When It All Came Tumbling Down

 

Monday, October 21st

This was the first morning since Helene that my husband and I sat down to review our weekly calendar. There’s enough routine now and reliable utilities to  plan our work hours, schedule zooms, coordinate playdates for our kids, and even add something social or fun on top of it all. That’s not to say things are back to normal. We still drive over a dozen downed power lines to get to our house; the water coming out of our faucet isn’t safe for drinking and stings your eyes in the shower, WIFI is intermittent, school is still out, and we are still hearing heartbreaking stories from friends in different corners of WNC. But the framework of daily life is slowly being put back together.

I’m not sure if it was from the boredom of being at home or perhaps just being ready for a change, but this past week our son with the long golden locks decided it was time for a fresh new ‘do’. My husband went to work with his clippers and when it was all over we could better see our son’s freckled face. And the grandparents rejoiced. This past weekend, my mom even “rewarded” Gus for his haircut with a trip to our favorite gem mine in Hendersonville.

“Gem mine” is an understatement. This place is also a rock shop, goat farm, exotic bird habitat, playground, ice cream parlor and brewery. Elijah Mountain Gem Mine is the brainchild of an elementary student’s home school business project and a veritable treasure trove for children and adults alike. 

When we visit, I usually purchase a “miner’s bucket” filled with dirt and pre-loaded with prizes. And while they uncover their colorful rocks  in the flume of flowing water, I spend my time prospecting for the gems that have been bobbled and dropped and mixed into the sand and gravel at our feet.

The man who consistently works there likes to laugh at my scavenging tendencies and dubs my antics “groundhoggin.” But he also always helps me identify the rocks I find underfoot and then gives me an additional discount on the clearance room merchandise. 

When we visited this past weekend, there was an unfamiliar face working the cash register. I asked about my groundhoggin guy and was solemnly informed that he lost his house and all his possessions in a landslide- and he was very fortunate to have escaped alive.

Helene was the ultimate triple threat: rivers rose, trees fell, and the ground slid out from under us. The US Geological Survey reported that over 1,000 landslides were connected to the weather events surrounding Helene. We have seen countless pictures and videos of places where there was once a house or several structures and now there is a long slope of loose dirt with jumbled mounds of timber and cinder blocks piled at the bottom.

Part of what’s been so unsettling about this whole experience is that the things that seemed so steady and permanent came crashing down in seconds. And yet… with all that came crumbling down, we also experienced a breaking of barriers that has arguably left us better off. 

 

Bubbles Popped

Asheville is self-described by many of our local friends as a liberal bubble. And most living here like the bubble, want the bubble, are willing to keep putting hot air inside the bubble to keep it inflated. Yet, if you travel thirty minutes outside of Asheville in any direction you will notice a shift in yard signs, bumper stickers, and billboards. And you start to understand why the larger swath of Western North Carolina and our congressional district is considered “Safely Republican.”

Helene popped our bubble. When the sun went down on September 27th – in the homestretch of an election year – it no longer mattered if we were Republican, Democrat or unaffiliated, if we were rural or urban, or on this side or that. We were all in it together and we needed each other. 

We needed the chainsaws, the ATVs, the trade skills and utilities and resourcefulness. We needed the social services and government support. We didn’t have the comfort to care who was helping. We just… needed… help. 

Elected officials on both sides showed up in person and online to advocate for our area, provide relief and information about resources to their districts, as well as to dispel the myths and mistruths that were populating national news. Natural Disasters don’t discriminate based on voting districts and for a few weeks our community has been unified by something more binding than a ballot choice. 

 

Judgment turned to Grace

There have been countless organizations, individuals and small business who have provided relief services and supplies. But pretty uniformly across the region, when you needed water, a hot meal, nonperishables, clothes, blankets, buckets, cleaning supplies, filters, help putting tarps on your house, clearing debris from your driveway, anything, you could head to the neighborhood church and find what you needed. 

Driving throughout the region, past the different denominations, messages of “open to all” and “take what you need” fill the marquees. The first Sunday our family went to church after the storm, the entrance to the building looked like a crossover between an ALDI and a Goodwill. Several of the Sunday School classrooms had been closed off and converted into bunkrooms for visiting work crews. And When Buncombe County released the list of shower and laundry stations, the majority of thems were located in church parking lots, managed by a volunteer force of local congregants. I turned to my husband and joked that the churches had finally found a way to baptize the masses.

Joking aside, the faith community showed up. I have never seen Christians become “the hands and feet of Jesus” in quite this way. And for a group that is sometimes known more for who it wants to keep out than who it lets in and for throwing shade more than grace, it was convicting - even as a believer, and perhaps especially as a believer - to see the church focused on comforting, clothing, cleaning, feeding, warming, and rebuilding our community.

 

Exceptionalism Washed Away

One of the work gigs that was wiped off my calendar this month was a keynote for an international think tank looking to relocate their headquarters to Asheville because of our renowned “climate resiliency.” And while I’m not privy to their internal decision making process, I’m betting that group canceled more than just a conference and a keynote.

Asheville is smug. For a town our size, we have amazing art, music food and beer, incredible hiking trails, fly fishing streams, rock climbing pitches, and mountain bike trails and we are proud and obnoxious about it all. 

But one of our favorite attributes to show and share is that we are a “climate haven.” Asheville is frequently heralded in national and international publications for our resilience to climate change, what with our temperate four seasons and ample water, our geographic distance from tornado alleys, earthquake fault-lines, and rising sea levels. Those of us born here or able to move here are considered winners of the geographic lottery. Plus, we’re far enough inland to avoid the worst wind and rain of the southern hurricanes. Or so we thought…

It sucks when your smugness is turned on its face for all the world to see. And yet, maybe it’s up to us to be the example, the canary in the cage, that no one person and no place is immune from the effects of climate change. You cannot buy your way out of it or move away from it, whether you are residing in a climate haven or on the front lines of rising sea levels, wildfires, and severe weather patterns. We are all going to be subjected to the destruction and loss caused by rising global temperatures. 

Some of our unpopped bubbles have tried over time to turn climate change into a controversy or question. I’m not a scientist or an expert on the matter. And I'm not here to argue. But I do know that when you are walking in the woods and come out to a paved roadway you can feel the air temperature go up and the air quality go down. I don’t need documents or ten dollar words to convince me that less trees plus more asphalt and fossil fuels will create change within our communities.

During the last week of September, the dirt in our mountains was dry and hard-packed because of an unusually extended drought. Meanwhile, above average temperatures in the Gulf of Mexico allowed a hurricane to gain water, wind, and steam. And when Helene’s downpour came ripping through our region and when the ground couldn’t effectively absorb moisture… instead of winning the lottery of lucky environmental factors, we lost. 

Climate change is a zero-sum game and if we don’t change, we all lose.

 

Moving Forward

The physical damage of the landslides in our region was catastrophic and my hope is that we spend our energy and resources rebuilding homes and supporting people, such as my groundhoggin guy who felt the world fall apart beneath him. And, at the same time, maybe we can also hold off on the tendency to build up the divides and feelings that keep us apart and hold tight to the humility and humanity that have been brutally and beautifully uncovered like bedrock beneath the dirt. 

 

(Afterwards + Complementary Earworm)

Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?

Well, I've been 'fraid of changin'
'Cause I've built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I'm gettin' older, too

Ah, take my love, take it down
Oh, climb a mountain and turn around

Oh, the landslide will bring it down

Selections from Stevie Nicks’ song, Landslide