Grand Isle

By Lauren Pharo

When most people think of Louisiana, they think of Mardi Gras and Bourbon Street, however, when I think of Louisiana, I think of my home away from home – Grand Isle. Ever since I was an infant, I have always gone to Grand Isle. The water was never clear and the beaches were never as clean as major tourist attractions like Pensacola and Orange Beach, but it was always a great place to get away. To me, my camp was perfectly located; it was between family and friends and directly across from the city’s late night deli, The Conoco. Though it always smelt like dead fish and there was always someone memorable to laugh at, it was still an island getaway that relaxed me and carried all my worries with the breeze. Sadly, over the past thirty years or so, the city of Grand Isle has been faced with a serious problem, erosion. Most cities and states will never fully understand erosion because they haven’t seen it firsthand. With twenty years of driving the same road to my favorite holiday getaway, it has become obvious that Grand Isle is slowly disappearing. Camps that use to be beach front are now located in the middle of the gulf. Marsh areas where we would fish and play in are no longer there. The island is gradually eroding bit by bit. In a more clear way of putting things, Louisiana’s wetlands lose approximately one football field every 38 minutes. With such alarming news like this, the government had no choice but to step in. After years of crying for help, the government finally realized that people were starting to lose their land. They began looking for ways to stop this horrible process; however, nothing seemed to work against the relentless pushes of the ocean. In my opinion, this is one case in which the government was one football field too late. Every year statistics say that “this will be the year that Grand Isle goes under” and every year I cross my fingers and pray for the best. Unfortunately on September 1, 2008, my luck ran out. After withstanding the likes of Hurricane Betsy, Andrew, and Katrina, my camp had finally been defeated. Hurricane Gustav had ripped off the roof of my camp and left nothing but a mildewed mess. With the increasing cost of insurance and such a horrible economy crisis, my family doesn’t have the motivation to rebuild the camp, and as much as I will beg and pout, I secretly understand the reason why. It’s hard to give up a place that brought so many unforgettable memories and so many more to come. Road trips and weekend getaways will never be what they use to. It has even become hard to grasp that someday I will have children and they will never know what “Grand Isle” is and will never see the cherished places etched into my mind. Like I said earlier in the essay, when people think of Louisiana, they think of Mardi Gras, parties, and a sportsman’s paradise. Whenever I think of Louisiana, I think of my camp and the memories that will soon be just another wave in the Gulf of Mexico.