By Carmen K. Sisson

Magnolia Springs, Ala. — Admittedly, the Gulf Coast hamlet of Magnolia Springs, Ala., is an easy place to overlook. Here, the mail is still delivered by boat, and the closest thing to a seafood industry is standing in line for blackfish at Jessie’s, the only restaurant in town.

President Obama did not put it on his itinerary this week, and when BP workers showed up in mid-May, they laid a single strand of boom across the mouth of the bay and left. The boom floated away hours later.

Magnolia Springs isn’t exactly a linchpin of the Alabama economy.

Yet if the Gulf oil spill arrives here this week as scientists have forecast, it will not find the town unprepared. A flotilla of nine spud barges – flanked by containment boom – will be waiting, ready to block the 530-foot-wide entrance to Weeks Bay.

If all goes according to plan, these rusted steel behemoths will form an impenetrable barrier, defending the estuary’s 19 federally-protected species and the vital marshland which serves as a nursery for shrimp and other seafood so crucial to the Gulf Coast region.

They will also preserve an unspoiled way of life.

The blockade is being led by Jamie Hinton, the local volunteer fire chief who, at one point, was faced with the possibility of being jailed for violating the federal and state chain of command.

His resourcefulness is a parable not only of how desperate Gulf Coast communities have become to save the shorelines on which their lives have taken root, but also of the confusion that can consume and undermine such a massive relief effort.

In the end, Magnolia Springs did not need BP or Mr. Obama or the governor in Montgomery. It needed the grit and determination of the people themselves – people like Hinton, who says he will stand chest-deep in the waters of the bay, linked arm in arm with his neighbors, if that’s what it takes to stop the encroaching oil from despoiling the sublime latticework of bogs and bayous that he calls home.

Hinton’s plan

Soft-spoken and polite, Mr. Hinton doesn’t fit the image of a rabble-rouser, but still waters run deep. He is passionate about this wildly beautiful place.

The plan he has been charged with implementing was the product of exhaustive community input. It is an attempt to defeat those forces of nature that have often defeated the Coast Guard and BP elsewhere. Boom is effective when placed properly, but even in relatively calm waters, some oil will always go over and beneath it. In Weeks Bay, where there is a constant one- to two-foot chop, booming is an extra challenge.

That’s where Hinton’s barges come in. Hinton hopes they will break any wave action, allowing the boom laid in front of and behind them to hold the oil.

It’s not a fail-safe plan, Hinton acknowledges. He would know. He has more than 400 hours of hazardous materials training, including booming instruction. “Can’t say [the oil] is going to make it through and can’t say it won’t,” he says.

But at least it’s a plan. Nobody else seemed inclined to do much of anything for Magnolia Springs, he says. When he first began gathering resources, county officials told him he was blowing things out of proportion, that it was just sweet crude.

“I don’t care if it’s sweet, sour, light, or black,” he says. “I don’t want it in my river.”

Others told him the government would handle it. He scoffed. He remembered the Exxon Valdez, hurricane Katrina, hurricane Ivan. If anyone was going to save Magnolia Springs, it wouldn’t be the feds, BP, or environmental activists. It would be the thousand-odd people who live here. After all, the locals knew the water – knew every twist and turn of Magnolia River, Fish River, and Weeks Bay. They would handle things the way they always did – together.

While the community struggled to get its plan approved by Deepwater Horizon Unified Command, BP workers arrived with their own plan: They laid a straight line of boom across the bay, tied it to pylons with rope, and left. Hinton tried to tell them the pylons were encrusted with barnacles, but no one listened. He knew the tossing waters would cause the sharp shells to sever the rope, and he was right. The boom floated away, and Magnolia Springs was left defenseless once more.

Instead of being discouraged, he redoubled his efforts, and by mid-May, the town’s plans had been approved, along with a $200,000 grant to keep the barges manned 24/7 – a Coast Guard requirement – for three weeks. All that remained was the decision about when to put the plan into action.

Jumping through hoops

Last Wednesday, that moment came. Hinton called the Alabama Department of Environmental Management and told them the time had come to deploy the
barges.

“They acted as if they’d never heard about it,” he says. “We started jumping through hoops to get the plan approved again.”

Hinton and Mayor Charles Houser conferred. If the small-town fire chief blocked the bay without permission, he could be jailed or fined, but he was willing to take that chance.

In a way, the decision was an easy one. There is a timelessness to the marshes of Magnolia Springs, where ospreys glide across the water and cottonmouths slither through pitcher plant bogs. It is “the most beautiful place on earth,” Hinton says, and he wants his grandchildren to see it – just as it is now.

Friday afternoon, Hinton learned his plans had been approved once more, backed by another grant that should allow them to keep the barges in place for as long as three months if necessary.

“We’ve done all we can do,” he says.

The uncertainty leads to sleepless nights for both Hinton and Mayor Houser, who says he’s confident about their course of action but still feels a queasy tension. He’s frustrated by BP’s overall plan for the Gulf Coast, calling it confusing and disjointed, with no clear chain of command.

“I’ve been in meetings with BP and they seem like they live in a vacuum,” he said Friday as he stared out at the water. “They just don’t get it. How can you replace this? It’s our little slice of heaven.”

By Carmen K. Sisson

CHALMETTE, La. — The nation spent Wednesday riveted by a live video feed of BP’s latest attempt to stop the geyser of oil infiltrating the Gulf of Mexico, but in Louisiana, sights were set on the heavens as residents gathered at First Baptist Church of Chalmette to pray. One by one, they stood and asked God for protection, guidance, comfort, and mercy. At times, they clung together so closely that they evoked images of the delicate reeds that are now in danger – frail, but not weak; bent, but not broken. Never, ever broken.

If hurricane Katrina was a lesson in survival, the Gulf oil spill is proving to be a trial of endurance. More than five weeks have passed since the Deepwater Horizon oil rig exploded, unleashing hundreds of thousands of gallons of crude into the Gulf, and still the flow is unstanched. In places like Grand Isle, La., and the Chandeleur Islands, the effects are just beginning to be seen – thick rivulets of oil bypassing protective booms, brown pelicans stained to black, crabs struggling to crawl, herons dying amid a toxic muck.

Chalmette, part of metro New Orleans, is fortunate. Located more than 100 miles inland, it is afforded some protection from the viscous onslaught. The town was not so fortunate during Katrina, a fact that was foremost on people’s minds Wednesday night.

June 1 marks the official start of the Atlantic hurricane season, and the oil spill brings added stress. If a hurricane comes, will it push the oil further ashore? Could the presence of oil in the Gulf raise water temperatures, resulting in stronger storms? As scientists and forecasters frenetically plot hypotheticals, residents along the coast watch, wait, and cling to what many say is the only thing of which they can be certain: the presence of a higher power guiding it all.

John Dee Jeffries, pastor of First Baptist Church in Chalmette, said in the surreal days following Katrina, the reality of God sustained. His home was gone. His church was gone. Ninety-seven percent of his congregation was scattered across the United States, the majority of which would not return. Whereas he had once prepared Sunday sermons for crowds of 500, suddenly he found himself standing at his lectern addressing 40.

“Life was so dark, so unfair,” he told the crowd of 100 who gathered in his newly built church Wednesday night. “I was filled with agony and loneliness. But every miracle in the Bible began with someone in a mess. We’re in a mess. It may be dark, the prognosis may not be good, but He’s still a miracle-working God.”

Other local pastors who spoke at the service echoed similar sentiments.

“Anybody can worship in a miracle,” said Derek Buchert, pastor of World Prayer Tabernacle in Chalmette. “Worship in a mess, and God will turn it into a masterpiece. Don’t give up. In your crisis, don’t give up.”

The question on many people’s minds, though, is this: How do you prepare for – and recover from – something you’ve never experienced? The Gulf Coast is no stranger to natural disasters, but a technological disaster of this magnitude is unprecedented.

“You don’t know what to do or what to expect,” said Chalmette resident Shelita Woods-Muse. “It’s almost as if someone took tar and threw it all over the place, and you’re left standing there going, ‘What do I do now?’ ”

Her key to survival is not only her faith, but also remaining positive and surrounding herself and her family with uplifting people.

Following Katrina, faith-based organizations proved to be faster and more effective in quickly getting aid to far-flung areas, and in this new ecological drama unfolding, the churches may once again play a crucial role in community outreach.

“In a crisis, your faith has to rise to a different level,” said Mr. Buchert after the service. “Churches have to go into disaster mode.”

In Chalmette, Katrina resulted in a stronger, more close-knit interfaith community. Before the storm, many of the pastors didn’t know one another. Now, they call upon one another regularly, praying together, sharing advice, and even blending their congregations, as they did for Wednesday night’s vigil.

Only time will tell if the oil spill has a similar effect. Earlier this week, a community meeting became heated as BP company officials, the Coast Guard, and representatives from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration fielded questions from residents and local politicians. Mr. Jeffries said even he grew frustrated.

“People on the coast are losing a whole way of life,” he said. “There are pockets of pain and almost existential fear. Like other people, we wonder, ‘What does this mean? What if they can’t stop it?’ But we can’t live in hypotheticals. God is not always the cause of calamities, but He can use them and turn something painful into something better than we can imagine.”

In the church sanctuary, dozens of flags hang, representing congregations that helped Jeffries’s church rebuild. Life is still hard in post-Katrina Chalmette, but Sunday morning, he will prepare a sermon for the 200 people who currently fill his church roster.

“I’ve seen God do so many wonderful, powerful things,” Jeffries said.

As BP’s battle rages on, the people of the coast fight an inner battle, hoping – and praying – the tide will turn.

Columbus, Mississippi – Images by Carmen Sisson

As the U.S. Army National Guard erected barriers to protect Dauphin Island, Alabama from globs of oil steadily spreading from the site of the Deepwater Horizon oil rig explosion April 20, 2009, reports rolled in of tar balls sited on the west end near the public beach, providing both curiosity and concern for local residents. Please click here to see a full gallery of images and obtain licensing information.

Summersville, W.V. — Black ribbons fluttered in the breeze as a homemade pinwheel bearing 29 names turned slowly, lending a splash of color to an otherwise overcast day in southern West Virginia.

Here, residents are still coming to grips with the state’s worst mining disaster in more than two decades. Part of that process continued Sunday, when President Obama spoke at a eulogy for the 29 coal miners who died in the accident.

It was with that awareness that Mr. Obama offered not only condolences, but also a concrete commitment to mine safety reform.

“In the days following the disaster, e-mails and letters poured into the White House,” Obama said. “Postmarked from different places, they often begin the same way: ‘I am proud to be from a family of miners,’ ‘I am the son of a coal miner,’ ‘I am proud to be a coal miner’s daughter.’ They ask me to keep our miners in my thoughts. Never forget, they say, miners keep America’s lights on. Then, they make a simple plea: Don’t let this happen again.”

A cause has not been determined in the April 5 accident at Upper Big Branch Mine in Montcoal, but preliminary investigations by the Mine Safety and Health Administration suggest excess accumulations of methane gas and coal dust could be to blame.

“All explosions are preventable,” said MSHA administrator Kevin Stricklin. “It’s just making sure you have things in place to prevent one. It’s quite evident that something went very wrong here for us to have the magnitude of this explosion.”
Potential reforms

The blast, which occurred 1,000 feet below ground, left behind what West Virginia Gov. Joe Manchin described as a “horrific” scene of twisted train rails and other equipment. There were only two survivors from the 31-member crew.

The Obama administration has not yet outlined its proposals for reform. But a few key changes are among the more probable, says Patrick McGinley, a law professor at West Virginia University who enforced mine safety laws in Pennsylvania as a former special assistant attorney general.

They are:

* Raising the required percentage of incombustible materials like rock dust, which are used to cover the lighter, more volatile coal dust.
* Increasing methane testing in the area where miners are working from every 30 minutes to every 15, or even real-time, and placing greater emphasis on detection instrumentation.
* Revamping the pattern of violation screening. Under current laws, companies receive a closure order only when they’ve accumulated enough final violations. Massey Energy, which owns the Upper Big Branch Mine, received 57 citations there last month – including one for failing to properly ventilate methane – and racked up $382,000 in fines, but many were being contested, keeping them from counting towards a closure order. If all citations and violations are allowed, even those in dispute, companies may be persuaded to resolve issues more quickly in order to prevent a shutdown.

For Mr. McGinley, the hope is that the federal government will act before momentum for reform fades.

“The fear with this disaster is like it is with virtually every coal mining disaster in the last century: that we say miners won’t die in vain and this will never happen again, but then as time passes, the concern about mine safety diminishes and there’s another disaster,” he says.
Obama’s visit: gratitude and skepticism

For locals gathered at Cox’s, a gas station and snack bar in nearby Pettus, W.V., anything the government can do to make coal mining safer would help. Larry Asbury spent 27 years working the mines in nearby Whitesville and said he’s glad Obama’s getting involved.

“It shows he has concern for the working class people,” Mr. Asbury said. “He needs to come down hard on safety in the mines. Every American citizen should have the right to work safe.”

But others weren’t so sure, noting Obama’s snub of West Virginia while on the campaign trail and attributing the presidential visit to little more than political grandstanding.

“It takes an explosion to get him here,” said Carl Asbury, Larry’s brother. “What was he doing six months ago? He could have been here and prevented this. It’s a shame it takes 29 miners to get blown up to get the politicians awake and enforcing the laws.”
Starting a dialogue

On Sunday, Obama chose to speak in broad terms rather than outline specific reforms.

“We cannot bring back the 29 men we lost,” he said. “They are with the Lord now. Our task, here on Earth, is to save lives from being lost in another such tragedy. To do what must be done, individually and collectively, to assure safe conditions underground. To treat our miners the way they treat each other – like family. For we are all family. We are Americans.”

It was a wise decision to stay general, says safety advocate and US Senate labor committee special adviser Ron Hayes. Obama is not broadly popular in West Virginia, given his desire to move the country off coal and toward greener power. But a dialogue can – and should – be opened.

“Right now, you have a situation where you have 29 dead miners and people still going in the mines, terrified, feeling guilty – a lot of times it clouds things,” Hayes said. “The blame game is going to be started, and they’ve got to blame somebody. This is a mechanism of the grief process, whether it’s righteous or not.”

MARROWBONE, Ky. — Hearts were heavy but cheeks were mostly dry March 30 as more than 3,000 mourners gathered to say goodbye to nine members of a Mennonite community who perished in a fiery crash on Interstate 65 near Munfordville. Friends said John Esh, an associate pastor of Marrowbone Christian Brotherhood, a Beachy Amish Mennonite congregation, would have wanted it that way. Esh, who died in the March 26 crash, dedicated his life to uplifting others, quietly leading by example, jubilantly celebrating in song.

Esh and his wife, Sadie, who also died in the crash, survived the loss of a son four years ago and a devastating house fire in December, yet their message never changed: Keep hope. Keep faith. Keep strong. Keep going.

It is that strength of spirit to which this 18-family community, nestled within the hills of south-central Kentucky, is clinging as the church struggles to accept the loss of nearly a tenth of its members. The crash, which cost 11 lives, was believed to be the deadliest motor vehicle accident in Kentucky since 1988. A tractor-trailer hauling brake drums left the southbound lane of I-65, crossed a 60-foot grass median, plowed through a cable barrier and struck a 15-passenger van head-on before hitting a rock embankment and bursting into flames. Ten of the 12 Mennonites in the van — eight of whom were members of the Esh family and a ninth soon to be an in-law — died on impact.

Killed were John Esh, 64; his wife, Sadie, 62; their daughters, Rose, 40; Anna, 33; and Rachel, 20; Rachel’s fiancé, Joel Gingerich, 22; John and Sadie’s son, Leroy, 41; Leroy’s wife, Naomi, 33; Leroy and Naomi’s adopted son, Jalen, 2 months; and family friend Ashlie Kramer, 22, of Franklin. Truck driver Kenneth Laymon, 45, of Alabama, also died.

Leroy and Naomi Esh had two other adopted sons, Josiah and Johnny Esh, who survived the crash and will now be cared for by relatives in Pennsylvania.

“We don’t understand this,” said funeral director John H. Schmucker. “They were one of the pillars of our church. We don’t understand the leaving behind of the two little orphans, but we trust God that he has a purpose.”

Schmucker said he sees the national media attention as a good thing to come out of the tragedy, offering people an opportunity to learn more about conservative Mennonites and opening a dialogue on their faith.

Strong despite losses

Marrowbone Christian Brotherhood, an outgrowth of a New Order Amish group in Yanceyville, N.C., has only been in existence 10 years and, until this week, had just one grave in its cemetery — that of John and Sadie’s eldest son, Johnny Esh Jr.

But times are changing. Hoping to expand their outreach, the church transitioned to Beachy Amish a few years ago and allowed its members to start driving motorized vehicles. Pastor Leroy Kauffman’s son, Michael, now drives a Chevrolet Suburban and a Dodge work truck, but he said he misses his horse and buggy sometimes, especially on beautiful Sunday afternoons.

Some members use the Internet, and online memorials have sprung up for the Eshes, including a Facebook group and YouTube videos featuring music from the family’s four compact disc releases.

The church remains strong despite its losses, its members committed to helping one another through their shared tragedy.

Three days before the funeral, as the sun slipped behind the hills and a chill wind swept over the pastureland, more than two dozen men from Mennonite communities in Kentucky and Tennessee gathered to dig plots and build “rough boxes” for the coffins. Most had never done such a thing.

Instead of focusing on tragedy during the funeral, Bishop Leroy Kauffman challenged mourners, most of whom were Mennonites and Amish, to examine their hearts and ask themselves if they will be ready “when the lights shine through the windshield.”

“From what we knew, this group was ready to meet God and stand at the judgment,” Kauffman said. “We don’t try to make sense of it. This is for all of us. Some of us may not be ready to meet God.”

Sherry Gore, who drove 18 hours from Pinecraft, Fla., to pay her respects, said there was no question about the content of John Esh’s heart.

“He was the nicest man in the world,” Gore said. “I’ve never met anyone more concerned for someone’s soul.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she recalled a time when her daughter was ill. Every Monday, for five months, John Esh called her to check on the girl’s health and the worried mother’s spiritual well-being.

“He would always ask, ‘Are you staying faithful to Christ?’ ” Gore said, staring out across the parking lot of the Marrowbone Christian Brotherhood community building, gazing at the sea of people gathered outside the metal building to watch eight wooden coffins being loaded into hearses. “And I was only one person. How many others did he call?”

Gore was particularly struck by the Eshes’ humility after a fire reduced the family’s home to a bare slab three months ago. As church members raced to erect a new house, John Esh agonized over the details, Gore said. Did he really need oak doors and trim? Painted wood was good enough for him. He didn’t want God to be displeased that he was being overindulgent. Everyone had escaped the fire unharmed, and as long as they were together, what more did they need?

Gaps left behind

The gaps the Eshes leave behind are palpable. There was Rose, remembered as “quiet, weak in mind, but always smiling,” who Gore said touched lives not so much by her voice but by the beautiful letters of encouragement she crafted and sent to others.

Then there was Anna, who took her brother Johnny’s place as a missionary in Ukraine four years ago after he died in a snowmobiling accident. This month, she was planning a mission trip to Brazil, but even in her excitement, she never forgot her personal mission — ministering to widows. Among her belongings were found numerous to-do lists. On her last list: “Three more widows to visit.”

Rachel Esh and Joel Gingerich, both in their early 20s, were planning a July wedding. Days before his death, Joel purchased two dozen roses for the girl Gore said was so filled with life and enthusiasm she almost bounced into rooms.

“They were inseparable,” Gore said. “It was so obvious they were in love.”

For Leroy and Naomi Esh, their children were their life. After struggling for years with infertility, they finally decided to adopt. After 16 months fighting through red tape in Guatemala, they finally found a use for the baby clothes Naomi had been sewing in faith that someday their dream of being parents would come true. They adopted three children: Josiah, now 5, and Johnny, now 3, both of whom survived the crash.

Two-month-old Jalen, who’d only been with them for three weeks, died in the accident and was buried at his mother’s feet.

“You can’t survive something like this without God,” Gore said. “As tragic as this seems, it will only serve to strengthen the church as a whole.”

By Carmen K. Sisson

NEW ORLEANS — New Orleans has had a few days to get used to its newfound gridiron hero status, but if Tuesday night’s Super Bowl parade is any indication, the city –indeed, the entire state as well as the South in general – will be celebrating the 43-year old franchise’s first NFL championship for a long time.

As the smell of barbecue filled the air and the sounds of competing boom boxes, high school bands, and car stereos rang from the buildings, thousands of people lined the streets to cheer, welcoming the Saints home to a Mardi Gras-flavored tailgate party. Gold confetti littered the air as “the boys” waved and threw beads from atop their perches on borrowed floats.

The parade culminated at the foot of Convention Center Boulevard, where Sens. Mary Landrieu and David Vitter, Gov. Bobby Jindal, and Mayor Ray Nagin toasted the team with champagne.

It was a different atmosphere than the stunned, overwhelmed amazement in Sunday night’s French Quarter following the Saints’ win over the Indianapolis Colts. Then, no one could quite believe the news, and people couldn’t stop high-fiving and greeting one another with shouts of “Who dat? We dat!”

Tuesday’s parade had the usual bacchanalian rapscallions – fun lovers like the self-appointed “Popes of the Who Dat Nation,” who showed up in foam fleur de lis mitres and purloined Hilton Hotel bathrobes. But amid all the revelry lay something deeper – a quiet, humble appreciation for the city’s beloved team.

Debby Wood said she was overcome with emotion as she and her husband Donald drove over from Metairie Tuesday afternoon for the parade. After all the partying, reality is still sinking in, and with it comes the memory of just what this win means for not only the Saints and their devoted fans, but for all of New Orleans.

“The Saints – they’re like wayward sons,” Mrs. Wood said. “They don’t do the right thing sometimes, but you keep giving them money and keep supporting them. Finally it paid off. It’s like the prodigal son finally came home.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Everyone in this city was so sad,” she said, recalling the dark days following hurricane Katrina, which left the majority of the city underwater and claimed more than 1,800 lives. “We’re not sad anymore.”