Marco Had to Drag Them Away ...

One half inch every ten feet. That’s all that mattered. One half inch every ten feet. The heat didn’t matter, not even when it hit 90 degrees every day by 11AM, or when it hit 105 on Tuesday. The bugs didn’t matter, not even the cockroaches that performed like trapeze artists in the rafters above my lower bunk each night. The well-intended but overlappingly chaotic “organization” that surrounded us didn’t matter either, not even when we were sent to the wrong addresses, or when homeowners or contractors who were supposed to meet us and/or supply us failed to materialize.

All that mattered to me and to 6 wonderful, determined, and increasingly tight-knit CA students was how to make the approximately 180 feet of three-inch wide sewer pipe that we laid one feet deep into Rick Galle’s back yard achieve a consistent descent on one half inch for every ten feet between the oil barrel-sized sump pump we buried at one end, and the septic tank we bored into at the other. If you’re a geometry genius who can look at that challenge and quickly determine that it’s mathematically impossible to achieve, then keep it to yourself, for two reasons. First, none of the whip-smart kids I worked with this week ever reached that conclusion, (nor did any of the Camp Coastal staff, the Americorps volunteers who assisted them, the two or three contractors who occasionally stopped by, nor Rick himself). Secondly, and more importantly, keep it to yourself because, as I’ve learned in just one week of wandering around in Katrina’s wake, everything seemingly has to be difficult, but nothing is ultimately allowed to be impossible.

Our week together in Rick Galle’s back yard turned out to be everything I could have possibly wished for these students when I first agreed to accompany them to Mississippi. Like all of life’s great challenges, the challenge of the descending septic pipe slowly. Not only does Rick live a scant two miles from the Camp Coastal site, but the proposed septic line would connect his house (which was gutted but not demolished after the storm, and is currently being refurbished) to a renovated structure on one end of his property which he has generously donated to Camp Coastal to use as a larger and more permanent administrative headquarters. After being sent on Monday to a site where no work materialized and then ending up building a set of wooden steps into a function tent at the Camp Coastal campsite itself, finding out Tuesday morning that we were barely going down the road to do what initially felt like another “favor” for Camp Coastal might have understandably been a been of a letdown. And besides, for goodness sakes, we weren’t being sent out to “build homes” or two sheetrock walls for Katrina survivors, as had been prophesized back in the safe confines of the Ransome Room just a few weeks ago – we were going to dig a septic ditch so that Camp Coastal staffers could flush their toilet.

Of course the temperature hit 105 on Tuesday, our first day at Rick’s. And of course the ground was full of dense roots and/or heavy red clay. And of course the proposed pipeline didn’t follow a straight path, but instead fish-hooked out the side of one house and created a bizarre looping arc. And of course it involved crisscrossing sections of 2 and 3” pipelines. But something wonderful happened as we dug ditches, carved out roots, learned to prepare and then connect PVC pipe, and dug our way under not one, but two different fences. In fact, several wonderful things happened.

First of all, we were blessed with the opportunity to spend four days at one site. Unlike many others who were deployed to different (and of course important) tasks each day – sometimes doing different tasks at different sites at different parts of the same day – we happily slipped off the radar each morning. “Marco, your crew is back at Rick’s today,” was all the confirmation I needed to hear. This allowed us to bypass the daily hub-bub that attended the distribution of tasks and then quickly get to our job site, which in turn allowed us to get a bit of a jump on the inevitably brutal heat, and the seemingly inevitable 3:30PM thunderstorm. Secondly, and more importantly, we became deeply invested in – and arguably quite knowledgeable about – the task at hand, allowing me to do what I really wanted to do: let the students own the work. By Wednesday I was consulting with them more than they consulted with me, and it was great to watch them strategize about digging angles, different uses of tools and fittings, rotations of tasks and breaks, and, of course, the ultimately vital question of one half inch per ten feet. Finally, and most importantly, we got to spend a week with Rick himself, who seemed to me to be the very face of decency in the aftermath of calamity. He told us stories about his family and neighbors, and very matter-of-factly told us about of the many ways he reached out to them. He told us stories about the many waves of volunteers who had already helped him: members of the Grand Valley State football team apparently fainted from the April – yes, April – heat as they built a wooden fence. Three “little girls” from Massachusetts roofed the Camp Coastal building whose septic trench we laid. Rick told us about his gardens and his trees. He bought us fried chicken and pecan pie on our last day. Rick told us, “I know y’all think you come down here to rebuild houses, but you don’t. You come down here to rebuild hearts.” He told us we always would have a home in Mississippi.

But before he did any of that, Rick told us, on the very first day we arrived, why what we were doing mattered just as much as any other more seemingly “glamorous” relief work we might have envisioned. He told us why we weren’t just making it easy for Camp Coastal to flush a toilet. He said, “Y’know, I don’t consider myself a religious man, but what y’all are doing – and maybe you don’t understand it yet – but it’s like y’all are helping the Jesus of this whole situation. That’s what these Camp Coastal people have been to us down here.” If it mattered that much to Rick, how could it matter any less to any of us?

So what about one half inch every ten feet? Yes, the kids figured it out. And in a somewhat cruel twist of fate, we never got to lay it in. On our last day we worked from 8:30AM until 6:45PM, and I still had to literally drag them away from the ditch. Some pipe fittings and inconsistencies among allegedly uniform-sized PVC pipes finally betrayed us, and we ended up about seven feet and one fitting short of completing the job. Of course, Rick eloquently told the kids that they won, that the job really was finished, that several other group leaders had balked at even starting the job we eventually completed, and that he had never been as proud of any team of volunteers as he was of ours. He actually had, on more than one occasion this week, dragged various Camp Coastal officials down from the campsite to show them our work and brag about us. We took a piece of PVC and all signed it for him, posed for group pictures, dutifully sniffed the gardenias and magnolias of which Rick was so proud, and then did one thing that really made the whole week entirely worthwhile: we hugged someone we’d never known as if we’d known him for years, and we put faith in his head shaking gratitude for having completed a job that he wasn’t sure would ever get done. Of course my wonderful companions – Janney, Steven, Rose, Sandy, Nora, and Eric – would probably miss today flight home on a second’s notice if it could by them just one more 22.5 joint and about another three hours in Rick’s back yard to complete that line, lay that grade, and bury that pipe. So would I. But just like every other image you might point a camera at down here, it’s best to constantly go back and forth between the wide-angle view and the zoomed in view, and really pause to take in the magnitude of each. To the goat loving members of “Team Awesome” – thanks for coming together as you did, and for taking wing as you did. It was an honor to spend this week with you.

Team Marco's Final Day

Team Marco returned on our final day to Rick’s house to complete laying pipe for his septic and grey water systems. We needed to dig a hole about four feet deep and three feet across to bury the septic pump near the front of the pipe system. After the pump was buried the pipe system was nearly completed by us except for the final few feet near the pump. In total there was almost 220 feet of pipe.
Rick treated us to a fried chicken lunch. We will never forget him nor his story.
-Steven, 6/15/20707

Signing Off ...

David and I (Liz) had to leave MS a day early (quite reluctantly, I assure you) in order to attend CA's Reunion Weekend festivities on Sat morning. Accordingly, the blog won't be updated from on site tomorrow (Sat) am, though I hope additional images and comments will be posted, fleshing out what's here. Anyone who'd like to post something is welcome to send it to Liz at her school email and I'll upload it.

Meantime, the quick report we got by cell phone this evening was that all is well; a couple of groups feasted on homemade catfish for lunch, while others finished priming the house mentioned in the "Pink Paint" entry of yesterday.

Hope this blog has been both entertaining and informative!

Fireside Reflections

I wonder if I can capture the power of tonight’s fire in words. We gathered, all of us, around a bonfire after dark fell, gazing at the flames and, like unending human generations, allowing their light to draw us into communion with those sitting around it. Story time. David invited us to share observations, feelings, and thoughts on the week’s experience. Slowly, than in a rush, people spoke. Comments ranged from frustration with Camp Coastal’s inefficiency at dispatching us or insufficiency of tools to questioning, “How can we be building houses that might not withstand Katrina 2.0, the next hurricane?” to thoughts about the profound gratitude we’d heard from everyone whom we’d met and the complex feelings that such thankfulness aroused.

Some voices were a bit daunted, wondering what can one week of my work (or team’s work, all of CA’s work) do? How much impact can it have when we can see so much damage all around us. But then a counterpoint emerged: realize that we have among us dug four or five houses worth of postholes, putting those houses on the track to being built, literally digging the foundation of people’s new lives; that there are 300 people in Camp Coastal alone, and countless other camps, all making small, incremental progress. The names of those we’d met came up – Randy, Noel, Butch, Rick, and others. One person spoke of the power of bearing witness to their experience, through hearing their stories, and listening with deep attentiveness. We heard of one group priming the walls in an almost finished houses, so a little girl could have her longed-for pink bedroom. Many told stories of especially gratifying or wrenching moments they’d experienced over the week.

Kids spoke of how much they had learned – about how complicated the whole house construction process is, and how modest one person’s input can be, about how much remains untouched 21 months after Katrina hit. Some spoke of a deep anger that had been building over the week, anger at the failure of the government (local, national, whatever) to have responded more wholly to the devastation still visible nearly everywhere.

And as we closed, several of the adults (echoed by some students) voiced their deep appreciation of our group, for the CA kids have worked unstintingly, with focus, effort and immense sweat, at whatever task they were assigned, whether glamorous or grungy. Their effort and willingness to pitch in has been noted by everyone (Camp Coastal staff and other volunteers; homeowners) and I (Liz) am very proud to be a part of this group and this school.

And then, after all that solemnity, we cheerfully fell upon the s’mores supplies, which disappeared with alarming rapidity!

Beach Boulevard

Almost every group has by now driven along the 4-5 mile stretch of Beach Boulevard in Waveland and Bay St. Louis, fronting on the Gulf. This area saw a 30 foot storm surge and the echoing emptiness remains haunting. What were obviously estate-properties, beachfront homes in every sense, are now empty foundations, though vestiges of the landscaping remain. Some have rebuilt, and a local man on a bike that my group encountered on Wed. evening told us that those houses are both self-funded and self-insured. Too many people here cannot afford insurance on their properties (esp. nearer the beach), and so have been unable to rebuild.

Striking sights on this stretch include a bank branch that was ripped away, all save its fast-rusting vault. Or a bridge/overpass that stands alone, the pier it once led to long vanished.

Septic Pipes and Accomplishment

When Marco learned that we would probably be working at Rick’s property for at least three days, he didn’t tell our group because he feared we’d be disappointed. However we were all glad and excited to return this morning for a third—and perhaps final—day of work on the septic trenches. After a rather stubborn member of our team triumphed over the final remaining root, we were clear to continue laying pipe. We finished laying pipe in the straightaway, which ended up measuring between eighty and eighty-five feet. Unfortunately because of an error, we did not have sufficient piping to complete the circle to the backside of the house; we needed an additional forty feet of piping.
Before lunch we loaded into the van to go to a site where according to Marco we would “unload some trestles.” We arrived and met a group of volunteers from a church in Arkansas. In total there were 21 trestles, measuring roughly 20 feet across, 15 feet tall and each weighing about 250 pounds. The process of bringing the trestles down off of the open 18-wheeler and piling them up on the ground beside the truck was quite arduous. A group of five stood on the truck, handed them down to another group of five on the ground, before the trestle was handed to yet another group of five inside the ever-growing pile of trestles. Once the trestles were stacked about 6 feet high, the final five had to climb out from inside the trestles.
After lunch we returned to Rick’s to complete odd jobs. Some gardened and others prepped the house to be power washed by bleaching the sides of the house by hand with bleach. We also cleaned out the inside of the CC house so that a team could come in within the next few weeks to lay floor or perhaps even paint. We promised Rick we would return tomorrow to say goodbye on our final day of work.

-Steven 6/14/2007

Pink Paint

Today in Ms. Hill’s house we primed. Having arrived after lunch, fresh from digging holes in the morning, we applied primer to the entry/living room, kitchen, hallway and one of the bedrooms. After hole-digging, painting seemed to be a nice break, and we appreciated seeing a nearly-finished house. The wonderful thing about a house in the final stages of constructions is that it offers the possibility of imagining the personal touches that are to come and the family that will actually live inside. This was particularly evident in the corner bedroom of Ms. Hill’s house, where a piece of paper taped to the window indicated that this particular room needed to be painted pink whereas every other room would be classic taupe. This is Ms. Hill’s youngest daughter’s room, and right now nothing could make our team happier than to be able to paint that room pink for this little girl. This house is speeding towards becoming a home as it takes on the personalities of its future owners. It might be this part of the process that we have been the most excited to help along.

Molly