While your TV screens were choked with anniversary programming on August 29, for a lot of Orleanians, the date to commemorate, as the
Times-Picayune's John Maginns pointed out, is October 1, when those of us outside the "sliver by the river" were permitted to come back to town to begin cleaning up our houses, neighborhoods and our lives. For those of us who live in 70119--the fairest zip code in the land--the date of return was set at October 5.
GF and I, after an epic cross-country journey of 6,000 miles, were holed up at a friend's house in Bay St. Louis, MS. The Bay was devastated, an endless series of unbelievable sights (how 'bout cars with their metal skin literally torn off by the wind?). It was hard to get around the town, not just because of debris on the roads, but because half of the landmarks I'd always depended on were gone.
On the 4th, a day before we were authorized, GF and I headed in to New Orleans with the supplies we'd collected on the road to live without civic support for a month or so. From an email I sent out before we made the coast:
food for one month, mostly canned, boxed, jarred, dried and easy to eat w/out much fuss
18 gal. drinking water in gallons
15 gal. washing water in 5-gallons
1250 generator w/ 19 gal. gas--not enough to power fridge, AC, etc, but to run power tools, charge phones, computers, etc. and watch Big TV occasionally
battery-operated little tv, radio, CD player
5 gal. bleach, dilutable to 30 gallon solution
1 case Lysol spray
6 pair heavy-duty rubber gloves
3 pair work gloves
2 pair rain boots
2 pair steeltoe work boots
lots of old, throwaway clothes, along with regular clothes
50 aos safety dust masks
3 closed respirators
3 pair safety goggles
tools of all sorts, from muck shovels to caroebter's and electrician's tools, most of which I evacuated with
2 rolls duct tape
150 heavy-duty trash bags
20 rolls paper towels
20 rolls toilet paper
2 tubs baby wipes
paper plates, bowls, plasticware for 50 (sorry for the ecomurder, but washing dishes will be a luxury until the city water is solved)
hand sanitizer/cleaner
lots of first aid, including bandages, alcohol, neosporin, antibiotics, etc. (already got hep A/B and tetnus shots)
Listerine, toothpaste, soap, shampoo
ziploc bags all sizes, 2 rolls aluminum foil
90 ea. D and AA batteries
1 1/2 cases wine, mostly reds
3 cases beer, mostly lagers
I bottle Irish
I bottle Kentucky
1 bottle Patron coffee tequila
5 half-pints Jim Beam (said to be very good bribes for National Guard patrols when you're caught after curfew)
3 cartons Camel Filters
2 bags Bugler with papers
3 lbs coffee (and cans of evaporated milk--yuck)
candles, battery-operated mini-flourescents, maglites, million-candlepower spot
1 pump shotgun w/ alternating loads triple-ought and double-ought four
patch kit and 12-volt air pump (friend B says he's patched TWENTY flats in the past 3 weeks, mostly from roofing nails in the road)
Most of these supplies were indispensible, for our own use and to help returning neighbors. Some were unneccessary or excessive. We still haven't gone through all the damn shampoo we brought home, and the shotgun, thank god, proved to be unneeded. But most of what we brought was put to good use in a neighborhood with no power, water, gas, phone or police except for the Guard and U.S. Marshals (HUGE shout out to Marshal Ross Hebert, who had the patrol in our neighborhood, a cool head and friendly hand).
The first couple of weeks were damn strange and kind of scary, with nary a soul around and not a light to be seen after sundown, except for the few sparked up by our genny, including the spot I hung on the front of our house to illuminate our flag at night. Being a child of the 'burbs and the city, I've always disliked streetlights, resentful at how they banished the subtler illumination of the moon and stars at night. After living in an unlit city for a month, though, I've come to truly appreciate the beauty of Mssrs. Edison and Tesla's work.
As I noted in earlier posts, our house, through accidents of topography and archetecture, was one of the few in our part of Mid-City that didn't take water in the house, Lake Pontchartrain having stopped about three inches below our floorboards. While the roof was pretty badly torn up, our place was liveable and so became something of a beachead for returnees. Friends and neighbors slowly dribbled back. It felt good to provide food, shelter, tools and muscle power for people overwhelmed by their drastically changed lives.
The toughest part of that Welcome Wagon duty was, by far, having to take little old ladies by the hand and start them on the process of throwing out nearly everything they'd accumulated over lifetimes. Many people, not just the LOLs, were staggered by what they saw and didn't know where to even begin. Very quickly, I learned that the place to start was the refrigerator.
After over a month with no electricity, nearly every fridge in town was a toxic, retch-inducing lost cause. As people returned, I'd grab my respirator, hand truck, load straps and duct tape and get the monsters out first. For a month or so, the whole city was overlaid with the most godawful smell you can imagine, the streets lined with white monoliths surrounded by clouds of tiny, brown coffin flies. Soon messages began appearing on the fridges, from the angry ("Michael Brown Inside--Do Not Open") to the political ("William Jefferson Campaign Fund") to the cruel ("Free Food!").
Throughout October, we kept a simple, exhausting routine that started at sunup and went through until dark, when it was time to have the genny gassed up and the hatches battened down. In many ways, it was like the schedule humans have kept throughout our history. Then, late in the month, our QOL jumped dramatically in the space of a minute--Entergy turned on the lights. The first thing I did was fire up the big speakers and blast the neighborhood. Hendrix, Steve Earle, Odetta, Bob Marley, Dylan. I hadn't rocked a house like that in years.
The next day, GF and I got in the car and headed out to Metairie, the suburb where all of New Orleans shopped for a while, to pick up a double-burner electric hotplate (gas service took another month). The following Monday, we served red beans and rice for the neighborhood, the first such red bean Monday of what has turned out to be a year of them.
Red beans and rice has the traditional Monday supper in New Orleans for generations, mostly because Monday is the traditional day to do laundry and red beans can be left to simmer while you wash, dry, fold, etc. I have some friends who'd never eaten anything else on Monday night until they left their parents' houses at majority. It's a tradition I like, and have kept loosely when I could.
Since last year, it's one I've kept religiously, missing only two Mondays (a horrible oral surgery and a death in the family). It's become a ritual in the 'hood, with neighbors coming over to chow, drink, gossip and bond. People bring a bottle or two and folks from all over have helped. Jackalope, a poster on Smirking Chimp, read my complaint that there wasn't any Crystal hot sauce in town after the storm flooded the Baumer Foods factory and scoured supermarkets in Wisconsin, collecting two cases of the stuff and sending it down with friends.
I really wasn't snarking in my comment to UU VIEW's diary asking how we'd organize if the Bushistas blacked out the internet ("My house. Mondays. 6:00"). A regular neighborhood meal is a great organizing and informational tool.
In honor of my real Katrina anniversary, I'll give you my recipe for vegan beans.
Per pound of dry red kidney beans:
about 8-10 cups water
about 6 cloves garlic, diced small
about 1/2 tsp. crushed red pepper
about 1/2 a medium yellow onion, diced large
about 2 to 3 celery stalks, sliced
about 1/4 to1/2 tsp. thyme
about 1/2 tsp. (+) sage
about 1/2 tsp. oregano
about 1/2 tsp. parsley
about 2 tblsp. chopped fresh cilantro
about 1 bay leaf or 1/4 to 1/2 tsp. peppermint
about 1/2 to 2/3 tsp. Liquid Smoke
about 1/2 tsp. salt
(Notice all amounts are listed as "about." This isn't just because I'm a Democrat and can do nuance. This recipe can and should be varied to suit your taste).
Start by sorting the beans. This really starts at the grocery store when you buy 'em. Try and get the freshest you can, pink rather than brownish. Down here, the best brand is Camellia. In the kitchen, I sort out the ones that are way too tiny, already cracked or obviously bug-bitten.
Wash the beans thoroughly and soak, either overnight in cold water or for 2-4 hours in boiled water. Soaking isn't entirely neccessary, but really does cut down on the fart factor on Tuesday.
In a large pot, sautee the garlic, onion, red pepper and thyme in olive oil. When the onions start to get glassy, toss in sage, salt and celery. After a minute or two, when the celery has gotten bright green, add drained beans and boiling water. Cook for 2-4 hours, depending on the amount of water used and desired consitency. More water and time make for creamier beans. About an hour before they're done, I toss in the frozen leftover beans from the week before. For nearly vegan beans, I add about 1/2 oz. of smoked salmon, diced tiny, for little pink bits that, along with the Liquid Smoke, fool even the most rabid pork-hounds.
So, there you go. The recipe is totally scalable, so you're ready to feed the multitudes. Now my question is: do you have any communal meals in your neighborhood? Potlucks, fish fries, whatever? It really is a great way to get together with your 'hoodmates and knit tighter bonds, organize and inform. Plus, you can't beat a great plate of beans.
Since I've put a recipe in the body of the diary, I guess you should troll in the comments. Bon apetit!