The first day of construction began at 7 a.m., with a breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, oatmeal and toast cooked by a group of four sleepy Behrend students.
By 8:30, Jack and I were off with a small group of students to a home on Biloxi's Wisteria Lane (not that Wisteria Lane, but a desperate place nonetheless). Driving on Beach Road, the road that runs right along the water, it's hard not to be struck numb by the scars of the hurricane, still very visible at every turn.
Some hotels and casinos have reopened, flashing lights beckoning tourist dollars. Vinyl signs wrapped around one construction site promise Margaritaville Resort & Casino will arrive in 2010.
But look beyond the big concrete buildings and you see a different world, a city still very much finding its feet.
The antebellum homes that used to line the beach are gone, destroyed. The houses that are still here are in various stages of repair or abandon; bright red Xs spray-painted on the sides of homes still mark the number of dead.
The newer homes, the ones built after Katrina crashed ashore, are on built on 9- and 10-foot-tall pylons, high above the water. One tiny pink trailer, hoisted atop concrete blocks, was brought in on wheels, temporary housing for a family who lost everything.
The owners of one home have tacked a sign above the door, just under the roof eaves: "Water Line." Insurance rates are outrageous.
Makes you grateful for two feet of snow.