Dianne Ulery Bird Jewelry, Necklace and Earrings

Our Hurricane Katrina Story
"The Short Version"
Parts I & II ...and more to come...
*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*

PART I ... begins in Slidell, Louisiana

It was 5:00 am Sunday morning on August 28, 2005. I clicked the TV in our bedroom on. New Orleans
weatherman Bob Breck was saying that Hurricane Katrina was now rated a Category 5 Hurricane and
tracking towards the mouth of the Mississippi. Before I could say a word my husband Gary, who had his
head stuck in the pillow next to me said, “OK, we’re out of here”.

This was not our first rodeo when it comes to hurricanes but we both knew that one of this strength and on
the track it was on could mean serious trouble particularly in light of the fact that we lived on the waters
of Lake Pontchartrain. Slidell is just North of New Orleans, on the North Shore of Lake Pontchartrain.

Earlier in the week, I had phoned my cousin Wayne who lives 42 miles North, in the country near
Bogalusa, Louisiana. Wayne lives on my Grandparents old farm where I sat out many hurricanes when I
was a child, including Hurricane Betsy. He had a houseful already, but my aunt’s old house on the
property was being renovated and was empty with electricity turned on.

Gary, myself, and our small yorkie Newt threw a few things into our pickup and made our way there. This
was just a precaution. We should be able to go back home to Slidell tomorrow night. We made a bed on
the floor with blankets and pillows we had brought with us. We settled in for the night and awaited the
coming hurricane, expecting at least a lot of rain that far north.

It started about 3AM with the rains, followed by increasing winds. I can go on at length about what
happened, but suffice it to say the early morning thru the late afternoon consisted of sheets of torrential
rain, ever increasing gusts of howling wind, accompanied by what seemed to be an almost continuous
chorus of trees breaking and falling, with the occasional train roar of what seemed to be tornadoes passing
by.

Things finally settled down around 4PM. Then the eerie quiet came. Within a few minutes I believe that
every frog and cricket in the neighborhood started chirping and yelling as though to say, “What the blazes
was that!?”.

All lines of communication had been severed: Phone Lines, Cell Phones, TV, Radio, Email, nothing
worked. No electricity, no water. Thank goodness we had brought flashlight and candles and a cooler. We
spent our second night on our floor mat.

When I awoke, Gary had gone to the truck and located a radio station, WWL out of New Orleans that was
broadcasting. As I walked around the back of the truck to talk with him I heard him say, “Oh, No.”. When
I asked what was wrong he said they just reported that several sections of the I-10 Twin Span Bridge over
Lake Pontchartrain had been washed out by the storm surge.
We lived less than a mile from this bridge and knew that our home was most likely destroyed by the
surge, too.

The next 5 or 6 days run together like a blur. On day 4 we drove into the town of Bogalusa from the farm
in search of gas. This normal 15 minute drive, took us 2 hours working our way around downed trees and
power lines. Bogalusa resembled film footage we’d seen of Beirut, Lebanon. There was no fuel, power,
groceries or services of any kind available. A blank, dazed expression covered the faces of the few
people we saw walking the streets.

We returned to the farm with our report of the conditions in town. We made plans to leave the next day to
relieve some of the pressure on my cousin. Wayne had his hands full with his family and the neighbors.
Also, I had started chemo for breast cancer the week before Katrina and I needed to get to a secure place
to continue my treatment. Still no phone service or communications with the outside world.

We planned to travel north to Macomb, Mississippi, about 70 miles, knowing full well we could get much
needed fuel for the truck along the way. We were wrong. This trip was surreal, it reminded us of the
Stephen King novel The Stand. Still No Communication, just one news radio station.

As we drove along the country back roads, Gary had me check the cell phone every few minutes to see if
we had a signal. Finally, about half way to Macomb we picked up a weak cell signal. Gary immediately
pulled over and I was able to phone my sister in California to let her know we were ok. She had been
distraught worrying about our safety, knowing full well where we lived while she watched the TV
coverage of the disaster there.

Gary asked my sister to look up the phone number for our old friend who lived in central Louisiana. Dave
had stayed with us a few months when he had first moved to Slidell back in the 1980’s. We had been in
touch via email the past couple of year and Gary somehow remembered Dave lived in Alexandria.
Gary phoned Dave, explained our situation and Dave’s response was an immediate, “Get your butts up
here, you have a place to come to.”

It took three more days filled with stories of compassion, sadness, desperation and even humor to make
our way to Alexandria, Louisiana.
You never realize just how wonderful simple things like breakfast at Dairy Queen, ice for your drink, a
hot shower and clean sheets are until they are stripped away from you.

Now, about bowfishermen. In the years preceding the hurricane, I had joined several bowfishing websites
and become online friends with a number of people. I have been making Gar Scale Jewelry for over 25
years. Bowfishers understand who I am and what I do. I was usually online most every day and knew they
would be wondering what had happened to us.

I got on Dave’s computer and went to the Bowfishing sites to let them know we had evacuated and were
alive. To my surprise, I found that the sites had set up several posts with Fund Raisers and Auctions all
to help Gary and I.

Upon my post that I was OK, it was like a sigh of relief from a second family. I had good wishes and
messages from many members offering help, housing, money, clothes, furniture…. Whatever we needed.
One teenage bowfisherman put his deer tree stand up for auction with proceeds to come to us. A member
from Joplin, Missouri offered us a house at no cost to live in for a year while I completed my medical
treatments at the local hospital where his wife worked. One guy on the Gulf Coast of Alabama offered his
motor home for our use till we got settled. SYoung replaced my lost Dremel & tools for my jewelry
making business. Many, many others donated cash or auctioned items to help in our recovery. The
GarGuys from East Texas set up a command post to coordinate and collect everything that was being
done to assist us. GarGuys also had some fundraising events for our benefit along with cash and clothing
donations from family members and their church.

Today’s media would lead you to believe that in American caring, compassion and brotherly love are a
thing of the past. I can tell you, first hand, that this country is still filled with Good People. Most of these
people I have never and will never meet. Nonetheless, they came together to help us in our time of need.
The outpouring was humbling, unexpected, but very much appreciated.

Part II ... begins in central Louisiana

It was the sixth or seventh day at our friends Dave and Debbie’s home, and about 10 days since
Hurricane Katrina had hit the Gulf Coast. We had just finished another one of Debbie’s old fashioned
breakfasts, homemade biscuits and all.

Dave and Debbie had opened their home and hearts to us, as only true friends can do. Their only
question had been, “Is there anything we can do to help?”.
These friends and several others had been signposts to us, during this journey, saying that the Lord was
with us and we just needed to hang in there.

The specific news coverage of the storm’s devastation was still scattered and unreliable. The damage
was so widespread, that it was difficult to get any reliable information on the area of Slidell where we
lived. Telephone, email and other communication to that area were still unreliable or non-existent. I
logged onto Dave’s computer and spent hours looking for any news on the conditions of the area we
lived. I eventually found a site that had satellite photos of the storm damage. I was able to zoom in on
our neighborhood. To my surprise, buildings we had assumed had been destroyed, were still there. I
called Gary to come and look. He agreed that it just might be, we had not been washed away by the
storm surge after all. Hope returns.

We scrutinized the images of buildings, houses, apartment buildings that we were familiar with. They
looked ok on the satellite photos.
Gary and I slept on this new found info. In the morning we talked it over and decided to make a trip back
to Slidell to see for ourselves if we had anything left.
Our spirits had been lifted a little.

We loaded ourselves into our pickup, with our dog Newt and headed home, not knowing what we might
find, but hoping for the best.

Getting gasoline might be a problem, so Gary had topped off both of the gas tanks in our Ford pickup.
As we set out on the 150 mile journey, the further South and East we traveled, the more obvious it
became that some type of large event had occurred. On the interstate, there was a much higher level of
RV’s, Loaded Pickups, Military Convoys and Vehicles pulling trailers, than we usually see.

As we entered Baton Rouge, which is normally a rather slow-paced, large Southern town, it seemed to
have an appearance that was a cross between New York City Traffic and a scene from the movie Grapes
of Wrath. But, stores and gas stations were open this time.

We left Baton Rouge, headed East on I-12. As we reached Hammond, Louisiana we started to see the
first real signs of storm damage. A few trees broken here and there, a few buildings without roofs and
other signs that a storm had recently passed thru the area. Forty miles further East, we came into
Covington, and storm damage was much more noticeable. More broken trees, more damaged roofs, more
sightings of vehicles filled with obvious storm refugees and their belongings. We continued to trudge on
toward Slidell and home.

All this time, I had been on the cell phone trying to make contact with any of our friends from Slidell.
After what seemed to be a hundred or more attempts, I got an answer from our friends Jimmy and Lisa,
who lived on the Northwest side of town. They told us that there were no motel rooms available, but their
home had escaped serious damage and they had room for us to stay and plenty of food. They offered a
place to stay for us and other friends, while we surveyed the damage to our homes. Yet another
Godsend.

We exited I-12 on the northwest side of Slidell. The Wal-Mart and Sam’s parking lots looked like a
combination for an Army base, Cleco Electric Company headquarters and an insane asylum. But, they
had gasoline for sale, which we took advantage of.

While we were filling up our truck, the faces of the people were dazed, haggard and blank. Because it
was South Louisiana, there were also a few grins. Everyone seemed to be polite and patient.

It was getting late in the afternoon, so we drove the 3 or 4 miles to Jimmy and Lisa’s house. As we
turned down the street they lived on, many houses had been severely damaged by the storm. There were
as many RV’s as cars parked on the streets. When we arrived at Jimmy and Lisa’s home, it appeared to
be only slightly wind damaged. We were greeted by several friends, all here for the same reason: to see
if we had homes to go back to.

Jimmy has his grill fired up, and the smell of good barbeque cooking and the sound of good friends’
voices, was intoxicating. We laughed, traded bits of our war stories, and shared whatever bits of
information we had about the situation.
Tomorrow, we found out, was to be the first day that residents would be allowed back into the areas of
South Slidell where we all lived. We went to sleep that night knowing that in the morning we would be
able to see for ourselves the extent of any damage from Hurricane Katrina. There was no help. Everyone
would be going their separate ways, as we all had our own homes to survey.

The next morning, Gary, Newt and I climbed into the truck, said a prayer, and started the 5 mile drive
south to Pontchartrain Drive, Hwy. 11.
As we drove closer to our home, we saw more and more heavy damage from the hurricane. When we
turned down Hwy. 11, which at a point are at least three miles from Lake Pontchartrain, it was obvious
that the stores and shopping centers had been flooded with four to five feet of water. It really became
obvious that something had been going on when we saw a 35 foot trawling boat sitting in one lane of the
highway at least 2 ½ miles from the waters of Lake Pontchartrain.

Cars had floated into yards, dumpsters had obviously floated like bobbers and been left in yards and
driveways and streets. Store windows had been broken, roofs were off, driftwood, debris and seaweed
were strewn and piled up everywhere you looked.

As we headed toward the waters of Lake Pontchartrain, the road narrows from four lanes to two. This is
the only way in and out of the area called “North Shore”. At this point, a sheriff road block was set up,
backed up a couple of national guard troops carrying M-16 rifles. Their job was to assure that no one
who was not a resident of this area would be allowed to enter. The sheriff and soldiers were a comfort to
us, knowing that sightseers and tourists would not be allowed nor tolerated. We showed our ID and
Utility Bills to prove we were residents.

Now, lets talk about satellite/aerial photography. Yes, the satellite images were correct. The roofs were
still on the familiar buildings we had seen on the internet. However, all the walls and interiors had been
washed away by the waves. Only the roofs remained. Things were looking bad and getting worse, the
closer we got to the lake and where our home was.

I thought, at the time, how it’s funny the way things work out. I had just started my chemotherapy for
breast cancer one week before the storm hit. But the worry about the hurricane coming had taken my
mind off worrying about chemo. Now, driving the last two miles to our home, the extent of the storm
damage was taking my mind away from my concerns that my hair had started falling out. The Lord does
work in mysterious ways.

We drove on towards the lake and our apartment, weaving thru debris such as boats, cars, refrigerators,
stoves and piles of trash and things that were once pieces of people’s homes. It was hot and sunny, but
there was an odor in the air that was somewhere between the salt water of the lake and a wet chicken, a
sort of sickly, unnatural smell.

We finally arrived at the apartment we had called home for the last 4 years. The only pleasant sight was
that the buildings, walls and roofs were still intact. Our hopes soared that maybe, by some miracle, we
had been spared.

We got out of the truck and, to keep him from danger, we put a long leash on Newt and tied him to the
truck while we surveyed the area. Newt does not take well to a leash or to us leaving him behind. But,
this time, instead of him barking, he just lay down, on the dried mud, in the shade of the truck and let us
walk away. Gary told me later, when he saw that, he figured that was bad news. Sometimes dogs know
more than we do.

Our front entrance was covered with piles of debris, driftwood and someone’s freezer. We went around
back to the kitchen door, which had been forced open, we found out later, by US Marine rescue teams
looking for survivors. When we entered, it was as though our kitchen and living room had been in a large
clothes washer, agitated for a long time, all the water drained, everything displaced with thick, oily mud
covering every surface. It was a sickening sight. Watermarks on the walls were six feet high. The
refrigerator was laying face down blocking the doorway. Even the simple act of standing or walking was
dangerous in the slippery mud. I could go on in detail for more pages than you would want to read.
Suffice it to say that the damage that had occurred to our belongings was something I would not wish on
anyone.

My work area had been in the corner of the living room right inside the sliding glass patio doors. I made
my way to that front corner and found my nice, clean, white gar scale on the floor in 6 inches of mud. I
emptied the water from my plastic trashcan and scooped up the scales and mud with my bare hands. I
knew they would be fine with a little cleaning. We worked several hours salvaging dishes, pots, pans,
garfish scales from the muddy mess. It wasn’t much, but it was all we had left. We made many trips to
the pickup, one rolling hand-cart at a time. Newt never made a sound. He just watched and waited.

A few weeks before Katrina, one of the bowfisherman, Alex Gutierrez from Texas, had brought us a
plastic military footlocker full of beautiful, large gar scales. We had placed it in our garage for safe
keeping till we had time to clean them. This garage was half full of craft supplies, items we sold on ebay,
tools, etc. It was located on a much lower elevation than our apartment, and we could see it had been
completely submerged under water. When we were finally able to pry the door open, sitting at the very
front, where I could reach it, was the foot locker full of gar scales. It was the only item we could salvage
from the garage.

We had made a large part of our living, over the years, making gar scale jewelry. We knew these scales
would give us the chance to start over wherever we ended up living.

We had lost our trailer with new parking lot striper, our van, all our tools, a generator, our furniture, even
my hair. But, we had a small trash can and foot locker full of muddy gar scales, we still had each other,
our dog and our friends.

When we got settled in central Louisiana, we started making gar scale jewelry again and selling it on
ebay, our own website and several other places. I continued and finished my treatment for breast cancer
and have, so far, been cancer free. We have added Antler and Sea Glass to our Gar Scale Jewelry and
are making a modest living. Bowfishermen continue to help us with their purchases and generous
donation of scales and antler. Life goes on. And my hair grew back!

Please Check back In Mid December for Part III ~Dianne & Gary Ulery & Newt~

I had worked here
before the hurricane

Nothing left but the Pilings
on Many Homes

We started writing our Katrina Story (the short version)
for a new magazine: The Bowfisher Magazine
Here is their website: http://www.thebowfisher.com

The magazine is really high quality. Lots of great articles and pictures.
Issues come out every 2 months. The next is Jan-Feb 2010
You can order it on their website or buy it at Cabela's and at Bass Pro Shops.

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Home Page

Me, Checking out a Friend's House.
We were luckier than most of our friends.

There are so very many parts to our Katrina Story, there is no way to tell it all. We are picking the
highlights to give you an idea of what everyone in that area was going thru. Usually, when you have a
disaster, you have a support group of family and friends to lend a hand. Not so here. Everyone had the
same disaster at the same time. There was No Help. Everyone was on their own. Yes, very scary.