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