While the devastation in Pass Christian was dramatic, what happened in Waveland almost defies description. Pass Christian's damage was dramatic partly because of its variety: One could stand in one place and see homes that were completely destroyed, homes that were partially destroyed, and homes that were probably salvageable. The contrast helped the mind process the scope and extent of the damage.

In Waveland, the destruction is almost complete. It is not simply dramatic; it is apocalyptic. This is the scene entering Waveland from I-10. Many vehicles' gas tanks showed signs of having been ripped loose and siphoned empty:

If you're following the accounts of the disaster closely, you'll hear references to the difference in destruction "north of the tracks" and "south of the tracks." Along the Mississippi Gulf Coast, there is a set of railroad tracks that runs east to west a few blocks north of the beach. As a reinforced structure that stood several feet above the ground to the south, it served as a kind of fortification against the storm's forces. There is thus a noticeable difference between the destruction north of the tracks versus south of the tracks.

Here are those tracks:

Some scenes of destruction from Waveland resemble those in Pass Christian in the sense that the piles of rubble consist of identifiable pieces of homes. What's different, again, is the completeness of the devastation. As we walked the streets of Waveland south of the railroad tracks, we knew that no images we could bring back - whether with a still camera or even with a video camera - could possibly convey the immensity of the destruction. There is no substitute for standing the middle of it all, but this comes about as close as a still image can. Imagine block after block after block of this, and you begin to get a sense of Waveland today:

Along the beach, things turn from apocalyptic to something else entirely. After the storm, when I first spoke to Stand Firm treasurer Charles Leggett (who rode it out in nearby Diamondhead), he described his ocean-view lot as having been "scrubbed clean." It was a chilling description. When we returned last night and were asked if the scene in Waveland was "sad," I replied that it's sad only inside your brain. In and of themselves, the scenes are fairly benign. Only when your brain tries to process them, and passes them through the knowledge that there were once beautiful homes lining this beach, where many people lived - and some perhaps died - where dreams were dreamed, families nurtured, children and dogs ran and played... only then do the images come to mean sadness. These two images, for example, were taken by standing in one place, first turning to the east, then to the west:

This is typical of the few places where anything remains:

Just east of St. Stanislaus school (most of which appears to have survived intact), cleanup has begun.

This is the end of the road. Beyond this point, it's impassable.

In the background is the Highway 90 bridge to Pass Christian, every single span of which is gone:

Christ Episcopal Church is completely destroyed. This is the structure depicted in one of the childrens' drawings above: