Robert Morrison knows a thing or two about hurricanes. His father waded through the rising storm waters of the 1947 hurricane &8212; no one bothered to name storms back then &8212; with a young Robert and his twin sister under each arm.

A recently retired banker, Robert Morrison is neither foolish nor reckless. He has a healthy respect for Mother Nature and the power she can hurl at the coastline.

My family&8217;s house backed up to theirs when we lived on the Coast. I&8217;ve since learned Robert is a cousin of Natchez&8217;s J.W. Seibert.

Like many other Gulf Coast residents, Robert looked at the weather forecasts late last August and he and his wife, Sandy, decided to stay in their Long Beach house.

&8220;We new we were at 23 feet,&8221; Robert said, referring to the elevation of their house.

Like many on the Mississippi Gulf Coast, the Morrisons knew exactly where Hurricane Camille&8217;s storm surge reached in 1969 &8212; at the end of their street, several feet lower than their house.

On Aug. 29, 2005, Hurricane Katrina scoured Camille from the minds of Coast residents with her amazingly high storm surge.

&8220;I looked down the street,&8221; Robert said. &8220;And I thought the storm drain was clogged up again.&8221;

It wasn&8217;t the drain.

Within minutes Katrina&8217;s massive storm surge was licking at his front door. Minutes later and the windows gave into the building pressure and water began flooding inside.

As the Morrisons headed to the second floor, Robert said he felt something hit the back of his leg.

&8220;It was the piano floating by,&8221; he said.

Eventually the water rose to approximately five feet, causing cars to float into their house, setting off alarms. &8220;I looked out the window and saw flashes of red light,&8221; Robert said. &8220;I thought for a minute the house was on fire.&8221; Instead the water had spun their car around inside the garage so the taillights were facing the house now.

When the winds died and the water receded, the Morrisons could begin to survey the damage.

In a way, they were lucky. Despite a tree in an upstairs bedroom and five feet of water that ruined much of the first floor, they were safe and the house, still structurally sound. Last weekend, almost seven months after the storm they&8217;re beginning to see a time when the house will be livable again. &8220;Welcome to our new home,&8221; Sandy said, opening the door to the small trailer parked on the front lawn.

The trailer is several notches above the FEMA versions seen dotting damaged Coast. The Morrison&8217;s trailer was a generous gift from Sandy&8217;s employer, Dupont, which provided one to each worker whose house was unlivable.

Much of Robert&8217;s family, the Boggs, lived closer to the beach. The family had lived on that since the 1870s, so long that the area was known as Boggsdale. All 11 houses there are gone. Like the rest of the Coast, it will never be the same.

Despite heavy losses, Sandy and Robert Morrison and the Boggsdale clan are upbeat and focused on getting their lives back together. For the Morrisons, the plaster repairs are complete and the paint colors are selected. And they can even share a laugh. &8220;Our contractor is from Honduras so he speaks Spanish and one of his workers is from Brazil so he speaks Portuguese,&8221; Robert said. &8220;It&8217;s a wonder we get anything done.&8221;

Apparently, finding good, competent construction help can be a problem. Many people have been &8220;taken&8221; by either con artists or unqualified contractors, the couple said. The influx of foreign-born workers is a welcome help. &8220;I don&8217;t know what the Coast would do without them,&8221; Sandy said, surveying her almost repaired house.

You can go home again. And you can get a hug and a handshake from two amazingly strong people putting their lives back together one day, and one house project, at a time.

Kevin Cooper

is associate publisher of The Natchez Democrat. He can be reached at 601-445-3539 or

kevin.cooper@natchezdemocrat.com

.