From Inside Katrina
From Inside Katrina
by Linda Foshee
I cried today for the first time in more than two weeks. The images from the Hurricane ravaged
Gulf Coast and New Orleans were so unbelievably surreal that I found it hard to cry. The
devastation is so widespread that it will take years for some areas to recover. Yet this morning I
cried for a ‘possum.
I watched as an injured ‘possum attempted to maneuver our front lawn. It was a remarkable
demonstration of the will to live. The ‘possum had more than likely been the victim of a falling
tree behind our home. He had been injured so badly that his back legs no longer functioned. Yet
here he was, inching toward the street taking brief pauses to rest as he struggled to surmount
the distance between him and a brush pile that would afford him shade and safety.
My only option was to call animal control. I wanted this animal relieved of his misery in a humane
way, but at the same time I desperately wanted him to win his battle. I wanted him to have a
chance at life again as he once knew it even though I knew what the outcome must be.
As I waited for the arrival of the animal control officer, I remained with the ‘possum, shielding him
from the sun with my shadow. It was the one thing I could do to ease his last moments of life.
No one in this area has been left untouched by Hurricane Katrina. The ‘possum in my front yard
was simply a microcosm of the pain and suffering we have all watched these past few weeks as
thousands of evacuees are struggling to resume their lives, struggling to find hope for the future.
Immediately following Katrina’s fury, Catherine Cummins of St. Gabriel, Louisiana, wrote the
following words before she was able to see the images of Katrina’s fury:
By this time, I expect that many people are having "disaster fatigue" or whatever the word is for
being over-saturated by images of Hurricane Katrina. However, I am not one of those people. I
have yet to see any TV images because I still do not have any power or phone.
[But] what I do have images of is quite amazing, and even more humbling. As the last of the
winds and rains were passing at dusk, I saw many ruby-throated hummingbirds coming to visit
flowers in our garden. [They] had made it through the hurricane. I saw leaves suspended in
exquisite webs woven by orb-weaver spiders. The spiders were already back mending and
cleaning out the debris. Most miraculous of all, I saw a black swallowtail and sulfur butterflies
feeding on the flowers along our street.
These things, which seem so delicate, are still alive and going about their business as though
nothing has happened. In fact, I suspect that to them, nothing has happened. They are so well
adapted to life here, which can go from lush subtropical to deadly in a day. They survive better
by hiding in natural cavities than we do in our high-rise hotels. Their hiding places did not have
their windows blown out or
filled with water. They are immune to our waterborne disease and the wickedness of looters.
As the university where I work fills with refugees from "urban civilization," I have to wonder who is
more civilized, we humans or these fragile beauties who go along at peace with nature instead of
trying to control it? We could learn a lot, I think, but we have to take the time to look.
The animal control officer lifted the ‘possum gently in his hands and placed him in the truck as I
made my way back to the house. I wondered if the ‘possum knew that I was offering him comfort
from the hot sun and tears for all he had endured? I like to think that he did. As the pain in his
eyes met the tears in my own, I was reminded that we are all connected in ways that are
mysterious and beautiful. We need only to take the time to look.
Linda Foshee is a Lay Minister serving OUR HOME UNIVERSALIST UNITARIAN CHURCH in
Ellisville, Mississippi.
by Linda Foshee
I cried today for the first time in more than two weeks. The images from the Hurricane ravaged
Gulf Coast and New Orleans were so unbelievably surreal that I found it hard to cry. The
devastation is so widespread that it will take years for some areas to recover. Yet this morning I
cried for a ‘possum.
I watched as an injured ‘possum attempted to maneuver our front lawn. It was a remarkable
demonstration of the will to live. The ‘possum had more than likely been the victim of a falling
tree behind our home. He had been injured so badly that his back legs no longer functioned. Yet
here he was, inching toward the street taking brief pauses to rest as he struggled to surmount
the distance between him and a brush pile that would afford him shade and safety.
My only option was to call animal control. I wanted this animal relieved of his misery in a humane
way, but at the same time I desperately wanted him to win his battle. I wanted him to have a
chance at life again as he once knew it even though I knew what the outcome must be.
As I waited for the arrival of the animal control officer, I remained with the ‘possum, shielding him
from the sun with my shadow. It was the one thing I could do to ease his last moments of life.
No one in this area has been left untouched by Hurricane Katrina. The ‘possum in my front yard
was simply a microcosm of the pain and suffering we have all watched these past few weeks as
thousands of evacuees are struggling to resume their lives, struggling to find hope for the future.
Immediately following Katrina’s fury, Catherine Cummins of St. Gabriel, Louisiana, wrote the
following words before she was able to see the images of Katrina’s fury:
By this time, I expect that many people are having "disaster fatigue" or whatever the word is for
being over-saturated by images of Hurricane Katrina. However, I am not one of those people. I
have yet to see any TV images because I still do not have any power or phone.
[But] what I do have images of is quite amazing, and even more humbling. As the last of the
winds and rains were passing at dusk, I saw many ruby-throated hummingbirds coming to visit
flowers in our garden. [They] had made it through the hurricane. I saw leaves suspended in
exquisite webs woven by orb-weaver spiders. The spiders were already back mending and
cleaning out the debris. Most miraculous of all, I saw a black swallowtail and sulfur butterflies
feeding on the flowers along our street.
These things, which seem so delicate, are still alive and going about their business as though
nothing has happened. In fact, I suspect that to them, nothing has happened. They are so well
adapted to life here, which can go from lush subtropical to deadly in a day. They survive better
by hiding in natural cavities than we do in our high-rise hotels. Their hiding places did not have
their windows blown out or
filled with water. They are immune to our waterborne disease and the wickedness of looters.
As the university where I work fills with refugees from "urban civilization," I have to wonder who is
more civilized, we humans or these fragile beauties who go along at peace with nature instead of
trying to control it? We could learn a lot, I think, but we have to take the time to look.
The animal control officer lifted the ‘possum gently in his hands and placed him in the truck as I
made my way back to the house. I wondered if the ‘possum knew that I was offering him comfort
from the hot sun and tears for all he had endured? I like to think that he did. As the pain in his
eyes met the tears in my own, I was reminded that we are all connected in ways that are
mysterious and beautiful. We need only to take the time to look.
Linda Foshee is a Lay Minister serving OUR HOME UNIVERSALIST UNITARIAN CHURCH in
Ellisville, Mississippi.
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