The Last Frontier

This blog is dedicated to the people of the Lower Ninth Ward. May they feel at home, wherever they are.


Once upon a time, a lost city put houses on unstable land. The land was unstable because it was near the waters, but the city built a cement wall to keep the waters out. Many people moved to the unstable land because they had nowhere else to go. They raised their families and built churches and bars. They called it home, and their children called it home. As time passed, their children’s children called it home. And so it was home, even if it was humble and a little run-down.

Then one day, a storm came. Many people stayed for the storm because they’d weathered other storms and survived. Other people stayed for the storm so they could protect their homes. Still other people stayed for the storm because they didn’t have the money to go anywhere. And so they stayed.

But the storm was powerful, so powerful that it blew a barge through the cement wall. The waters rushed over the unstable land. It was the middle of the night and the power died. The water quickly rose. Some people drowned in the dark. Other people climbed into their attics. A few people escaped by swimming out of their homes and hanging on to the trees while the terrible wind tried to rip their bodies apart.

The next day, the sun came out, but the water remained. Their home was now a dead lake. The dead lake stunk with the smell of sewage and corpses. People waited on their rooftops to be rescued. The sun was blistering hot and mosquitoes rose up from the water. No one came to rescue the people. They waited and waited. Still no one came. Instead, they rescued each other. Some people had boats but other people swam through the wretched water to escape.

The people who made it out of the water stood on a bridge. They were thirsty and hot. Many of them were old or sick. They had nothing except the wet clothes on their bodies. Still they had nowhere to go. No one was in charge, and everyone in the lost city was going crazy because of the heat. Some people in the city felt so crazy that they shot at other people with guns. Because there were guns, other people were too scared to save the bridge people.

Finally military people came to take the bridge people away. They dropped them off amongst thousands of other thirsty, hot people who had nowhere to go. They told the people to line up for buses, but the buses never came. Everyone just stood in lines with very little to eat and drink. More people died. Some people stole food. Other people stole stuff like TVs and shoes because they were mad at the unfair world. Then the cameras took pictures so everyone everywhere could see how bad the people were for stealing.

Meanwhile, the leaders argued about what to do. The mayor had no money to help the people. The governor couldn’t decide how to help the people. The president didn’t care about the people because they didn’t vote for him. Finally the president pretended to care so he wouldn’t look bad. Then buses took the people away so they could be safe and start new lives somewhere besides the lost city.

Now the dead lake has dried up and everyone who lived there is gone. Some people want to go back, but other people won’t let them. The lost city has too many problems to help people move home to the unstable land. Besides, all the houses are ruined in some way. Some are just moldy and stinky, but other houses are now piles of collapsed lumber. Many houses were swept off their foundations, so they’re gone except for a concrete slab and some floor tiles.

Today tourists come to the unstable land to see the damage. It’s perfect for tourists because it looks scary like a war field, but it’s safe because the waters and the people are gone. Tourists can pretend they’re on the frontier, except that instead of tumbleweeds, there are waves of dried mud. Junk of all sorts stays lodged in the mud: ruined clothes and rusty lawnmowers and broken radios, everything that people use in life. Tourists might even spot a sewing machine or a lawn flamingo in the mud.

When tourists go to the unstable land, they stare at the cars blown up onto fences and the trees crashed into walls. The barge that let the water in still sits ashore, and the tourists take pictures of it. Some of them stand in front of the barge and smile for the camera. They are happy because their home wasn’t ruined this bad. As the shutter clicks, they shout, “We love Lost City!”

If one were to look carefully at the dirt, a tourist might find something still intact. Maybe it’s a colorful ashtray or a jelly jar. It could be a salad plate made out of china. The tourist might wonder how so much could be ruined, yet a delicate china plate survived. But it did. Not only did it survive, but it reminds the tourist, who never knew anyone in the unstable land, that someone real lived there. Someone really lived there. It was someone’s home, but it may never be again.