Geaux Away
Interstate 10 east is dotted with abandoned cars every few miles, but after a while they blend into the chaotic scenery. Why so many cars -- at least 75 in the 10 hour drive. As a child, I often imagined the family minivan flying over the edge of the swamp bridges near Gross Tete or Breaux Bridge or some other Louisana swamp town with a funny name. I envisioned myself crawling up the cement pillars of the bridge, fighting off the alligators to reach the glowing blue emergency phone to send for help. My childhood fear seems much less dramatic now -- using a blue box to call for a ride when your car dies is certainly no herculean feat.
The gulf coast continues to look beaten up. Despite an effort for clean-up, you can still tell that a major disaster happened here in some vague amount of time previous to now. The past. Maybe it always looks like a major disaster is coming or going. Spring blooms weave over piles of dead tree limbs and signs that blew 100 miles inland. Houses are still blown sideways, streets are still littered with tiny pieces of glass, plywood, electrical wires. That FEMA trailer is still a home.
