“It’s like camping with out any gear.”

That is how my cousin explained his living situation to me Sunday afternoon as the two of us took a break from cleaning up his Hurricane Gustav damaged home.

Actually, saying his home is damaged is an understatement. The accurate statement would be that a 30-foot plus Water Oak Tree fell directly on his house, crushing his living room to the ground.

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Gone is his five-month-old, 42-inch flatscreen television, his three guitars, a living room set and just about anything else he had in the front third of his house. What’s left is a gigantic pile of tree, home furnishings and wet carpet that make his whole street stink to the point of nausea.

Even though the tree crashed into his house a week ago today, Sunday was the first day I could get to Baton Rouge to help with the cleanup process. The experience left me as hallow inside as the tree that crushed his house.

It brought up all the memories of Hurricane Katrina three years ago and the sight of my mother’s house flooded with dirty, rotten Metairie water.

Sights, sounds and smells like those make you sick and sometimes force people to just give up. Yet, my cousin Richie has not taken any of those attitudes. It’s an attitude I think many of his neighbors in Baton Rouge have had to adopt in the wake of Hurricane Gustav.

Although the national media is ready to write off Hurricane Gustav as a near miss, our brothers and sisters in southern St. Mary Parish, Baton Rouge, Terrebonne Parish and Lafourche Parish know this hurricane was nothing less than a direct hit.

City services and electricity are still out all around them, and some estimations for their return range for weeks. Couple that bad news with the potential arrival of Hurricane Ike and some would just assume pick up and move on.

These people continue to stay. Continue to work. Continue to strive for normalcy.

Sunday, I asked Richie what it has been like the past few days sleeping on couches and in other people’s spare bedrooms, and that is when he said, “it’s like camping without any gear.”

At first I thought it was a cool way to describe his current situation, but the more I thought about it on the way home to New Iberia Sunday afternoon, it dawned on me that his answer actually cut to core of his resolve.

He didn’t say it was hell, or it was impossible or it was unmanageable. His answer described a tough situation, but one that could be overcome.

At 28, he may have lost half the possessions he accumulated in less than three decades. Plus, the thousands I’m sure he spent to get the tree professionally removed from his living room floor couldn’t have been fun either, but at least he is not giving up.

No one with any sense of self is either. This is Louisiana, and it seems hurricanes are a part of us like seafood and LSU football.

If it was easy, everybody could do it. But this is Louisiana, and I’m glad to be part of the couple million people who still call it home every hurricane season.

STEPHEN HEMELT is city editor of The Daily Iberian. He can be reached at stephen.hemelt@daily-iberian.com.