Twenty Years After Hurricane Katrina: Remembering the Storm Beyond New Orleans
This Friday, August 29, 2025 marks twenty years since Hurricane Katrina made landfall. For many, the images that come to mind are of New Orleans—the broken levees, the flooded streets, and the Superdome. But Katrina was not just a New Orleans story. Those of us who lived a hundred miles away felt its full force too, in ways that shaped our lives and our communities for years to come.
The Day the Storm Arrived
When the winds began, they did not feel like ordinary hurricane winds. They tore through neighborhoods, pulled down trees, twisted power lines, and made even sturdy buildings tremble. The sound was constant, a deep roar mixed with crashes and cracks as debris flew through the air.
Even that distance from New Orleans, the power of the storm was overwhelming. We lost electricity, phones, and reliable water. Roads were blocked, gas stations ran dry, and grocery stores stood empty. It felt like the world had shut down, leaving us to figure out how to keep going one day at a time.
Life After the Storm
For weeks, normal life was at best, difficult. Without power, nights were dark and long. The heat was relentless. The humidity wrapped around us like a heavy blanket we couldn’t escape, making it hard to breathe. Neighbors checked on one another, sharing generators, meals, and news. We stood in endless lines for ice, fuel, and bottled water—small necessities that suddenly felt like luxuries.
And yet, in that hardship, something beautiful happened. We were always neighbors—even those we had never met before. When it became clear that power would not be restored anytime soon and food in the refrigerators and freezers would go bad very quickly, people pulled out their grills. Streets became gathering places as we cooked what we had, shared meals, and rejoiced in simply being together.
The spirit of helping didn’t stop there. Chainsaws came out to clear roads and yards. Unused or unneeded generators were loaned—or even delivered—to families in need. I had an unused generator in my attic that was loaned out to people I had never met. Eventually it made it's way back home and we stay in touch still. Neighbors pitched in to pull wet carpet from flooded homes in an effort to save what could be saved. Others climbed onto rooftops to pin down tarps and keep the rain at bay. Everyone did what they could, because survival was a community effort.
Driving through the area after the storm, the damage was everywhere: roofs peeled off, businesses destroyed, forests flattened. Landmarks you’d known your whole life were gone or unrecognizable. It was heartbreaking, and it stayed that way for a very long time.
What Stays With Me
Katrina didn’t just pass through and leave. Its effects lingered—in the economy, in our communities, and in the way we prepared for every storm that came afterward. People moved away and never came back. Many pets vanished in the chaos—some were reunited with their families, but far too many were never seen again. Families struggled to rebuild. But those who stayed became closer, tougher, more determined.
I will never forget the silence of those nights without electricity, when I realized how much unnoticed sound fills a home until it’s gone. With windows propped open, we prayed for the faintest breeze to ease the stifling air. At times the silence was broken by the low hum of neighbors’ generators, a reminder that we were all adapting in whatever ways we could. We learned to live simply because there was no other choice, and we leaned on one another when the systems we trusted failed—building community in the most unlikely ways.
Twenty Years Later
Two decades have passed, but Katrina is still part of who we are. It taught us that devastation doesn’t have to make the news in order to be life-altering. It taught us the value of resilience and the power of community.
When I look back now, I see more than the destruction. I see the strength it took to endure. I see the kindness of neighbors who shared what little they had. I see the sight of strangers working side by side to rebuild, and the reminder of how quickly life can change—and how deeply grateful I am for the ordinary days that followed.
And then, just weeks later, Hurricane Rita hit—landing in our region on September 24, 2005 as a powerful Category 3 storm—testing that hard‑won resilience all over again.
On this anniversary, I remember Katrina not as something that happened only to New Orleans, but as a storm that reshaped the lives of countless people all across the Gulf Coast—including mine.