Miss. beaches spared with oil to east, southwest

My FibArk plans changed in an instant as I flew to New Orleans for a loved one’s funeral. Eventually, we made our way to Bay Saint Louis, Miss., and from what I’ve seen, oil from BP’s massive spill has mostly bypassed the shores of Mississippi.

Locals savor the reprieve, as if karma earned during Hurricane Katrina has left them a little something pristine. At times, a tar ball or other such evidence of the disaster washes up, and the stench of oil comes and goes. But, overall, the community is grateful it doesn’t look like towns east in Alabama and Florida or immeasurably worse, southwest at the tip of Louisiana’s boot.

More and more, communities outside Bay Saint Louis, Miss., have seen dead birds and fish, dirty wetlands and beaches, and booms that appear too flimsy for the job. Feelings of desperation hang around like an oily sheen.

In the morning we take our coffee and biscuits outside, under the fan, near the water. Neighbors walk down to check on their boats after a night spent away. They wave as they tend their boats, wiping, waxing, tinkering and caressing.

“Haven’t we suffered enough?” they say, after rebuilding their boats, homes and livelihoods. And make no mistake, they are still reeling from Katrina’s fury and dead-on punch in August 2005.

The Shrimp Lady sits in her van on Highway 90, like she always does, weighing her fresh catch for customers lined up, the sun beating down on them. She’s not telling where she gets her shrimp. Before the spill, locals say they’ve seen her family shrimping as far away as Bayou La Batre, Ala. One Bay Saint Louis restaurant owner who asked not to be identified says she’s importing from Texas rather than shrimping locally.

I couldn’t help but notice my shrimp po’boy at her place was leaner than it normally is. The cost of the usual $8.99 shrimp po’boy has increased 75 cents, indicated on the menu with new prices taped in place. It’s certainly a small price to pay after what’s happened. I was over the moon just to have edible seafood. The sad joke is the Blue Plate Special, as in BP Special, referring to seafood dishes not so available, such as oysters or deep sea fish.

Crawfish around Bay Saint Louis are plentiful, thankfully, at $1.39 a pound. Families along the bay found full crab nets. For now.

Everyone’s wondering aloud when the oil will wash ashore. They talk about the loop current that moves the oil off the coast of Louisiana toward Alabama and Florida. They talk about divine intervention and being spared more heartache. They worry about the coastal environment and lost jobs in the oil fields with no solutions in sight.

The clean sand under my feet feels like sacred ground as clear brackish water gently laps onto shore. I stand in knee-deep water and see my feet. The gulf breeze moves the thick, sticky air and cools my skin. Every white shell, pelican, heron, gator, butterfly and fish I see is a precious gift. So nice, this normalcy.

We go out in the boat. After awhile, we turn into the Jordan River and pull up to a patch of beach. I take a dip with my brother, then we have cold drinks in our comfortable silence. Just like we always do.

My brother Steve shows me his new favorite spot to catch bass and some especially large nests with families of eagles and ospreys. We’re next to a boat washed onto the marsh, another one of Katrina’s lingering ghosts.

His job title is drilling materials specialist in Port Fourchon, La. He goes into detail about the new plans for rigs. He’s doubtful existing rigs can be retrofitted with new blowout preventers. He likens it to retrofitting every truck in America with an additional axle and two more wheels. It’s not likely to help because the truck wasn’t manufactured that way.

I let the water from a boat’s wake wash over me.

Later, I walk on the beach and meet some BP contractors deployed to clean up the oil spill. They’re sitting under a canopy or picking up trash. They ask if I’m stopping by to join them in the shade. No oil here, they say, but some signs around the bend.

The smells of the swamp remain familiar. Sounds of life surround us, the volume rising as the sun drops.

But that oil keeps spewing and it’s not so far away.

What will Bay Saint Louis look like when I return?

Katrina left its ugly mark, but Bay Saint Louis is once again picturesque, sleepy and easy. And it’s beautiful.

For now.