Snapshots: Gulfport, Mississippi

All images in this post by special guest contributor Megan Griffiths

This is the second post highlighting the aftermath of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita. The first is here, but we'll ask again: if you know of good local resources to help Katrina and Rita evacuees, or if you know of any artists who were forced from their homes and into Austin, please let us know.

In this installment, we highlight the work of Megan Griffiths, who traveled to Gulfport, Mississippi, with a group of photographers in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. More photos and her recollection of the trip are below the Expand-O-Tron. Click through the photos you enjoy to go to Megan's Flickr pages and fav away.

From Megan:

I imagined the worst. Everyone had seen the flooding, rioting, looting, and shootings on local news channels about New Orleans. I assumed that Mississippi would be no different—but my experience there was quite to the contrary.

I arrived in Gulf Port, Mississippi, on September 3, 2005, about a week after the hurricane hit the coast. Unlike what I saw of New Orleans, Mississippi was devastated in a completely different way by the hurricane. The eye of the storm had actually torn through this area, and for miles inland all you could see were slabs where houses once stood and shells of buildings which were once businesses. The catastrophe and destruction was almost too much for the eye to see and the mind to comprehend.

It was as close to what I can imagine a war zone being like. Houses were marked, on doors and side panels, with the number of dead inside. Barges, from the nearby shipping yard, were strewn across roads busted open like pinatas. Semi trucks were mangled, then flagrantly tossed between trees and houses. I kept thinking of some giant-sized child that had gotten frustrated with his toys and thrown them about in a life-size play set. If you can imagine the beaches — sprinkled with things like ladders, bicycles, couches and vases — were like a Salvador Dali painting made by nature. It was all too surreal.

The people were different than what I had expected, as well. From what I had seen in New Orleans, where anger and desperation seemed to rule the day, Mississippi had an entirely different feel to it. They were worn and tired, yet hopeful and understanding. I remember a Mr. Doolittle offering me a soda as I entered his water marked house. As if I were a neighborhood friend being welcomed into a home that had not been ravaged by the hurricane. Hospitality and Kindness were words that often came to mind when meeting these locals, who were trying to salvage a life, sifting through objects to determine what was worth saving. It made me think of how attached we are to objects and the everyday. How we build our lives based on these things to measure a life well lived. Yet here I was standing in this man's house, covered with debris and mud, and it was not about the damaged objects, but about the greater things in life like Generosity and Selflessness. It renewed my faith in people. Despite what we were seeing on the news at night, there were people out there much like Mr. Doolittle who valued those "things" which make us human versus the " objects" we place around ourselves, which are only an illusion of life. I think we could all learn a lot from men and women like this.