A whole lotta mud was slung around. We were knee deep in it.
No, I’m not talking about the political process. Although it would be an apropos description.
I’m talking about what Hurricane Zeta did to Gumbo Cove last week.
Our little “bay camp”, as they’re called in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi, is on the corner of a canal and a bayou. The bayou leads into the bay, which opens out onto the Gulf of Mexico. When a hurricane storm surge happens, the water roars in from the Gulf and goes back out eventually, but leaves behind an unwelcome calling card: canal mud.
Canal mud smells, my friends. It smells like dead fish, because, well, that’s a big part of what it’s made of, the rotting carcasses of everything that lives and dies in the bay and bayou. It is thick, gooey and dark brown-black, and was everywhere after the hurricane, making a disgusting sucking sound as you stepped through it.
But some stinkin’ mud and a roof that needs a blue tarp to protect from leaks are small potatoes, damage-wise, compared to what so many hurricane victims have suffered this year all across the Gulf Coast. We’re not complaining. In fact, when The Grill-Meister was shoveling the mud out from under Gumbo Cove last Saturday, a trick of the light made it look artsy.
Our glass is always half full, my friends!
In addition to being grateful that we didn’t have more damage, and that we were cleaning up the mud on a gorgeous fall day, we rejoiced at the welcome sight of our Jack-of-All-Trades / roofer / handyman. He came out on a Sunday to do the requisite blue tarp work to keep our roof leak-free until we can get a new one. Anthony is a wonder.
As we were leaving after our weekend of mud-wrestling clean-up, there he was, atop our roof, doing what needed to be done. Life is good. Thank you, Anthony! Gumbo Cove will be as good as new in a couple of months.
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