October 18, 2024
By now I've had some time to digest the horrific imagery from the catastrophic flooding in the southern Appalachians largely due to Hurricane Helene, as well as see the resilience and creativity of mountain communities. Last fall a lifelong friend and I made a camping and hiking pilgrimage down the North Carolina section of the Blue Ridge Parkway under picture-perfect conditions. I've rarely had any of my excursions go quite so flawlessly according to plan. We had plans for months to make a return trip again in early October this year to visit other places and time the foliage a bit better.
To see the areas around the Balsam Range and Mt. Pisgah, Mt. Mitchell, Grandfather Mountain and more suffering such devastation is beyond heartbreaking. So many of the places that most of the rest of the country is learning about for the first time are intimately familiar to me from 30 years of concert tours with recreational adventures planned for every spare bit of down time. The communities and people, the places, the roads and yes, the mountains and waterfalls - so much lost and forever changed by the incredible power of water and gravity. What has happened in this rugged region is on the order of Hurricane Katrina, superstorm Sandy, or the killer remnants of Camille, whose name still sends shudders through longtime residents of central Virginia's mountains.
I'm fairly certain that people from other parts of the country have trouble imagining how remote many of these places are. There's often one road into or through. The beautiful mountains which had been heavily logged a century ago and left for waste have grown up with largely vibrant and healthy mountain forests. First unleash a stationary front dropping inches of rain fueled by Helene's still offshore circulation, followed by Helene's slow march with her winds, and the result is hundreds of “islands” - families and small communities completely cut off by washed out roads, flattened forests, and of course the utility lines that are the foundation and lifeline of modern civilization.
Of course, it's not just isolated mountain communities - the city of Asheville and towns like Hendersonville, Boone and Chimney Rock suffered immense flood damage and death, just as the biggest economic season of the year arrives. That vital fall foliage tourism will not help lift these places.
And it's not just winding barely 2-lane roads cut into the sides of mountains either. I-40 is the primary interstate highway connection to Tennessee, and the Pigeon River essentially washed away portions of the highway leaving nothing to rebuild on. The main detour, which would normally add 2 hours travel time, is I-26 north from Asheville - an interstate currently severed by the incredible flooding of the Nolichucky River on the Tennessee side. That road may be repaired in a matter of months, but I-40 is going to be out of commission for a long time, and western NC is going to be impaired by that until it's reopened.
Interstate 40 is far from the only road to simply vanish in places; US 58 is the primary road through the Virginia “Sky Country” mountains on the NC border, and it will be a long haul to rebuild that as well.
Of course, I have a lot of friends in this region, in towns and in high more rural places too. When I want to know what's REALLY happening on the ground, I trust their experiences and accounts first. It has been, is and will continue to be truly all hands on deck to feed, clothe and care for one another, both in small informal neighborhood networks, local and state first responders, and yes, the federal government too.
My friend Amy White lives on a ridge above Asheville; she and her late husband Al Petteway shared their photographic talents with National Geographic earlier in their careers, and via their website and social media for the many years since. Amy's “critter cams” and walkabouts provide a stark before and after record of their spot on the mountain, and it's well worth your time to see https://youtu.be/1b1rrS0jIVE
Winter has already made its first appearance in the high country, and there is so much cleanup yet to do even to restore access to basic services. The need is massive, and the effort is rising to match it for the long haul. The amount of coordination to secure, clean up and restore services even in towns is incredible. To rebuild with resilience for future events will be both costly and time-consuming.
There are lots of great NGOs (non-governmental organizations) doing work in their communities if you're moved to help, now or anytime periodically over the next year. Here are a few that my friends in the region shared with me:
- https://helpmarshall.org/, the town of Marshall NC was completely inundated by the French Broad River
- https://riseerwin.org, based in one of the most devastated towns in the Nolichucky River valley of northeast TN.
- https://www.belovedasheville.com/
- https://theleaf.org, an arts organization helping artists in particular as well as the community in general.
It may never look exactly the same, but according to geologists these mountains are half a billion years old. Mountain people have endured generations of hardship, and resilience is wound deep into Appalachian DNA. People are joining forces to do work both mundane and miraculous, and that in itself is something well worth standing for.
Looking westward from the Black Mountain range and Mt. Mitchell in western North Carolina, Oct. 2023. Notice how rugged and remote this region is, which is among both the blessings of living in these mountains, and the challenges of trying to get to people living in the remote ridgetops and hollers. ©Andrew McKnight