HELENE
On Friday morning two weeks ago, our power went out at 5:45 AM. Nine days would pass before electricity would be restored. When the lights went out, our well pump ceased to function. Until noon, we continue to have cell service, but then we were plunged into a technological black hole. No electricity. No water. No cell service. No wi-fi. Scarcity.
My husband and I had chosen to sleep downstairs on Thursday night rather than in our bedroom; we were concerned that the winds from Tropical Storm Helene might topple one or more of the oaks or tulip trees that tower over our mountainside home. On Friday morning, as the winds continued to gust and the rain continued to fall on the heavily saturated ground - we recorded 16 inches of rainfall that week - all of the trees remained rooted in place. Relief.
As the rain tapered off late in the morning, we walked down our steep road to the bridge over Hominy Creek. Three years ago when Tropical Storm Fred roared through Western North Carolina, the only bridge to our neighborhood was washed out. Would the new bridge hold? The creek crested shortly before noon, washing over the road for several minutes, but the bridge remained structurally sound. As the floodwaters began to recede, debris continued to crash into the bridge, swirling in the current, piling up on the nearby railroad trestle. Our neighbors upstream had clearly suffered extensive losses once again. Sadness.
Unable to contact our son and his family by phone, late in the afternoon we set out for their house. Along the 20-mile drive, we bore witness to Helene’s devastation. Crossing the French Broad River downtown, the sight of the still-raging floodwaters was horrifying. North of downtown, twisted trees littered the shoulders of the road. In our son’s neighborhood, trees dangled from power lines, rested on roofs, sprawled across yards. Had a tornado touched down here in the midst of the storm? Anxiety.
As we approached their house, we could see our son and his wife and our two grandchildren in their front yard. They had lost an oak tree, but it had fallen beside the house, not on it. Every home in the neighborhood appeared to have at least one fallen tree in the yard or on the roof. But their neighborhood was rallying to meet the moment, just like countless other neighborhoods across the Asheville. A chainsaw crew had already cleared branches blocking the roads. During the next few days, a couple of chefs who lived in the neighborhood prepared communal meals. Another neighbor listened to the county’s twice-daily disaster relief updates on the radio and posted printed recaps on the stop signs. Community.
Throughout the past two weeks, we have all gotten to know our neighbors better. During the nine days that my husband and I were living without electricity and water, neighbors with a generator invited us to shower at their house and draw water from their well. (We also scooped buckets of water to use for flushing from a nearly mountain stream.) A friend in Lake Junaluska welcomed us into his home to wash dishes and clothes and take showers. Hospitality.
Each day as I drive to and from First Baptist Church of Asheville to help with disaster relief, I feel heaviness and hopefulness. The bucket trucks, helicopters, emergency vehicles, FEMA vans, Army caravans, water tanker trucks, tractor-trailers carrying telephone poles, pickup trucks pulling trailers overloaded with supplies, and trailers carrying rescue/recovery rafts all remind me of the scope of this catastrophe. The citizens of Western North Carolina are resilient, but we cannot do this work alone. Fortunately, we don’t have to. Teamwork.
Two weeks ago, Tropical Storm Helen passed through Western North Carolina, bringing devastating winds, deadly floodwaters, and destructive mudslides. People perished. Homes were destroyed. Businesses were decimated. Employees lost jobs. Roads collapsed. Schools closed. The tourist-based economy was crippled. Two weeks later, Asheville’s water remains undrinkable. Over 30,000 people still lack electricity. Many roads remain impassable. Bodies are still being recovered. We are all reeling. Trauma.
The best way to support WNC at this time is to donate much-needed funds to organizations that are providing relief. I suggest giving to ABCCM’s Helene Relief Fund.
