I’m back in my happy place. It’s vastly different and the work ahead is so so so big. When I pulled off our exit and hung a right I felt myself breathe a little deeper and my heart slowed a bit. I was calmer… in the disaster zone, I was calmer. It’s the strangest thing. I’m back among familiar people and my framily. I stopped on my way in and chatted across the fence with a dear neighbor whom I have come to adore. As I unloaded the car I caught up with another neighbor I have grown to love. This is real community in action.

I decided to brave the Greenway this afternoon. The Greenway trailhead is at the entrance to our neighborhood and it’s a short and beautiful .5 mile walk right into town. I had heard its blocked but I wanted to see for myself so I decided to brave the familiar path this afternoon. When Mom got sick we would try to walk the Greenway, just to the first bench. She could take a rest break there and we would turn back to home. She and I have walked the Greenway more times than I can count. We waved to the folks we met along the way and to the friendly folks who live in the mobile home park along the way. There were always children playing in the cul de sacs, family cookouts, pick up basketball or kids on bikes. Life was always happening, in full color with the mountains of Montreat sprouting from the earth in the background.

Today I passed the expected debris and Flat Creek was far more visible now, as much of the vegetation on the banks is gone. The trees are full of clothing, garbage bags, sheets of metal, a sliding board, totes, propane tanks and just about anything else you can imagine. I saw a large building of sorts and it clearly didn’t belong. It is no longer possible to even know what kind of building it was or its purpose. Its surreal. It’s still a war zone. I held my breath and walked on, around the piles of brush, rubble, sinkholes and debris. I tried to stick close to the path I knew was once the Greenway to respect the homes. The homes… these homes, almost every single one of them sustained massive damage. One wasn’t sitting where it was supposed to. The water picked it up, moved it back and slammed it against the neighbor. The only reason it didn’t take out that home was a small wooden front porch which is now partially crushed, but still serves as the entry to the still somewhat safe mobile home. The bottoms of any home I could see were gone, and by gone I mean no sign of it at all. I recognized the bright red letter sized notices on doors. They mean the house is not inhabitable. The now familiar black spray painted symbols with dates were on many homes. This is not good.

I walked on, a little slower and a little more lightly, until I couldn’t anymore. I was just past the familiar green bench. The quiet creek now runs about 2 feet from someone’s home. The Greenway is simply gone. Someone is at the beach somewhere swimming in it. I stood in silence staring at the massive rocks and noticing the creek now splits in places it hadn’t before. Water was all I heard. The now familiar sirens, chainsaws and helicopters didn’t fill the air, but neither did the smell of a grill, the sound of a basketball hitting the backboard, the squeals of children racing on bikes or the calls of parent reminding their kids to do their homework. It was complete silence, like we hear about when you are in the eye of a storm. In fact I felt like I was in the eye of the storm, where time stands still, horror has come and you know more is to be endured.

I had no choice but to turn around. I decided to walk back on some of the sandy paths along the banks of the creek. I saw a small Santa hat. I imagined the family that was already preparing for Christmas, or perhaps Helene had grabbed the Christmas decorations. The owner of this hat might not even have a Christmas this year. Do they have a home, do they have jobs or did Helene steal that too? Do they have food? It is getting cold at night. Do they have heat? What about potable water?

I walked deeper into the debris that had been pushed off the roads. Tears began to fall when I saw a baby doll, chest down, buried deep in the mud and muck. The top of the doll had been torn off in the violence of last month. What a ride this doll had been on. The doll brought comfort to a child. Someone is missing this doll. It may have been the one doll that soothed a child to sleep. Where is that child now, and is that precious one still hunting that doll?

These creek beds and banks hold precious memories and beloved items. As people dig through debris they post pictures, photoalbums, jewelry and today someone posted and urn. An urn with the American flag on it. It took my breath away. Everything must be searched for the sake of the family behind it. I have friends who have lost every single thing, all of it. To have a stranger recover something the river stole can bring some small piece of peace.

I walked home without the ability to think. I sent a couple of pictures to a friend and Johnny. They too have walked this path many times and knew that I had ventured out today. The response “holy crap”. Thats really all we can say or think now. There is so much to do, and every piece of debris represents someone. Every tree provided shade to a person or an animal. Every car now lodged in the creek banks was vital transportation to a job, to take care of family or to take someone to school. What now? How? When? Who will do it?

The Cajun Army is now in town. They specialize in phase two, which includes debris. The Army Corp of Engineers will be here to assist with that as well. The experts are coming, and we need them. The children in Black Mountain go back to school on Friday, on an abbreviated schedule. But this is major progress. These kids have been home for 4 weeks, home or somewhere. Some are in shelters, some are with family and some have been forced to leave the area completely.

I’ve spent more time in Black Mountain than in Huntersville since Helene. Some may think I would be glad to be in Huntersville where life is “normal”. It is in fact the opposite. Huntersville makes me crazy. People fret over silly things that in the greater picture don’t really matter. If you have a home, with a steady source of heat, air and lights, running water that is safe to drink and to bathe in and a phone like actually works for communication, be grateful. People are running around in their bubble of themselves. The days don’t end when the sun goes down because there is light and there are businesses where you can shop and enjoy dinner out. As hard as life can be in Black Mountain right now, we are all focused on the same thing, survival and basic needs. Double checking that we have what we need, that our neighbors have the basics and how can we help each other. We are all working towards a common goal. There is no time or place for competition or masks. We are among people who have been through the same thing so we skip the standard “How are you?” greeting. We go right to “Can I bring you anything?” or “Do you have what you need”. Honestly, the how are you greeting is so empty anyway. You are supposed to just say “Fine, how are you”. Try answering with how you really are. I’ve tried it before just for kicks. Know what? People really don’t want to know.

I’m trying to learn what I can from this powerful storm. Something has awakened within me and I’m trying to figure it out. I’m trying to figure out what my next direction will be and how to take my skills, abilities and passions to facilitate change. I have no idea what it will be, but I’ll let you know when I figure it out.

© Gatewood Campbell, October 2024

This is my finished blown glass vase, made by yours truly on Oct 12. I was thrilled to pick it up yesterday and hold it in my own hands. There is so much imagery in it. I see Helene in it. The bottom has large colors holding onto their own spaces. Some overlap and some take up their own space without touching the others. As your eyes travel up, it begins to swirl, first slowly and then recklessly, deeply compressing all the colors tightly together. All the colors form to see new colors with no rhyme or reason, but they all ascend together without the ability to change direction or part from the gravity pushing them, like a hurricane. As the churning suddenly stops it gives way to an opening. The massive cavernous spout will hold flowers born out of the ground of Black Mountain and cultivated by man. As one, each bloom will demonstrate its own beauty and when combined with others connection and community creates a larger more beautiful scene.

As our community rises together, now intertwined by a natural disaster we did not want and trauma that will shake us for the rest of our lives, we are now fully dependent upon the overlapping of our lives. Strangers are now trusted soulmates. Masks have been shed. There is no room for competition. We are all in this together and we rise from this flooded land, stronger and more complete with each other. As our Pastor, Chad Smith said just weeks ago before the storm, “The fruit of our lives is experienced in connection with others”. I wrote it down that day and stuffed it in my pocket book. I had no idea how those words would ring so loudly in my life just a few days later.

#braveinallthings
#BlackMountainStrong

© Gatewood Campbell, October 2024

Thursday, Sept 26, I was in Montreat with two incredible friends and we were wrapping up Fall Craft Week. I look forward to this week as “me time”. Sure I worked at the pottery studio this summer but it was WORK. There was no space for the creative me. This week is my self care week and I loved it as much as I knew I would. Amber had taken photography and Jamie and I took stained glass. Little did we know Amber was capturing images that may not be seen for a very long time, if ever. Jamie and I worked alongside each other crafting memories and glass pieces that tell the story of our week and more. None of us knew Fall Craft Week would bond us in trauma and, recovery and hope just 18 hours later.

Fall Craft Week wrapped up Thursday at lunch so attendees could evacuate WNC sooner rather than later. At lunch we were warned this storm would be catastrophic and historic. I was like blah blah blah. We decided to stay on, assess the damage and assuming we lost power, would lock up the house and return to Huntersville.

Jamie, Amber and I ate lunch together and our biggest concern was stalking the silent auction of crafts people brought to make sure we won the items we most wanted. Funny, I was stalking several and won several but now I can only recall 2 of them. We even snagged a pic after Amber grabbed the gorgeous print her teacher had taken in the auction. This photo tells a story we cannot begin to comprehend. Priorities can change overnight, and wow did they.

Jamie and Amber left a day early. Divine intervention. It was cold and raining so I wanted to make chili for dinner Thursday. We needed a grocery run. We stopped at Ingles and joined the crowds. I laughed with a friend I saw when we both commented we had milk and perishables. Who buys perishables with a storm coming? I do. I remember seeing someone buying water and I asked Johnny if we should get water. He reminded me we were city water. “We never lose water.”

I went home and prepared the most monstrous pot of chili ever. That’s the only way I know to make it. Side note… if there is ANY chance you may lose the ability to flush toilets, as remotely as it seems, or as far fetched as it seems, do NOT, under any circumstances prepare chili and think it’s a good idea to eat for 3 days straight. Yes, we ate chili for dinner three days straight and we lost all flushing water the very next day. Interpret as you wish.

I did think it was wise to wise all my laundry from stained glass making as it was likely laden with glass and I made sure I knew where one flashlight was. That was the extent of my storm prep. Bacon, eggs, chili and one flashlight. Oh, and I put my phone on charge earlier than usual and I crawled into bed.

Thursday was really fairly textbook… until I woke up at 6 am Friday morning.

© Gatewood Campbell, October 2024

Wednesday after the storm, Johnny dropped me off at the house of someone we had met just 7 weeks earlier. Her husband, Dusten, their family friend Joey and two guys from our church, Drew and Tom, volunteered to head into the disaster zone and lend aid. Our caravan was three deep with two towing heavily loaded trailers. Armed with a property tax bill, a local fire fighter and some other first responder info we headed west.

We stopped at Costco to fill up the vehicles, generators and donated gas cans. A person in the gas line saw us and asked if we were headed to the mtns. When she learned of our trek she handed Dusten $50 to use to help. God was with us and going to get us through.

We were passed by several convoys of police escorted vehicles. One was from CMPD. Our own people coming to the aid of my people. Once we passed Morganton the sights began to change. Signs of flooding and downed trees littered the view. The heartstrings began to prepare us for what was to come.

We made it to our house without complication. It was a relief but also daunting. Our neighborhood had hired a tree company to cut and haul the massive trees that had come down. I wasn’t oblivious to the terror lurking outside our neighborhood entry.

We set out to unload the trailer and get the word out we are serving 80 hamburgers hot off the grill. Our convoy crew set about emptying the trailer and setting up the new garage store in our one car garage. My little hood already knew we were coming and had gathered to see the trailer unload. I set out on foot to find people in need of a hot prepared meal and conversation. I walked adjoining neighborhoods and streets. If a door was open then I knew someone was home letting light in. So I knocked and invited. I didn’t know a soul I spoke with. I went in homes where people were unable to walk to the door to speak with me. Tragedy doesn’t discriminate. We are all in this together. No one turned me away. Some had just eaten, you see with no power and complete darkness, people go to bed much earlier. We operate with the sun. So eating patterns change. I met a lady at her door. She was eating a banana. I extended the invite and she showed me her banana. I told her if she had already eaten no problem. She laughed and said the one banana was her dinner and she happily accepted the invite. I ran into a man who lives in a nearby shattered trailer park on his bike with a milk crate. His crate was loaded with snack bars and Gatorade. He was riding around offering aid. I met a family of five pulling a wagon of women’s hygiene products. The adults were knocking on doors while the kids rode bikes challenging each other to races along the way. We live along the creek so I saw pickups and cars on the banks of the creek scooping up flushing water. This gives us some sense of dignity while we don’t have running water. I also ran into people looking for their loved ones along my route. They had traveled some distance because their friend had not been heard from. The challenge of no communication is horrific for everyone.

I got home and the grill was fired up. My little hood had already arrived in our driveway beside this grill. I later learned this is what they have been doing for each meal. They go in our home, raise the garage door and roll out the grill. They use my grandmother’s prized red teapot and someone else’s French press to make coffee for 15 and fry up anything they can find.

When I got home, our team had unloaded the massive haul and set up our new garage store. Items were sorted by category. They had created a U shaped aisle utilizing every space available. They even made the aisles wide enough for a walker so my neighbors could safely enter and shop.

There was a shelf display of items too. Johnny’s ladder was set up in A frame. Live edge wood I was given from my glass teachers just last Thursday was used to now display essentials.

As I surveyed the garage shop I saw the faces of YOU! I recalled your full arms coming down my driveway over and over again dropping off your donations. The pile had overflowed my porch, filled the sidewalk and stretched down my driveway. Less than 48 hours from the time of my plea, YOUR donations were set up and ready to be picked up by those in desperate need. Shopping was already in full swing.

Drew, grill meister extraordinaire, was on the task of grilling 80 burgers on our tiny grill. My neighbors were already arriving. They brought their camping chairs and enjoyed the new load of bottled water that your provided.

Recah set up tables for condiments and assisted Drew with cooking. Joey and Dusten had begun distribution and deliveries of heavier things. Tom was delivering water, setting up a generator and was EVERYWHERE doing everything.

Neighbors who had been strangers just an hour prior began to walk down our street. I was in disbelief. Chad, our pastor from House of Mercy, Asheville arrived with a car full of people. Other folks from House of Mercy arrived. Some I had just spent the previous Monday with at small group. Chad brought some houseless friends we met just a few weeks before. He brought women and children from the shelter. He also brought women who had just been released from prison and have been attending our church while in prison through our partnership with the day pass program. Here we were, literally ALL walks of life now forever bonded by a flood. We ARE survivors.

I didn’t hear conversation about the flood. I saw smiles, laughter, hugs between strangers and friends who had not yet had that first post flood hug. I could feel the hugs lasting longer than usual. I felt us hugging tighter, needing to let the connection linger. Nothing was NOT ok. Tears and laughs were heard and no one excused their appearance, their stench or their bad breath. Raw, unfiltered, unmasked humanity flooded my mom’s driveway.

I stood back alone for a moment surveying the scene. I wept. The lady with the half eaten banana saw me. She immediately came and embraced me. She didn’t know the story of this home and knew nothing about me but she knew what to do.

Mom’s best friend Ruth arrived. That hug and our tears now flowed freely. The relief of safety, the security in her arms and the look in her eyes fed my soul. She knew my history, she knew the pain I had endured the last few years and the pain we all now endured. She also knew we will come out stronger and more connected than ever.

One of our new friends we met while serving 12 Baskets Cafe: a program of Asheville Poverty Initiative brought his guitar and played. People joined in singing. Another couple picked up the guitar and his wife sang “Stand by Me”. Never had I experienced the song the way I did now. The emotion in her closed eyes and swaying body was palpable. Many joined in with her and we clapped with sincere joy and gratitude.

I asked Pastor Chad to lead us in prayer. I met Chad less than 7 weeks ago on a mission trip to Asheville through our home home church Lake Forest Church-Huntersville. While on that trip I kept feeling like God was doing something so much bigger in my life than those 4 days but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I kept telling Johnny that something but we happening. He felt it too and also couldn’t identify it.

Every Sunday we were in Black Mtn we were now attending House of Mercy and called it our home church. We looked forward to arriving early and catching up with people. We now listened to church services we missed to keep up with the message series. Just the previous Monday, House of Mercy friends Vickie and Jimmy had picked us up and taken us to Jane’s house for small group. Johnny and I are introverts at heart but we play well as extroverts. Here we were WANTING to be among people.

Ok squirrel over. Back to Wednesday night. Darkness was

beginning and Buncombe county is under a 7:30 pm curfew. Total darkness is unsafe because you can’t see cavernous holes in the streets. Our new friends had full bellies, bags and bags of food and smiles on their faces. We shared more hugs and theybegan to walk home and load their cars.

That night our driveway was a haven from the storm. A place of camaraderie, encouragement, essential supplies and HOPE! The six of us sat in the quiet, cool evening and processed our experiences. There were no words. We recognized we are forever changed.

A few weeks ago Chad said “The fruit of our lives is experienced in connection with others”. Spot on man, spot on.

YOU made this happen. YOU showed up for my people. YOU brought them hope, compassion and virtual hugs they felt. We know we will be ok. It will take time, hard work and patience. You have our backs, you hold our hearts in yours and hold us tightly when we need it. We are not alone and you won’t forget us. We ARE “Brave in All Things” and we ARE Black Mountain STRONG!!!

© Gatewood Campbell, October 2024