I recently returned from Bay St.Louis, Mississippi, after a third stint of post-Katrina volunteering. Athough Mississippi isn't an international destination, and any marketing consultant worth his/her salt would never suggest this be the first story of a new internationally focused web site, it still feels like an important story to share, because it emphasizes the difference volunteers can make. My first volunteer trip in February, 2006, was only six months after the hurricane, and the town was still reeling from its overwhelming aftermath. Mounds of debris as high as two-story buildings, the bits and pieces of people's homes and lives, stood ominously in front of almost every house. At the time it seemed impossible to imagine how the City would ever be able to remove all of this debris, one dump truck at a time, and where it could all possibly be put. Blue tarps, one of FEMA's few contributions, covered any roof left even modestly in tact. Everyone with whom we spoke had an extraordinary story of how they and their families survived, and no one was shy about sharing them.

The volunteer community hadn't fully organized yet, but with some contacts from the Port Townsend, Washington-Bay St. Louis (BSL) Sister Cities project, we managed to connect with several artists and musicians, who are an essential part of the BSL community. We "mucked out" studios for days on end, sorted through damaged art supplies, and replaced windows, doors, and every electrical switch and outlet in one house. (Everything metal had rusted!) Most importantly, we made some new friends and felt incredibly appreciated.

The next year we returned with a group of 38 adults and youth, formed in response to the suggestion of the Youth Group at the Port Townsend Unitarian Fellowship. Eighteen months after Katrina, all the major churches in BSL had become volunteer centers. Offering room (mostly dorm-style bunks) and board (three meals a day) for a mere $40/week, the church where we stayed had a volunteer professional contractor as general supervisor. With this improved level of organization, we were able to work on eight different jobs over the course of one week. While logistics proved problematic at times, our group functioned smoothly. Morning meetings helped schedule and assign all the volunteers and arrange transportation. By the end of the week, we calculated that at the going local labor rate of $18 a hour, we had contributed more than $100,000 in labor. It felt like a significant accomplishment to all of us.

With both federal and state governments slow to react and respond appropriately, and with the insurance companies paying only eight cents or so on the dollar value, if they paid at all, the only real hope has come from volunteers, who have arrived from all over the U.S. Wherever we went, we were thanked-by waitresses in the restaurant, the young barista, even the musical duo at a simple restaurant, playing old, old standards, who said into their microphone as we left one evening,"Let's give these volunteers from Port Townsend, Washington a big round of applause". They told us that without the help of so many volunteers, they wouldn't have been there today. Suicides had increased, and depression was rampant as the reality and difficulty of their new lives set in.

As head of the painting team, I spoke with local resident Pat J. about his need for volunteers. He'd done many of the repairs on his house himself, after losing his entire business as a result of the hurricane. Then he had a stroke. After refusing any help for a long while (because "there were others who needed help more than us"), he finally accepted. He treated us like family, fed us homemade gumbo for lunch and sent each of us home with a bottle of his killer special hot sauce. Yet, he also confided in me that there were several times when he got in his car in the garage with the door closed and thought seriously about his options.

The story of Mr. and Mrs. Brown gave us chills. Volunteers had been sent out to the Brown's home, and after completing the work in a few days, they went to speak to the owners. "We've finished your job, Mr. and Mrs. Brown," they said. "But we're not the Browns. We're the Joneses. The Browns live next door," they replied. The volunteers were confused and a bit embarrassed. Then Mr. Jones said calmly, "You know, the night before you arrived, my wife and I had taken a suicide pact. We felt we just couldn't go on. But then you all showed up the next morning, and we decided that there was hope again." An honest mistake turned into a message of hope for a couple that didn't expect to find any.
You never know what changes you might affect in someone's life. Sometimes, just showing up brings hope--and sometimes, that is enough.