Cassandra McDonald, 37, of Wiggins, Miss. sits in her living room Saturday, Sept. 3, after Hurricane Katrina dropped a tree through the middle of her trailer. -- More photos Photo courtesy of Carrie Cochran//Hamilton JournalNews

I just got a call from the Hamilton JournalNews chief photographer, who said Butler County sheriff Rick Jones had left several messages with the paper, encouraging them to send us back because the armed police who we will follow feel unsafe there.

Jones also is anxious about having a female on the trip and is displeased that I am going. Of course, I knew that before we left; he wouldn't allow any women law enforcement to be a part of the trip.

We brought camping supplies, and the plan is to stay on site with the sheriff's deputies' convoy once we reach them. Somehow we're supposed to meet up with them, although I don't know how because cell service is down.

"You're anxious and nervous," Ben shouted. That was after I had yelled at him for not doing a U-turn on the interstate.

"It's unsafe!" he said. "You need to think on your feet," I answered. We had just passed a gas station that actually had gas. We didn't know when the next exit would be. There was not a drop at any of the four stations at a previous exit.

Ten miles later, we found a BP where attendants were doubling as traffic controllers. There was a $35 limit, but gas was a surprising $2.52, a lot cheaper than the $3.19 I saw in Cincinnati.

We met a man who had seven 55-gallon drums in the bed of his diesel pickup. He said he'd gone through the line at the station six times.

Today the temperature was in the upper 90s. In the sweltering heat, our Butler County deputies were working like horses, running to and fro, dressed in black from head to toe, on top of their bulletproof vests.

They were loading thousands of bags of ice and jugs of water, and directing the swarm of cars. They are genuinely caring, giving men who usually managed to put a smile on people's faces, not just by handing them items they desperately needed, but by also lightening the mood with a joke or a friendly comment.

After a while it was hard just to take photos. I put my camera down and joined in the effort, directing traffic and fielding questions. There's just so much work to be done, and I feel a little inadequate being here to document instead of to do.

Although many of the people who came through were pretty bad off, the fact that they made it to the relief center puts them in a different class than the rest of those stranded in the remote areas of the county.

I'm starting to feel the effects of sleep deprivation. When I lay my head down on my rolled-up jeans in the tent and close my eyes, all I can see is the destruction and the forlorn expressions on peoples' faces.

Yesterday a Fairfield Township registered nurse, Karen Hundley, arrived. As the only female in the bunch down here, I was relieved to see her.

Since the sheriff was adamant about "no women" on the premises, I have been trying to stay out of the way at the camp. I feel a lot more comfortable with her here.

A woman from Hamilton reached me, asking for information on her daughter who lives down here. She hasn't heard from her daughter since the storm. She sounded so desperate. There was zero inflection in her voice; she was just completely spent.

She told me that "Sissy" had been living in a trailer, and my heart dropped. I started to cry.

I have seen so many trailers exploded, shredded ? utterly destroyed. And I knew that for the most part all of the evacuees have been shipped off to places where there is a way to contact family members. I did not want to deliver bad news, but I told her I would do what I could.

We told Fairfield police Capt. Alan Laney and nurse Hundley about the situation, and they were on board from the start. We filled their pick-up with supplies, hopped in and went on a mission. About 70 miles later, we finally found her. We let her use the cell phone to call her mother. It was very emotional ? and very gratifying.

Today, Ben and I left Camp Jones (nicknamed after the sheriff). We were both reluctant to leave, but Ben had to get back.

After a couple hours on the road, I got a call from a JournalNews reporter who would be flying down on the sheriff's plane tomorrow morning. The paper wanted me to stay, and I was more than willing.

Ben got a rental car (even though we were told we would have to drive 200 miles to find one). I kept the original car and tried to find a hotel to rest and recharge all the camera, laptop and cell phone batteries I brought with me.

I have been without Internet, cell service, TV, electric, mattress, sleep. It's pretty tough to be working for a newspaper without all those things.

After rinsing my clothes in my hotel bathtub (you should have seen the filth on the bottom), I went to the all-you-can-eat buffet at the truck stop near the hotel. The food was great, although I didn't try the pig ears.

CNN was on, and it was the first time I saw the news since I've been down here. There I was, sitting by myself with my baked chicken and mashed potatoes, when I started crying. Then I cried again, reading the Birmingham News.

Finally, I checked out the JournalNews Web site at the computer in the lobby, and I realized how important it was that I go back. It was like coming out of a tunnel and finally seeing the big picture of what was going on.

Editor's note: Once Carrie started hearing how the Butler County community was responding to the disaster, she understood that her role in relating the story to readers back home was significant. "When you show people what's going on, it has a domino effect," she says. "It makes people realize that everyone can make a difference."

Carrie returned home late on Sept. 11. Her photos can be viewed on the JournalNews Web site in two parts.

Photos: Part I
Photos: Part II
Her entire diary is also online.

Related links
University of Cincinnati responds to Katrina
Alumnus reporter recounts Louisiana horror
Ex-UC kicker displaced by storm