By JULIA BOUDREAUX AND CAROLINE FERMIN

Growing up in southern Louisiana, one comes to expect hurricane evacuations throughout the summer. When we heard news of the approach of Hurricane Katrina from our families, we did not expect this storm to be any more significant than others during hurricane season. But as radars showed Katrina growing to unheard-of proportions, our complacency was replaced with concern. We spoke with our families, who told us of their plans to evacuate—and all we could do was wait.

A damaged house and yard in Mandeville, near Fermin's Louisiana neighborhood north of New Orleans.

From media reports we learned that the hurricane had been downgraded in size and were partially relieved; but as the day wore on, we realized the severity of the situation.

Without news from home, we could only turn to each other for updates on the worsening scene. It would not be until four days after Katrina made landfall that we would hear from our families again. CNN could show us the damage, but they could not tell us if our loved ones were safe.

In this time of anxiety and uncertainty, we began to feel guilty that we were safe and dry in New York while our friends and families were in the midst of the storm. Realizing that worrying would not help the situation, we needed to come up with a course of action. Our friends saw how distraught we were and were moved to help us. Together, we decided that the most important thing to do was educate the Juilliard community on the extent of Katrina's devastation. With all the excitement of orientation week, most students were unaware of the horrors the Gulf Coast was facing. Slightly frustrated, we set out to spread the news. Our goal was both to educate and to raise money for the Red Cross. We created fliers featuring pictures and facts that would enable the community to realize that what was happening was real. We knew that no matter what donations we received, we wanted them to be given out of informed concern, not from pressure or guilt. Knowing this would not be "a quick fix," we spoke to Student Affairs and made a long-term plan involving fund-raisers and clothes drives.

We expected people to donate, but were overwhelmed by the generosity that the members of Lincoln Center showed to our little shoebox in the corner. Our wish to help was becoming a reality.

Though our efforts were paying off, they didn't erase the fact that our home state would never be the same. Managing to appear calm and composed on the outside, we were emotionally exhausted. Formerly organized and clear-headed, we were now preoccupied with concerns that affected our daily routines. Matters were not made any easier by the ongoing lack of communication with our loved ones. For four days, time passed slowly as we became desperate for any news from home. Finally, we received the phone calls we had been waiting for. Both of our families and homes had survived the storm—but our friends were not as fortunate. Calls and e-mails came trickling in as we began to hear stories of Katrina's wrath. Timothy Ward, a second-year dance student from Abita Springs, La., experienced the storm first-hand. "Tuesday morning after the hurricane," he said, "my dad and I were driving back to our house. Every power line was down along the highway. The closer you got to my house, the worse things became. Trees were in the street so only one car could pass, and roofs had been ripped off houses. The Abita River had flooded up over the bridges and people couldn't get past. I would say that every 10 feet, a tree was lying across the road. When we got to my neighborhood we had to park blocks away and climb over trees to get to my house. We were nervous about what we would find, and I could tell that almost half of our trees were gone, but luckily our house was safe. Our neighbors were not so lucky. Three trees had fallen through their living room and kitchen and other trees were lying across their driveway. Our neighbor said that he had just closed the front door when the first tree landed on his house. I've never seen anything like it in my life. They were essentially trapped in their own home."

Return to the Views From the Storm index page.

Weeks later, the initial shock for most of America has subsided. Newspapers do not regularly feature Katrina on their front pages, and people's minds are no longer fixated on this tragedy. But we are reminded with each attempt to phone home, as the operator's recorded voice cheerfully cuts in, "Due to the hurricane in the area you are calling, your call cannot be completed at this time."

The truth is that the storm may have subsided, but the reconstruction process has just begun. We have managed to raise more than $2 thousand, but our efforts must not stop there. Each time we receive notice that a friend is homeless or a neighborhood hangout is gone, we realize we must continue our efforts to bring relief to the Gulf Coast. For when the face of your entire childhood has been destroyed in one night by one storm, how can you not care?

Julia Boudreaux and Caroline Fermin are third-year dance students.