After countless back-wrenching boat trips into the bayou and Gulf waters beyond, I was bleary-eyed the morning I wandered into the only restaurant along the one strip of gas stations and honky tonk bars that make up the Louisiana fishing village of Venice.
“I’m not putting up with this stuff anymore,” a female voice belted out. “I’ve got to protect my kids. Who knows what’s in the water out there. I’m tired of not getting any answers.”
This comment was of particular interest since I had returned the day before from a sobering boat trip to the mouth of the Mississippi, where oil was washing up on the shorelines. The Louisiana crude was emulsified like brown cottage cheese floating in the muddy waters where the Gulf meets the mighty Mississippi.-For a Fisherman's Wife, Oil and Water Don't Mix
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Kindra Arnesen on BP Oil Spill
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