Helene

Then came Helene. Multiple watches and warnings had been issued, but no one was prepared for the long-lasting effects of so much rain on the many creeks and rivers that course throughout the steep mountain terrain of Western North Carolina.

The storm came in the night of Thursday, September 26. I was awakened when my power blinked about 3AM Friday morning and went downstairs to (try to) sleep on the futon, which I had already made up. The power went out about 6:30 and so did my landline (which I have kept for emergencies—LOL). I fed the cats, made coffee (gas stove) and breakfast, and watched as dawn arrived (hoping that no deer would venture out into the storm).

I was prepared to be without power for several days, having stored water in the bathtub and in every water bottle, pitcher, etc. that I own. And I had six or seven gallons jugs of water in the basement, and well as three frozen gallons in the chest freezer.

At some point after that I lost cell service and didn’t get it back until Sunday morning. Even then it was inconsistent and text only. Mostly, I just sat or walked around the house, watching and listening as the storm raged. I could see the trees on the top of the nearby ridge bowing to the power of the wind and hear trees crashing. Small branches and sycamore tree balls pounded the roof and, as the storm moved along, all sides of the house. (Fortunately, no trees or large branches hit the house.) The cats were nervous, too, but not so much that they missed their naps.

By early afternoon, Helene had passed by, and the sun was shining, so I went out. I could already hear chainsaws and the neighbors’ tractor as they worked to clear the road. A smallish half-dead black locust tree tree had fallen in my “orchard” but missed the apple tree and blueberry bushes, and part of the always-unstable side of the driveway had slid down, but not enough to prevent traffic.

Walking down toward the mailbox, I saw a few small trees down across the road and another small landslide on the road that goes through the rest of the hollow. A neighbor who had been helping clear the road to the river came up and quickly chainsawed the trees to make a way through. I think that’s as far as I went that day; I was still processing what had happened and what I had heard. (Fortunately, I have some anachronistic habits, including sometimes listening to a battery-powered radio when I walk or work outside. I have four, one that is also a weather radio, and it turned out that the radio was the only way to get information from the world outside our little hollow. I loaned the other three radios to neighbors.)

Saturday I went on my regular ramble route into a changed world. I walked down to the river, passing by fourteen trees that the neighbors had cleared off the road and under the ones that are leaning and have us all worried because we will need professional help to remove them.

And then I got to the river, the same French Broad River that is at the beginning of every blog post. Except it wasn’t the same river and will never again be the same river. Somehow, a few trees were still standing, but many were gone, along with other familiar landmarks, including entire houses. By now, the river had subsided a bit and I could see debris from upriver (towards Asheville) on the shoreline and hung up on remaining trees. The storm had flooded Silver-Line Plastics, a pipe manufacturer in Woodfin, and thousands of pipes were washed into the river. I’m sure some went as far as Tennessee. (The company was quick to reassure the public that their products would not further contaminate the river.) Houses that weren’t washed away had basements (or more) flooded, and the water had rushed through and around our little Post Office.

Then I walked back uphill and continued into the Hollow, parts of which looked completely untouched. But elsewhere, trees—huge trees—were down in the woods. What often happens when one tree falls is that it takes other along with it. Or sometimes the other tree doesn’t fall, and it becomes what I call a leaner. Some of the trees were completely uprooted due to the saturated ground, and others, especially pines, simply snapped in two. Dead trees, trees full of leaves, large trees, small trees—it didn’t matter to Helene. Miraculously, only one house in the hollow was damaged.

It’s hard to believe that Helene hit only four weeks ago. The first two weeks, especially, are somewhat of a blur; priorities changed, and everything took much longer. I will get back to this again soon, but I’ve been working on it for a week, and I want to get it posted.

I know that many of you tried to contact me—or tried to, and I appreciate your reaching out. Thank you for your prayers, thoughts, and energy.