Rock and Roll Superstar

I met Bob Mould, my punk rock idol, a few weeks ago at a great show he did at World Cafe Life in Philadelphia. We went with neighbor Mike, and not only was the trip up smooth, parking was easy and well-lit, and the venue was hands-down the nicest place I've ever seen live music (although UD's theaters come really close). We had a fantastic dinner and great wine/beer before Bob's Q&A session, watched him do a combination acoustic/electric set (I just get weak in the knees when he busts out that blue Fender Stratacaster), and then enjoyed his new DVD, Circle of Friends. The boys, apparently more aged than I, were chomping at the bit to get home to bed (true, it was a school night, and I do have a more flexible workday), so they dragged me kicking and screaming out of the theater to buy my DVD and have Bob sign it. Not only did he sign it, he shook my hand AND took a picture with me! My life is complete...I met Bob Mould. He has no idea what an inspiration he is to people...not only is his entire body of music lyrically significant and musically unique, but his intelligence as a blogger and speaker really make him stand out as a public figure. Bet you didn't know he wrote the theme song for The Daily Show. Buy his stuff--Husker Du, Sugar, and his solo albums. If you heart punk rock and alt. rock like I do, you won't be sorry.

Rebuilding New Orleans, Two Years After Katrina

While I was in New Orleans for Matt's Soil Science Society of America conference, I had an opportunity: join four other UD folks and the St. Bernard Project (http://www.stbernardproject.org/) to work on a house in St. Bernard Parish. My friend Jen Gilbert, determined that the brain and muscle power attending the conference should be dedicated to a good cause while in New Orleans, had attempted to organize a larger volunteer project in conjunction with the conference. There was a group that volunteered before our UD contingent arrived, but Jen wasn't going to let the opportunity to slip by while she was in the city. She got on message boards several months before the conference, asking which organization people recommended we support. The St. Bernard Project got glowing reviews, so Jen signed us up, rented a van so we could get there from the French Quarter, and reminded everyone what to bring.

On Wednesday, November 7, we left our hotel at 8am and drove to St. Bernard Parish. As the St. Bernard Parish Project explains on its website, the community is adjacent to the Lower Ninth Ward, and 100% of its residences and businesses flooded when the levees failed. As we drove into the area, my heart sank and my throat constricted. Almost every single structure had a huge X on its front, with the National Guard Unit number and date they checked the building. At the bottom was the number of dead found inside the building. We only saw zeros, but of course we all know that there were fatalities.

The Wal-Mart wasn't even open yet, but some businesses were open, and some homes had clearly been rebuilt. Many homes were under construction, FEMA trailers parked in the yard or driveway. But then there were the sadder sites--parking lots right on the main road filled with FEMA trailers, themselves filled with entire families and even pets. Two and a half years after a national disaster, how are people who have worked all their lives still living in trailers?

When we arrived at the office of the St. Bernard Project, we learned that the organization was begun in August 2006 when a couple visiting from Washington, D.C. observed "the overwhelming need for rebuilding assistance" and started the group to rebuild and renovate homes. The organization had a piece of butcher paper on the wall that said 83 families in the community are now back in their homes, and 21 houses are under construction. The organization raises funds for building materials and overhead, recruits volunteers, and builds home. Our UD crew was heartened by the simplicity of the organization.

On Tuesday 11/6, I had read an article in the New York Times about how haphazard and even risky much of the rebuilding in New Orleans is. My take-away was that it's all well and good to talk about how the re-build might have been done, but that should have happened in September of 2005, and plans should have been drawn up immediately, allowing a systematic method of rebuilding and re-homing of survivors. Instead, nothing was done...for two years. I really don't care about some New Urbanist architect's vision of how New Orleans should be rebuilt, unless that person has a plan to make it happen RIGHT NOW. Even as a fledgling landscape designer, I think the residents of St. Bernard Parish should get into their homes ASAP.

Matt and his colleague Brandon, the son of a master electrician, went to the home of a nice Filipino lady who took their pictures (she takes the pictures of all her volunteers, she told them). She told Matt and Brandon that after the flood, she stayed in fifteen shelters before getting home six months later. Another man in the neighborhood, who had served in the U.S. Military and is a retired police officer, told them that he had spent six days on the roof. On the second day, he assured his neighbor that the U.S. Military can deploy anywhere in the world in three days and that they'd be there momentarily. Instead, it was the Canadian Mounties that rescued them, days later.

Jen, her boyfriend Sean, and I went to another home in the neighborhood, that had been re-wired and had plumbing installed. We insulated almost the whole house, a grueling job that can't even compare to what the family has been through. They had already moved some of their things into the house, and the bathroom was even decorated, though it had no walls yet. I found myself choking up as I observed the small refrigerator, bike, and bathroom rug.

A woman from down the street popped in, smiling brightly as she took stock of our work. Cheryl had been on her roof for four days after the flood (she said it took eight minutes for the water to get from her ankles to her chin, and she was swept away by the water, but fortunately climbed onto her neighbor's roof). She and her husband got cholera from diving into the water to try to rescue one of their dogs. She is back in her house, now, after some time in Texas, and always makes sure to tell the volunteers how much the residents love them and that they can come to her house and use the facilities and see her trailer. I asked her about her trailer--did FEMA have a date by which people had to give up their trailers, like the hotel rooms? She said there had been a deadline, yes, "but now, with the formaldehyde issue, they don't care anymore."

At the end of the day, we drove around the neighborhood a bit more, with another volunteer from Brooklyn, NY. Mike, a musician and frequent visitor to New Orleans, came down this time to volunteer for two weeks. "It's not long enough," he said. "I should have come for the month." I understand his feelings. We felt like we should come back the next day. One day was something, but not nearly enough. We have the strength and energy to really make a difference there. I plan to return when Matt attends the American Chemical Society meeting this spring and work every day.

The feelings I came away with were mixed--I have great sadness and empathy for the families who are still living out this tragedy, whether they're back in their home, struggling to re-create the community that is still devastated; in the midst of rebuilding, having to take help from strangers when they've never had to before; living in a FEMA trailer in a parking lot; or in another state, trying to create a life somewhere they didn't ever expect to be. I also felt great hope, as I was waved to by neighbors and thanked by Cheryl. After all this, people have hope. They've come home. Volunteers continue to move to New Orleans to help, or even give just one day. People donate money, two years later.

The thing that hit home the most was that the story I felt I got from media accounts of the events was that the Lower Ninth Ward became a wasteland, and all of New Orleans was desolate, destroyed, and crime-ridden, without hope. In contrast, St. Bernard Parish, arguably the hardest hit, is still the middle-class community it always is, though hard-hit and reeling from the destruction. People are back, they are rebuilding, and they are trying hard to keep their community intact. The story in New Orleans is really one of survival and hope. I encourage those who have the means to get down there to volunteer or to send a donation to any of the wonderful organizations working to help people there to do so. We have the opportunity to help make this right, and we should seize that chance.

A Week in Crescent City

I've been in The Big Easy this week--Superman's entire research group, and much of the College of Ag. and Natural Resources, attended a conference here, and many spouses tagged along. The weather has been lovely, and we're staying at the pleasant Maison Dupuy hotel in the French Quarter.

The area around the New Orleans Convention Center has turned into quite the posh little stomping ground, and the Garden District remains gorgeous and inspiring.

I have also hoofed it around the French Quarter quite a bit, enjoying the historic buildings, European feel, quiet blocks, and pleasantness of morning.

Tuesday, after walking Superman to the conference, I walked along the river, pausing to visit the New Orleans Holocaust Memorial, which was beautiful and innovative. I continued on to Jackson Square, where I visited one of the state museums. My next stop was The 1850 House, followed by a visit to my new favorite cafe, Royal St. Coffee. I attempted to tour another restored house that the NY Times has lauded, but the timing was off, so I returned to the hotel to relax and work a bit.

That evening, we went to a UD/VA Tech mixer and dinner at the original House of Blues with the gang. Who knew, but it's hard to find vegetarian food in New Orleans, so I've eaten a lot of salad and indulged in some treats.

The animals here are a kick--all these very friendly, mellow cats and dogs. There is a Cockatiel around the corner that says "hi" when you walk by, and if you stop and talk to the bird, it will climb up the iron door it sits in and then slide down it! When we clap, it bows for us. It's really cute.

I could live here easily--the more we get out and about, the more friendly people we meet. The climate is so mild and the people so friendly, it's easy to see how badly people wanted to get home after Katrina. Yesterday, we volunteered for the day in St. Bernard Parish, a very meaningful and transformative day for me. I'll write more about it in my next post.

Laissez les bons temps roulez...and carpe diem.

Punkin Chunkin

The annual Punkin Chunkin (that's the WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP Punkin Chunkin to all you rookies out there) took place last weekend. Mary and I entered the baking contest; she baked pumpkin cupcakes and frosted them with cinnamon buttercream, while I baked Susan Carney's pumpkin chocolate chip cookies.

Let's just say I should have worn that themed outfit.

The cookies turned out great, but the baking contest was much more sophisticated than Mary or I had envisioned. People threw it DOWN. We're talking fall tablecloths, real pumpkins, pumpkin confetti, pumpkin plates and napkins--one woman even served her "white chocolate pumpkin hot cocoa" out of a pumpkin soup tureen. Complete with leaf ladle.

"These are things you wish you had right now, but would never use otherwise," I whispered to Mary.

Despite any "points for presentation," Mary won third prize for cakes and desserts, scoring herself a ceramic pumpkin to use next year. I left armed with a plan for next year's decorations, but prize-free. I content myself with the fact that one of the chef-judges gave props to my chocolate chips (organic, from the Co-op). Another judge asked, "what else is in here besides the typical cookie ingredients and pumpkin? I'm detecting another flavor."

"Uh, cinnamon?" I hazarded.

That seemed satisfactory.

The chunkin itself was hilarious. Matt and Dave watched air guns for a while (if a pumpkin explodes upon being shot, everyone shouts, "Pumpkin pie!"), and Mary and I caught the chunkin of the "Yankee Siege" trebouchet (or however you spell that).

It was quite a day. We were all so tired that night that Fairfax put himself to bed during dinner, and Dave crawled in with him.

And another Halloween season comes to a close.