Helene

a hurricane in our beloved mountain town

Words worthy of what happened (is happening, will be happening) in our beloved Western North Carolina region are beyond hard to conjure up. I’ve wanted to write something… anything… for days. But honestly, I don’t have much energy to give to words online right now.

Thank you to those of you who knew or remembered me when you heard about Helene, to those who have reached out with love and concern. Every contact and inquiry from our network of people has been like a hug to our souls.

The night of the storm was terrifying, the next morning even more so, because we could see what was happening around our home, how trees were bending and touching the ground in the wind, the level of water pouring… and then we were cut off from knowing what was going on anywhere, and life became more immediate and intimate.

I went 36 hours without any contact from my family across town, who live near the French Broad River (which rose to 25 feet at crest). Thankfully, their house is up on a hill. My cell service kicked in before theirs though. It was 6 hours until I finally received a text from them - and that was one of the most grateful moments in my life.

To be clear, Steve and I, and our four-leggeds, evacuated Asheville 6 days after the storm (almost a week ago now). We are grateful to have a safe place to land with family for the moment, and once we knew that my mom and dad (who has debilitating dementia), and my sister’s family had a safe way out as well - we packed up a few things and our animals, to allow more of the incoming resources to go to those who can’t leave and those who were coming in to do the hard initial rescue and infrastructure work.

Helicopters, chainsaws, utility workers and machines, and even trees still falling… these were the constant sounds of daylight before we left, amplified by the strange silence of a massive power and utility outage. And the darkness of each night felt like a week.

Our little house faired ok, even though we live just a mile and half away from the Biltmore Village area - where only rooftops and second stories could be seen above the water line, we would later find out.

Maybe I should say, our house was ok when we left. Even this feels uncertain…. A large tree had fallen in its direction during the storm, toward our bedroom, only to be caught by a larger, stronger tree that we hope is still holding up until someone can get to it. You can see how tiny our little home looks in this situation in that photo above. Our home seems to have power on now (though it was out when we left), but no running water. It will likely still be weeks on that.

I’m sure you’ve seen news or pictures to some degree by now. But for those who don’t realize, the infrastructure in our whole WNC region has suffered serious destruction… from major highways through mountains, to smaller ones to neighborhoods and communities, to the main water pipelines. Whole towns leveled. Debris and toxic mud everywhere.

There’s been nothing like this in recorded history in our area. There’s no blueprint for how to move forward. It is, in too many cases to count, more about complete rebuilding than repair.

Nothing will ever be the same there, or for those who are living through this.

We are utterly heartbroken for our fellow WNC artists who have lost everything, as if most of us creatives in the area weren’t already just getting by gig-to-gig, sale-to-sale, or with other service type jobs (many now on hold indefinitely) to pay the bills.

We still haven’t had a normal night’s sleep, even after being away almost a week. It took two days away, but one night I woke shaking and finally sobbing… it felt like surges of tension and pressurized energy just needing to be released from my body.

I check in daily and see what is happening on the ground with people I’m connected to that are still in Asheville and surrounding areas. It is a beautiful community of people, and the help efforts that have shown up are truly astounding. And it’s going to be a long, long recovery. People are in survival mode. Running on the adrenaline/dopamine hits of crisis, chaos and then helping however possible. Exhausted. Lives lost, and so much uncertain.

I feel torn, conflicted. Being here, safe, amidst loving people who can’t fully understand, with the amenities we are all accustomed to. Grateful, guilty. So many have lost so much more… I’ve learned and remind myself, this is normal, too. To feel conflicted and guilty this way. That there will be waves of help efforts needed. Waves of feelings and trauma to process. It will all take time. I will be able to contribute when we return soon, and others need to get away, take a break, rest, process, withdraw, re-calibrate.

We don’t know what this means for us for the long-term - for any of the seven members of my family that live in WNC. Steve and I may have more options than some, more freedom to choose (for instance, we don’t own our home in Asheville), but it’s all so overwhelming and scary right now.

We are trying to take one day at a time with any major decisions. We have fifteen years of making a life in Asheville, of making Asheville our home. What we want is for things to be how they were, but this won’t be the case.

The grief is huge and the process of this change for us, and millions of others in the southeast, is just beginning.

that’s all i have to share today, and I’m not sure just how soon I’ll post again. maybe eventually i’ll share more about what we saw on the ground in Asheville, and in the rural areas and highways as we were evacuating. for now, this is enough.

thank you for being here.

i suppose if i could encourage one thing, it would be to make sure you have some drinking water stored if you can, and maybe grab yourself a headlamp and hand-crank radio if you’re new to considering what you might need when you are truly cut off from our modern amenities and utilities. there is so much more that can be helpful to know and have, but the little bit of preparing I had done for us these past two years made a huge difference in our basic-need experience in the immediate aftermath, and will continue to help us once we return.

hold your loved ones close, be present to your life and what calls your soul.

every seemingly ordinary day is an extraordinary gift that doesn’t last - so savor as much as you can.

with heart,

Hali

HOW TO HELP:

If you are wondering how to help or where to give a little support, there are good ways. Just avoid some of the larger organizations, and select something regional… a couple that are close to my heart include BeLoved Asheville and Brother Wolf Animal Rescue. If you know of / trust others, mention them in the comments in case anyone else feels moved.

If you want to help my family out specifically, thank you. Everything helps right now. An easy way is to subscribe here, consider purchasing a course, or share a one time donation here.