On New Years Day of 2007, my youngest daughter Kelly and I packed ourselves and some luggage into our car and headed off to New Orleans, LA to attend the Sugar Bowl game. We left a day early so we could tour New Orleans and the surrounding countryside to see Hurricane Katrina damage. It never crossed my mind that my 14-year-old daughter would utter one simple sentence in a moment of frustration that would forever change how I look at my own home and all the people, pets and things that are inside it.

Sixteen months had past since the monster storm had plundered New Orleans and points east, so surely cleanup and rebuilding efforts had healed the scars from Hurricane Katrina. Well, you know what happens when you assume something. On the second day of our drive, we followed Interstate Routes 59 and 10 from the north towards the Big Easy. Just after crossing the border between Mississippi and Louisiana, signs of Katrina were everywhere.

This is one of thousands of vacant homes in the city of New Orleans. Rebuilding is happening in some neighborhoods, but houses like these far outnumber those being rebuilt. PHOTO CREDIT: Tim Carter

Still many miles from the French Quarter, twisted and snapped trees, empty storefronts, piles of debris and drapes fluttering out of open windows was the "Welcome to New Orleans" sign that whispered to Kelly and I we had arrived on a desecrated part of the Gulf Coast. How, after these many months, could all of this damage still be visible? Why wasn't it being cleaned up? Where were all of the workers trying to breathe life back into the outer edges of this historic city? The answers would come the next day.

"You want to see a hard-hit area, go to Lakeview. It's off Interstate 10 just before the airport. Drive down any street," said Bill Kingman, a friend of mine who acted as our guide on the first day of our arrival. Bill, a resident of New Orleans for the past 22 years, was in Iraq when Katrina hit, and his home missed being flooded by just inches. But he had many friends and neighbors who had lost everything. Bill told us all sorts of tales about the storm as we walked through the seemingly untouched French Quarter.

Dawn broke with a steely gray on our second day in New Orleans. Since the Sugar Bowl game kickoff was not until 7:30 p.m., Kelly and I had the better part of a day to tour the city, and do some shopping. "Let's go take some Hurricane Katrina pictures, " I said after eating breakfast. Kelly sighed, shrugged her shoulders and murmured, "Okay." No doubt I am pretty out of touch with the top ten things a 14-year-old girl wants to do while visiting New Orleans.

The suburb of Lakeview was less than a ten-minute drive from our hotel on the edge of the French Quarter. Getting off the expressway ramp, I immediately sensed something was wrong. There was some traffic on the Clearview Parkway, but the streets that branched off this main thoroughfare were deserted.

For Sale signs stood guard over house after house that had windows missing, doors open and the spray-painted tattoos left by the search teams looking for survivors or those less fortunate. Each damaged house also bore the indelible black ring marking the high-water line as well as secondary rings recording the slow recession of the murky brew as it was pumped back to the sea.

After taking several Hurricane Katrina photos of this aftermath, I was pulled by the invisible force of curiosity to where the wicked beast had made landfall. I needed to see exactly where the center of the vortex smashed into the coast. Kelly and I pointed the car to the east and set our sights on Waveland, MS.

An hour or so later we entered the town limits of Waveland, MS, a small hamlet on US Route 90. There was a small sign that pointed to the Waveland Beach. Perfect. That's exactly where I wanted to go. Kelly and I turned down the small road and couldn't see the beach at all. No wonder, we were well over a mile or more away.

But as Kelly and I creeped south towards the water's edge, we did see concrete slabs at the end of deserted driveways on either side of this small road. Fifty and sixty-foot-tall pine trees with trunks as large as 55-gallon drums were snapped in two like dried twigs.

A house used to sit upon the stilts at ground zero here in Waveland, MS. The water’s edge in normal times is just 100 feet away from the former house. During the height of the storm, the house was under 20 feet of broiling water. PHOTO CREDIT: Tim Carter

Finally we got to the beach. It was eerily quiet. The water was as smooth as a piece of glass. Looking down the beach, the remnants of piers could be seen jutting up from the water. There was not one house to be seen, only the naked wooden piers that used to keep the elevated houses above a seething storm surge.

But they were not tall enough this time. Hurricane Katrina produced a storm surge in excess of 20 feet that pureed the houses like fruit in a blender. The swirling waters, driven by the fierce, howling winds, raped everything in their path as they rushed inland almost a mile and a quarter.

In a voice tainted with a stew of emotions including, but not limited to, hunger, boredom, frustration, sarcasm and indifference not uncommon in a 14-year-old, Kelly said, "Why did we drive an hour to see nothing?" Precisely. No more powerful words could have been spoken at that instant in time.

There was nothing left. Waveland, MS had pulled into Mother Nature's toll booth, and it was time for the town to pay up. Then it hit me. We all are subject to the forces of nature no matter where we live. It can be earthquakes in Memphis, Los Angeles or San Francisco. Tornadoes in the heartland of our great nation. Flooding from storms at any place and any time of year. Wildfires, volcanic eruptions, avalanches, windstorms - pick your poison - they all can wipe out you, your possessions and most importantly your loved ones with virtually no warning.

My New Year's resolution has now been modified. I am going to do more to prepare for any event that might threaten my home and family. Things of value need to be put in the safest places. Things of great value must be packed up or be ready to be scooped up as one leaves the house. I urge you to do the same. Survey your own home and develop a plan that will allow you to start over with the least amount of pain if you are the victim of a disaster. You can become a statistic and your life will be forever changed.

Author's Notes:

From time to time I get profound comments from people who read my work. Here are some comments from Leo in Seattle, WA. The storm he refers to is the vicious windstorm that raked the Seattle area in December of 2006. It will go down in the record books for sure. Leo writes:

"It doesn't compare with Katrina, but even our little storm here, and subsequent events, have been an education for many people. Because we're due for "the big one" (earthquake), there's definitely education being attempted, but a lot is falling on deaf ears.

Lessons I wish people would learn:

- Don't rely on the government to help you. As big as they are, when disaster hits they're both too big a bureaucracy with too few people on the ground to help any large number of people in any reasonable amount of time.

- Don't rely on utility companies to help you. They will have priorities and will work their butts off to get things restored, but a) it won't be fast enough no matter who you are, and b) you're probably not a priority. Don't bitch about it - be prepared for it.

- Don't rely on your insurance company for anything more than a check. Insurance is about money, it's not their job to repair your home. While some might refer you to local contractors, many do not, and in times of overwhelming need, both adjusters and contractors are going to be hard to come by.

Know what your area is at risk for (i.e. Seattle-> major earthquakes every 100 years or so, and moderate windstorms every 10 years,and be prepared to take care of yourself for a while.

The current campaign http://www.govlink.org/3days3ways/
advocates three days of self sufficiency ... my opinion is that that's woefully inadequate."