Dead Things on the Seawall

Yesterday the kids and I went to the Lakefront for the first time since Hurricane Isaac hit. I wasn't sure we'd be able to drive all the way down there, really. The last I'd heard the lake had topped the seawall and flooded the surrounding streets. But the main street had been cleared and we were able to park by the seawall, and survey the damage.

Emma pulled on her Rollerblades and skated out of the car, and Christopher, Claire, and a friend of hers ran for the seawall and jumped on top of it to stare out into the lake.  You wouldn't think that much had happened to look at it. The sun glittered on the water, there were only wisps of clouds and besides a few tiny dead crabs on the path by the seawall, there wasn't any other sign that a hurricane had come and gone.

But as we walked on, we found other things. Like the bar across the street that was being gutted. The flooring and walls had been ripped out and were piled outside, and there was that sickening mold smell that will forever remind me of the way the city smelled in the months after Hurricane Katrina.  I swear it smelled worse than the dead alligator we found by the seawall. A full grown, I am not kidding you, alligator, washed up next to an empty gas can, and piles of brown weeds and sticks. Its jaw was open, looking ready to bite, except that it was dead, and ash pale.  Close to that we found a dead nutria rat, a small gar fish, more crabs and an otter.

"I didn't know we had otters," Emma said.
"Neither did I," I told her.
"I don't like all these dead things."
"Me neither. Could be worse though."

Could be people, I thought, but didn't want to depress her further by saying it. Sometimes I wonder, when I hesitate to say the dead, dark thoughts, if they're already in my childrens' minds. I wondered if she had realized that just seven years ago, in the aftermath of a hurricane there were people found just like the alligator, washed up with trash, and stumbled upon by other people surveying the damage. But seven years ago, she was four years old and in the safety of a neighbourhood that had not been flooded. Inconvenienced yes, but no one had died. So most likely, that thought, the thought of how it could be worse, was not in her head, and I hoped that she would grow to be a very lucky woman and she would never have to consider it.

We didn't stay long. It was blazing hot, making all of the dead things smell worse, and since the water park by our favorite beach was closed, I wanted to get home and hold the garden hose over my head.  Which I did, damn thankful for the uncontaminated water running through my hair, over my blazing feet, and in my stomach when I drank straight from the hose.

I hope it's back to normal soon. The lake's beach in Fontainebleau State Park has become our stomping grounds. We call it "our beach" and "our lake" as if it formed thousands of years ago just for us, and these hurricanes blowing through to disrupt our water time just will not do.