This afternoon, we were shoveling dirt and raking the sidewalks near St. Paul's Homecoming Center, when a woman pulled up in her car to ask where we were from. When I told her we were from Atlanta, she thanked us for being here and cleaning up. She told us that her husband grew up just about a block away from where we were working. She had lived there with him just after they married. She now works at a college in Louisville, Kentucky, and was bringing her daughter and two granchildren down to see the house.
After our brief exchange, she pulled up to the house, looked around, and walked back to us a few minutes later. With a miniature statue of a knight in hand, she asked us to take a picture with him. The knight, the mascot from the college, goes with the employees of the college when they travel, and they're planning on compiling a book of all the pictures. Before the knight came to New Orleans, he was in Hawaii.
As we posed for the picture with the knight, she asked us where we went to school and told us how much it meant to her that we were working here. She made it clear to us that we were doing more than just shoveling dirt. To me, shoveling the dirt along the sidewalk to allow the water to drain seemed like a mundane task, even bordering on futile. (I kept wondering if people are actually going to return to their homes, and if it will ever even matter if the water drains.) But to her, we were bringing life back to the city. She told us that even though she had moved away from the city many years ago, it's still a special place for her.
She continued talking to us, eager to tell us the story of the house and all the people in her family who have lived there over the years. Her aunt, who was living in the house when Katrina hit, has moved to Houston and refuses to come back because she can't bear the pain of living in such destruction and doesn't have the energy to rebuild her house. This woman's husband, too, won't ever return to New Orleans with her to see the house because the thought of seeing the wreckage seems too daunting to him. She, however, told us that she needed to come back, walk through the house, and salvage some of her aunt's sewing materials, to experience some sense of closure. By bringing her daughter and granddaughter with her, she hopes to share her memories and the vibrant life of both her past and New Orleans with them. Thanks to her encouragment and personal story, I felt that the work we were doing held much more meaning, and I continued to shovel, but with an uplifted spirit. Even if everyone doesn't return to their neighborhood, I can imagine that those who do will be glad the dirt is gone from their gutters. And that's enough to keep me shoveling.
After our brief exchange, she pulled up to the house, looked around, and walked back to us a few minutes later. With a miniature statue of a knight in hand, she asked us to take a picture with him. The knight, the mascot from the college, goes with the employees of the college when they travel, and they're planning on compiling a book of all the pictures. Before the knight came to New Orleans, he was in Hawaii.
As we posed for the picture with the knight, she asked us where we went to school and told us how much it meant to her that we were working here. She made it clear to us that we were doing more than just shoveling dirt. To me, shoveling the dirt along the sidewalk to allow the water to drain seemed like a mundane task, even bordering on futile. (I kept wondering if people are actually going to return to their homes, and if it will ever even matter if the water drains.) But to her, we were bringing life back to the city. She told us that even though she had moved away from the city many years ago, it's still a special place for her.
She continued talking to us, eager to tell us the story of the house and all the people in her family who have lived there over the years. Her aunt, who was living in the house when Katrina hit, has moved to Houston and refuses to come back because she can't bear the pain of living in such destruction and doesn't have the energy to rebuild her house. This woman's husband, too, won't ever return to New Orleans with her to see the house because the thought of seeing the wreckage seems too daunting to him. She, however, told us that she needed to come back, walk through the house, and salvage some of her aunt's sewing materials, to experience some sense of closure. By bringing her daughter and granddaughter with her, she hopes to share her memories and the vibrant life of both her past and New Orleans with them. Thanks to her encouragment and personal story, I felt that the work we were doing held much more meaning, and I continued to shovel, but with an uplifted spirit. Even if everyone doesn't return to their neighborhood, I can imagine that those who do will be glad the dirt is gone from their gutters. And that's enough to keep me shoveling.
posted by Annie @ 6:30 PM
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