Photo by Alex North
Wood sculptor Dayle Lewis transformed many of Bay St. Louis’ dead trees into sculptures of angels, known as “Angels in the Bay.”
Like so many New Orleans children, I spent the occasional summer weekend tooling down the scenic Beach Boulevard (Highway 90) along the Mississippi Gulf Coast, gazing dreamily from the backseat of my parents’ car at the majestic, stately homes and moss-draped oaks that canopied stretches of road in an alleé at the edge of the Gulf of Mexico. When the elegance of the small towns of Bay St. Louis, Pass Christian, and Long Beach gave way to the glitzier sensibilities of Gulfport and Biloxi, I would start to lose interest. I longed for the old houses that were both comforting and thrilling to me; and I found them all the more mysterious for having withstood the maelstrom of Hurricane Camille. The storm struck when I was one year old, and I grew up listening to stories of the angry lady with the melodious name who came calling in the summer of 1969, screaming obscenities in the guise of sustained two-hundred-mile-an-hour winds. Despite her irrational ferocity, many of the noble old mansions and gnarled oaks remained standing. Surely, this meant they were invincible.
As a rebellious and unruly teenager, I frequented the coast not with my parents, but with my friends. Our destination was often St. Stanislaus, the Bay St. Louis boys’ boarding school that was widely acknowledged to be the repository for wayward troublemakers. St. Stanislaus was the last stop before juvie; and the boys who were, more or less, incarcerated there under the watchful eyes of the Brothers of the Sacred Heart wore this unsavory distinction as a badge of honor. Thrill seekers, my friends and I, we liked boys like them; so we would often pile into a car fresh from the day in our Catholic school uniforms to collect our St. Stanislaus love interests as they dropped out of their dorm-room windows after lights out.
Fifteen years later, in 2000, my future husband, Andrew, and I spent our first weekend away together along this same coast. (Having narrowly missed detention at St. Stanislaus back in the day, he was my kind of guy.) On the advice of a travel writer friend, we checked into the utterly romantic and unforgettable Father Ryan House.
Built in 1841 on Biloxi’s shore and the one-time home of Father Abram Ryan, poet laureate of the Confederacy, the Father Ryan House’s most distinctive characteristic, prim beauty notwithstanding, was the large, stalwart palm tree growing through the steps of the wooden staircase leading to the entrance of the center hall mansion. We stayed in a room that felt like a tree house and spent hours gazing upon the Gulf through the fronds of the palm tree outside of our window. It was impossible not to fall in love, so that’s what we did—marriage, mortgage, and all.
Five years later, Katrina came to call. Compared to Camille, a Category 5 storm, Katrina, a Category 3 when she made landfall in Bay St. Louis, was mild tempered, with 125 mph sustained winds. But Katrina checked in with an astonishingly low minimum central atmospheric pressure of 920 mb and arrived during high tide, vomiting up a storm surge of over thirty feet.
I eschewed the Magical Misery Gawking Tour of the coast. We were feeling the hate for the gawkers who had descended upon New Orleans to peer at us through their cameras, and I wanted to leave our Katrina comrades on the coast in peace as they picked their underwear, their family heirlooms, and their dignity from the rubble.
When I did return a year later, the mansions that had once lined Beach Boulevard had been replaced with bare lots, the wind-whipped trees shorn of their graceful boughs. All that remained of the Father Ryan House was the palm tree. I felt dirty—guilty even—as I observed the residents of the coast still very much in the throes of their misery. I fled back to New Orleans in a depression that took days to shake. Again, I stayed away for years.
But years erase neither fond memories nor the desire to return to the golden summers of one’s youth. So with our nine-year wedding anniversary upon us, Andrew and I gathered up our daughter and returned to the coast this year. Not to the vanished Father Ryan House, of course. This time we took up our temporary residence in Bay St. Louis, first at Bay Town Inn and later at The Carroll House—and proving ground for a post-Katrina resurrection story with a very different ending. Imposing as ever and fully restored from the damage it sustained ten years ago, St. Stanislaus seemed to taunt us for our decidedly middle-aged lack of bad-assery, for the likeness of the mocking saint on the school’s front lawn knew that the real bad-asses were the people of the coast—people like Nikki Nicholson Moon, Doug Niolet, and Kevan Guillory.
In 2003, Moon bought the historic Bay Town Inn, built for the de Montluzin family in 1899. “When I saw the house, I knew if I didn’t pursue it I’d have regrets,” she said of the Victorian center-hall manor with the delicate, turned balustrades. She was forty-seven and ready to leave her career as an executive in the New Orleans tourism industry for the quiet life of a beachside innkeeper. Things were bucolic and predictable enough until August 29, 2005.
She was inside the historic building with six other people when Katrina’s monster tidal surge literally dissolved the house around them. Moon, with her small dog Maddy tucked against her stomach “like a baby,” along with Niolet and Guillory, clung to an oak tree in the yard—praying for deliverance from the hell in which they found themselves— with their fingers bleeding, digging into the bark of the tree as the storm raged around them and the waves crashed down for hours on end. The four others who had been with them in the shattered house were washed away down Demontluzin Street. Though presumed dead, they were ultimately rescued. Shortly after the storm, Moon, Niolet, and Guillory erected a sign within the tree’s branches: “God Bless This Tree.”
Like so many of the noble old oaks along the coast, the heroic tree died and had to be cut down. The trio honored their champion, hiring Dayle Lewis, a professional chainsaw artist and rebuilding volunteer from Richmond, Indiana, to carve the tree’s limbs into a pair of angels. The remains of the tree were then stabilized with rebar, anchored in concrete, and moved to a more visible spot on Beach Boulevard just a few hundred feet from where the tree saved their lives.
In 2013, after years of awaiting grant money and a low-interest forgivable loan, Moon opened the newly constructed Bay Town Inn on the spot where the old one stood. The reopening of the inn is largely credited with igniting the spark that has driven the recovery of the old town and beachfront communities. Retail shops, restaurants, and bars now dot the not-so-long-ago barren frontage, and more are on the way. There’s palpable pride and ebullience among the members of the close-knit community as they enthusiastically greet visitors, many of them alighting from yachts and boats docked in the $21 million harbor glistening across Beach Boulevard from the Bay Town Inn.
Welcome back to “A Place Apart.”
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Where to Stay
Bay Town Inn
The coastal-style Inn is located about twenty-five feet off Beach Boulevard. At the front of the property is Moon’s private residence. Behind, the two-story, seven-thousand-square-foot inn has five units per floor, each with a bedroom and living/dining space, kitchenette, and access to a broad veranda. Adjacent to the pool is a nine-hundred-square-foot cabana that is handicapped accessible. Pet-friendly accommodations are available. The suite upstairs is larger than the rest and is available for long-term rental. Bay St. Louis. baytowninn.com.
Carroll House Bed & Breakfast
Erected in 1890, the Carroll House Bed & Breakfast is located two blocks from the beach. Warm, peaceful, and relaxing, this B&B offers a decadent Southern breakfast, luxuriously appointed rooms, and gracious hospitality. Bay St. Louis. carrollhousebnb.com.
Where to Dine
200 North Beach and the Hurricane Hunter Bar
Doug Niolet was an Air Force Reserve hurricane hunter and flew into Hurricane Katrina (prior to it making landfall) before he fought for his life in the tree outside of the Bay Town Inn. Now retired, he and Kevan Guillory, also a veteran of The Tree Experience, volunteered months of their time to help long-time owner Ann Tidwell make this the first restaurant to reopen after Katrina. The menu at this popular bar and restaurant includes steaks and seafood, and the bar is the town hangout. Bay St. Louis. 200northbeach.com.
Shaggy’s Pass Harbor Bar & Grill
A great big beachfront joint with fresh seafood, gigantic drinks, and loud music right on the Gulf. Pass Christian. shaggys.biz.
The Sycamore House
The coast’s answer to Galatoire’s, with gracious fine dining in the style of the Old South. Bay St. Louis. thesycamorehouse.com.
Trapani’s Eatery
“From the marshes straight to the plate,” this twenty-year-old institution serves up excellent char-grilled oysters, and the poboys are top notch. Bay St. Louis. trapaniseatery.net.
Where to Shop
Bay Life: The Shop for Bay Coastal Style
A beautifully curated shop featuring coast-centric art and housewares with an air of elegance, as opposed to mainstream beach-tacky. Bay St. Louis. Facebook.com/baylifebsl.com.
Bay-Tique
At least half of its clothing, jewelry, and souvenirs are made in Mississippi. The vibe is laid-back, funky, and artsy—just like Bay St. Louis. Bay St. Louis. bay-tique.com.
The French Potager
Antiques, arty floral designs, and gifts with a French flair are offered up in the historic “Honeymoon House.” Head over for gratis hors d’oeuvres and cocktails on the second Saturday of the month. Bay St. Louis. thefrenchpotager.com.
Green Canyon Outfitters
All you need for the active life, from yoga mats to bikes, fishing gear, and canoes. Bay St. Louis. (228) 344-3108.
Serious Bread
Impeccable artisan breads and pastries, including western French, garlic rosemary sourdough, and sunflower seed. Bay St. Louis. seriousbreadbakery.com.
What to See and Do
100 Men Hall
Built in 1922 as an open-air screened meeting hall for the black community,100 Men Hall was a regular stop for African American musicians on the famed “chitlin’ circuit.” Today, the fully enclosed 3,500-square-foot, tin-roofed building is completely remodeled. Check out the live blues acts on the second Saturday of the month. Bay St. Louis. 100menhall.org.
Bay St. Louis Historic L&N Train Depot and Depot Row
The depot is a two-story mission-style structure built in 1928 and surrounded by park-like grounds. Across from the station is Depot Row, a unique space filled with shops, restaurants, and galleries. Bay St. Louis. baystlouisoldtown.com.
Busted Wrench Garage & Museum
If you dig on classic cars and motorcycles, this one’s for you. Live your bliss in a six-thousand-square-foot exhibit hall filled with beautifully restored vehicular nostalgia. Gulfport. bustedwrench.com.
Hurricane Camille Memorial
Standing as a reminder of those missing in the 1969 storm, this sobering beachfront memorial on the grounds of the Episcopal Church of the Redeemer was damaged by Hurricane Katrina but has been fully restored. Highway 90 & Bellman Street, Biloxi.
Friendship Oak at USM Gulf Coast Campus
Believed to date back to about 1487, the massive oak overlooking the beach has majestically withstood countless hurricanes and many a drought. With a sixteen-thousand-square-foot spread, it’s a pretty awe-inspiring place to have your picture taken, propose, get married, have a picnic, or simply veg out. 730 East Beach Boulevard, Long Beach. (228) 865-4500.
Heavenly Carved Wooden Angels and Sea Creatures
Like the tree outside of the Bay Town Inn, many of the area’s beautiful live oaks died after Katrina. Chainsaw wood sculptor Dayle Lewis transformed the tree trunks into angels. “Angels in the Bay” are located throughout Bay St. Louis. Just drive around and they will reveal themselves. Additional Katrina tree sculptures can be seen along the beachfront on Highway 90 from Gulfport to Biloxi.
Katrina Memorial
This spot pays homage to the victims of America’s worst natural disaster in recorded history in the form of a twelve-foot pillar and a glass case holding memorabilia. Corner of Highway 90 and Main Street, Biloxi.
