliver our load. But as we were driving back through Kiln I saw something I’ve been longing for all these months going into Mississippi: a real coffee shop. I hit the brakes, grateful there were no horses in the trailer, and wheeled into the parking lot of the GimMe Coffee. Heaven is a tall iced mocha with a double espresso hit. No whipped cream, thank you. They even had soy milk, which I much prefer, out here in the wilds of Mississippi. When the proprietor asked me if I’d been in before and I said no, she began making me a club card—buy five, get one free. I started to tell her I don’t live here, I’m just passing by. But I didn’t.
In Lakeshore, everyone was in good spirits. Kenny Ray and Teresa, Kelley and Eddie and their nephew Aaron, and Miss Bonnie were all on-hand to help unload. I also got to meet Kelley’s two dogs, a lovable poodle puppy and “Pain,” her terrier. You can’t really see the puppy against Kelley’s shirt, but she’s holding him in the crook of her left arm. That’s Gypsy on the far left, then Bonnie, Teresa, Kelley, and Kenny Ray. Pain is holding down the feed on the front row.
I asked Kenny Ray how things were going with the FEMA trailers. He pointed to the two men sitting outside tents at the entrance. “Security,” he said, nodding. “They’ll go once we get everyone settled in. Just making sure we get a smooth transition.” Judging by Pain’s expectant pose, I suspect at least one of them has a soft spot for dogs.
I got to ask Kelley and Eddie about their recent wins at the State Barrel Racing competition. We had fun hearing the particulars. As with all true competitors, Kelley’s reactions were that mix of the joy of winning with the obsession over “if onlys.” I told Eddie that when Kenny Ray first told me about their show, he’d said “Bubba-Ed” also took fourth, and I’d thought he was talking about Eddie, Kelley’s husband. (Kenny calls Kelley and Eddie’s son “Bubba-Ed.”) We laughed. “I had a picture in my mind of you out there riding ‘hell-bent for leather’,” I told Eddie. It turns out Eddie used to do just that. “Kelley and I grew up competing against each other,” he said with a smile. I told him that seemed like the basis of a good relationship.
Photo here Eddie regales me with tales of his and Kelley’s youth (like, yesterday). After leaving the Ladners, we stopped in the newly re-opened WalMart in Waveland. It was a strange experience, seeing the superstore stripped down to its skivvies—all plywood walls, conduit and girders exposed. The aisles were made up of large metal frame tables filled with bulk items—more like a Sam’s. But the prices seemed good, and we bought a few things for our trip home, including a newspaper. It was about ten days before Christmas and I noticed there weren’t any Christmas trees in front of the store. Inside, however, were rows and rows of little potted cypress trees, decorated with gold bows and red ornaments. I trust these will serve as Christmas trees, and maybe some of them will get planted as a way to commemorate the Christmas of 2005—Katrina Christmas.
Waveland itself boasted no Christmas lights this year. Maybe next year I’ll travel back to visit the Ladners in late December and see how Waveland feels then.
We headed home. Getting through those six hours back is where I really appreciate Pete. He usually gets me talking about horses, since that’s what keeps me awake. He lets me talk through every detail of my dreams and plans for our colt, Bayo—who’s been tapped as a stallion prospect by the Oldenburg NA registry. He listens to me go through all the training issues with my mare and asks me whether she’ll be ready to move up a level at this year’s shows. But there’s something conducive to intimate talks in the dash lights and rhythms of late-night driving. I find myself confessing my wildest hopes and deepest fears for the future. I discover I’m basically satisfied with my life, but longing for a better world, grief-stricken for all the people and animals still in so much need. I’m at once fearful of not doing enough to help and grateful I can do anything at all. I know my motivations are completely selfish. I want to fend off the evils that might befall us—accidents, infirmity, hurricanes. I want to safeguard my dreams and those I love. These are the ancient, true motivations, I suppose, that drive us to think, to strive, to hone our wills. The miracle is that through our selfish motivations we find each other, the love for those who strive with us, who long for goodness in an uneasy world.
We are almost home; have, in fact, left I-10 and are traveling through the midnight farm country with only ten miles to go, when the truck begins to sputter and cough. Deep in some philosophical thought, I have neglected to switch from the empty front tank to the full rear tank. Quickly, I flip the switch. But it is too late. The truck groans and dies. Amazing how quiet the night is without the throb of a diesel engine. We try everything we know to get going again. Finally I decide to call for help. My cell phone tells me the battery is low and finally cuts out. Ugh. Ok, time to walk back to the interstate, partner. Pete, as always, thinks nothing of this new turn of events. He’s ready for whatever. I don’t know if this is simply the way he is or whether he has long ago realized that living with me is a long series of unexpected happenings. It doesn’t matter. He has unfailing humor and grace. We take a walk. It is very cold. Every few minutes a meteor streaks through the clear dark sky, and we talk on about light and time and vision. We make phone calls. We get to meet more of the wonderful people in our hometown. And, just before dawn, we get to sleep in our own bed.
Thanks to all of you who have sent donations and encouragement during this busy season: Sallie Ausley, Connie Tabb, Christine Van Iterson, Cheryl Kuchera and all the staff and clients at the Pewaukee Veterinary clinic in Pewaukee Wisconsin, Gary and Annamarie Hammond, Teena Hammond, Patti Brantley, Jimmy Young and the staff at Florida Farm and Feed, Jennifer Gould, Marianne McLeod and the Montgomery, Alabama Dressage and Eventing club.
This is the hard part—the long haul. The need is great. Please donate what you can to help buy feed, hay, and fuel. We’re going in until the grass comes back and the feed is flowing in Mississippi.
For all of you, I hope you have a wonderful new year of health and love. I’m very proud and grateful for the family we make.
Cheers!
Sara Warner
Send checks for feed, hay, and fuel to Sara Warner at 1939 Sand Basin Road, Grand Ridge, FL 32442, or email sarawarner@blackbayfarm.com if you have items you would like picked up.
