Most of the media had zeroed in on New Orleans, which was largely inaccessible, so I crossed and criss-crossed Mississippi, where the worst wind damage had occurred. Most people had evacuated. It was eerie exploring damaged neighborhood after damaged neighborhood. "Looter shooter" signs were everywhere. I think it was Katrina they wanted to shoot, but you can't shoot a wind that has blown away any more than you can take it back and pretend it didn't happen. There was a whole ocean of silent and invisible suffering that you couldn't do anything about but which you respected by speaking low and acknowledging the pain in people's eyes.

The most dangerous situation I was in came when I had a tire blow out blowout on the freeway. I pulled over and had to lift out two five-gallon gas cans, which I hid behind the car. Two other cans were visible for a few minutes while I tugged out the spare. Then I was trapped until the tire was replaced. Gas was at a premium just then, and there were reports of people stealing cars at gas stations just to get a full tank. But for me it was being temporarily stranded that made the experience seem to threatening. I never worked so fast in my life.

Others got up earlier and went to bed later than I did. Others accomplished superhuman things on behalf of those who were in trouble. Others quietly solved and saved and stayed in the background. Tremendous efforts were made across the damage zone. I helped where I could.

Seeing the goods delivered by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to the various meetinghouses where people were hungry and needed supplies was a lot different than reading about it. You knew they had self-respect and didn't wish this. But they had children. They were there, and they had names, and somebody came all the way from Salt Lake City, Utah, so they wouldn't be hungry. Catholic and Baptist and other churches also had shelters and were feeding evacuees with pantry and FEMA food.

I remember one night coming out of the lightless, battered, soggy areas in Katrina's wake very discouraged about the prospects of rebuilding — the damage was so vast, stretching across so many miles.

Then, from around a corner just ahead, came a convoy rolling in from out of state — hundreds of utility repair vehicles, with yellow lights flashing. The lights seemed to stretch into infinity. I confess that it was out there on the freeway, alone, facing miles of yellow flashing lights, that I finally melted.

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E-mail: jhart@desnews.com