I want so desperately to have good news for you. Trust me, this is not for your benefit, but for mine, for my family, for my mom, for the hundreds of pitiful and proud people I’ve talked to here. Some good news, some hope, even just a little thimble full, would save some lives. But there is none. Not even a thimble full. No, I take that back, occasionally good news travels in from outside, like a birdsong though an open window. It’s as if Katrina left in her wake a huge zone of Bad, where no new Good can gain a foothold.
All the Good we get has to be imported from exotic far away lands, like Missouri, or New York. Places where people have homes, and electricity, and phones, and running water, and a future. Those of you who’ve given, who’ve bought prints from me, or donated money, you’ve sent us some good news. That’s what we’re surviving on. Thank you.
But down here, the Bad just keeps lingering. While I was in what’s left of my mom’s Eden, photographing what happened to her few belongings, she tripped over a fallen tree in the backyard and fell on her face. Katrina did this to her.