Tuesday September 27, 2005

Sara Warner Update of September 23, 2005

Here’s an update on the efforts we’ve been making to help the horses and people affected by Hurricane Katrina.

Thank you all for your amazing response to the call for donations. On Monday, when I pulled into Florida Farm and Feed to drop off the trailer, we already had enough donated funds to fill the trailer while I waited. That meant I didn’t have to drive back across town to pick up the donations, and I appreciate saving the time and the fuel. I got to go home and ride my horse. On the way, I stopped by my favorite vet and picked up donations of Banamine, Bute, antibiotics. These items are greatly appreciated.

Tuesday morning I headed west at 5 a.m., hoping to make contact with some folks in Louisiana that I had gotten word were needing help. The plan was to find them and ascertain what their needs are, then swing back to Lakeshore and take supplies to Kenny Ray and Teresa at Landers Feed Store. These are the people we made some initial connections with last week. I also had had a call from a lady in Mississippi who is coordinating supplies for the horse owners in Eastern Mississippi, so I thought I might be able to catch up with her on the way home and see what things look like on her block.

A friend of mine wrote recently that “as part of every journey, there are expectations, dreams, desires, moments of doubt and moments when we get lost.” One of the strange things about hauling supplies into the disaster area is that it often feels like versions of the games we played as kids. Trying to find people and horses in all the chaos goes like the search game—warmer, warm, cooler, really cold, warmer, hot, found it! The phones don’t quite work in the disaster zone. The towers are still down, the land lines are overloaded. “Information” one gets is more like those barely comprehensible messages whispered in a game of “rumor” than anything a sane person would try to go on. The amazing thing is, it keeps working. The network of people who love horses is really phenomenal.

West of Slidell, LA, I-10 is closed. I had to backtrack and find the northern route to Covington. The drive away from the coast gave me the heebie-jeebies. I’ve always cherished the illusion that having our farm 60 miles inland makes us pretty hurricane-proof. But the wreckage on both sides of the highway, mile after mile, bears stark witness to how much punch these big storms carry even a long way from the coast.

I had directions to a farm north of Covington that was sheltering horse refugees and reportedly needed feed and hay, but because of the static and bubbles in the airwaves, I had missed a few of the street names. I was hoping my built-in horse radar would get me near enough to suss it out. Ok, I got close. I turned one driveway before the right one. Unfortunately the drive was a very narrow, quarter-mile lane to a beautiful home with no turn-around, no one home, and debris everywhere. How to get my 27’ rig out? I left some tracks in the yard, but I did stack the pine limbs in a neat pile. Sorry about that folks. The next drive was the right one. Roger met me and helped me unload feed and hay, fly strips and salt. They have about 40 horses there, but they have more grass than further south, and, of course, no salt water inundation to deal with. I think it would be good to try to coordinate with a rescue group further west to get these guys feed and hay. They are so far west, and fuel is at such a premium, that I think it would be more efficient to try to solve their problems through Riders of the Storm, or one of the other groups working west of Covington.

I’ve gotten several reports that all is going well further west. Between LSU and the Lamar Dixon center, they have things pretty well organized to help the horses out their way. Mississippi is still sorely in need and not all that organized yet—although thanks to Julie Catone, who has a real talent for working the matrix—we are getting better information all the time. And, thanks to the seemingly tireless crews who are clearing roads and power lines everywhere, and getting communications back up and running.

I made it back to Pearlington (misspelled Perrelton in the last report) just as the sun was getting low. The slanting light made a pentimento effect on the landscape—as if the breathtaking natural beauty of this area could be glimpsed beneath the chaotic overcoat of devastation. The town, which a week ago was like a staging area in a war zone, was actually peaceful. Tents are everywhere in the yards beside crumbling houses, and makeshift kitchens under blue tarps provide places to sit, rest, talk. One church that was gone, all but the foundation, had set a statue of the Virgin Mary in the yard with a sign giving the times of services to be held “under God’s roof.”

I turned east on Highway 90 and headed for the Lower Bay Road. Thankfully, and in stark contrast to the week before, I saw not one dog, cat, or cow in the road needing rescue. High praise goes out to the people who worked the animal rescue here. I drove past the places where I picked up animals last week and was glad to see families back, children out on their 4-wheelers—neighborhoods getting back to normal. Two pitbulls I had climbed a fence to feed last week were happily playing with two boys. A hurricane-blue tent, pitched in the yard, and a campfire boasting a stew-pot made me think of the tenacity of people and of our deep and common heritage.

I realized I was feeling some dread approaching Lakeshore. I don’t know what I was afraid of specifically—that Kenny Ray and Teresa would have gone, or worse, that they would still be there, sunk in dismay at the enormous task surrounding them. Maybe I was thinking they wouldn’t need any feed or hay—that all the horses would be beyond help.

When I turned the last corner I could see a bustle of activity in the barnyard. All the debris had been cleared from the surrounding fields and several men were working under the hoods of two trucks. Kenny Ray was at my door before I could get it open. I gave him the medical supplies as he nodded. Yes, he needed feed, hay. Yes, I said, I brought bedding. “Back on up there—you know where,” he gestured. His daughter Kelley, whom they had told me about last week, was there. I met her in the whirlwind of folks who appeared to unload the trailer. She is a striking young woman with black, piercing eyes. She looks straight at you when she talks to you. We soon had a plan to take some of the supplies up to her place in Kiln, where many of the horses had been moved to recuperate.

I asked Teresa if people were finding their horses. She laughed and said “Yes, they are coming in. One lady came back and found her horses in the house!” She said she was telling everyone about the feed and hay they could come and get, and, in fact, they were almost out of feed when I got there.

Kelley and I left to take the remaining supplies to her place north of Waveland. In the Mississippi dark I concentrated on keeping her in sight through the twisting turns and narrow back roads. As we unloaded, she told me about her horses. I explained to her that these donations were from people back home—not a government agency—but horse lovers who wanted to reach out to people needing help with their horses. She paused and looked at me with her penetrating eyes. Then she lowered her head and said, “Tell them thank you.”

It was already 9:30. I decided to drive on home. With the long delay at the bridge over Moss Point it would take about six hours, but I wanted to see my husband and wake up in my own bed. Wednesday I called the lady in eastern Mississippi and made arrangements to “get up” with her. Thursday I got calls from more volunteers. I also got a message from Kelley asking for “help with something.” For some reason this message made me profoundly happy. I guess I’ve been hoping that the people we’re helping, shocked and dazed as they are, would really feel our friendship, and Kelley asking for our help seemed like as good an indication as you could want that they do.

So, here’s the deal: with 50 t-posts and 1500’ of square wire we can get the horses Kelley’s taking care of back out on grass. We need ideas of how to go about purchasing these kinds of supplies. Jimmy, at Florida Farm and Feed, doesn’t carry these items. I’m willing to buy them at Home Depot or Lowes if we can generate the funds. If you feel ok about this kind of contribution, send me a check marked fencing or fuel. Sara Warner, 1939 Sand Basin Road, Grand Ridge, FL 32442. If anyone has an “in” or a discount available that would help, it would be very welcome.

Otherwise, please continue to support the relief efforts by donating at Florida Farm and Feed. Jimmy, Tom, and crew are doing a great job of keeping us supplied with feed, hay, and vet supplies. And these items are desperately needed in Mississippi.

The trick is going to be keeping the hay flowing. We are likely to be short of hay in north Florida because of the summer weather challenges here. I’ve asked several people to scout the hay supply in central Florida and up in Georgia to see what might be available. I’m trying to get several supply stations set up so that when hay is donated we can go ahead and pick it up when we have transportation in the vicinity.

We may also be facing more fuel shortages. With Rita barreling through the Gulf and shutting down the four major oil refineries, we are most certainly going to feel another pinch. So, our goal is to coordinate our efforts in ways that will get hay in to the horses with the best efficiency we can manage. Thanks to Laurie Summers, New Orleans resident and U of F student who trains with Pat Deasy, for her offer to bring hay supplies from the Gainesville area. Anyone else with ideas about keeping the hay train chugging please call or email me. Leslie Timmerman, I’m working on a truck to take in the hay you so generously donated.

In the days after Katrina hit I was overwhelmed by all the suffering that people and animals were enduring. I remember saying to Pete, “Only bad things ever happen in this big, monstrous way. Name one good thing that ever happens on such an enormous scale.” We couldn’t. Today, I’d have an answer. It would be you—all the people who have reached out to help heal that suffering.

Cheers! Sara Warner

We can use more help in our efforts to help these incredibly proud and stoic Southerners that love their horses and dogs more than themselves in many cases. Sara Warner can be emailed at: Sara.Warner@dep.state.fl.us