Yesterday was a celebration of recovery and experiencing it was life-changing, glorious and emotional.

The Whitson Ave bridge IS the primary artery between the main two roads in Swannanoa crossing over the Swannanoa River. Everything forks off of Old 70 and 70 and Whitson Ave connects them. Helene grabbed the bridge like a woman scorned and marched on. Cars, vans and trucks landed on the banks of the river. Our community has watched with hope and gratitude as construction crews work daily to restore key infrastructure.

Yesterday the bridge reopened in the grand way it deserved. I stood alongside strangers with goosebumps as the crowd grew gathering along Hwy 70. Swannanoa isn’t a munipality so there were no police to block the roads. Citizens simply stepped out into 5 lanes of traffic to allow a few community leaders to gather around the bridge. Cars and trucks realized why we were there and greeted us with honks and waves.

I smiled, waved to the vehicles and glanced at the lady beside me commenting on the power of the moment. She stuck her hand out “I’m Deb, I live on XYZ ST In Swannanoa. I noticed her shirt with the outline of our state and the word “home” inside the outline. I asked about her home. She freely shared details of her harrowing night, going underwater to save her goats and expressing endless gratitude that her home remained less than an inch from water taking over. She laughing said “goats can’t swim, if you ever need to know that”. The stories live on and we still need to share with those willing to listen. It helps to find people who understand and those just willing to try to understand. The most shocking thing I have discovered about this are the people who blow us off, tell me to stop sharing the truth and don’t even ask. People I assumed would care and would ask, remain silent and ignorant. This day was not the kind of an experience where people don’t care. It was SO far from that. In fact as I moved closer to the road for a better view another stranger stuck out her hand “Hi I’m Beth and I live on XYZ ST Swannanoa”. Helene has broken us down and broken down barriers. We know we all have this catastrophic event in common and we value each other in new ways.

At high noon it was time for the big event! We aren’t fancy people up here. The ribbon was caution tape, ironic and appropriate. Caution tape is easy to find around here. Why worry with yellow shiny ribbon? We don’t waste anything around here. Together we counted down, horns honked and with a quick snip infrastructure was restored. The oldest survivor in Swannanoa drove (yes HE drove himself) across the bridge for the ceremonial passing! Again citizens had to stop traffic to let him cross the intersection. Amusing to say the least, but that’s WNC now. We just see what needs to be done and do it. I wept. Most people did. We witnessed progress while standing beside debris, a dump truck hauling debris and an excavator actively moved debris. Recovery in its rawest form all happening at the same time. It was a LOT to take in.

We moved back into the parking lot of a nearby business and off the debris still ankle deep around Beacon Veterinary Hospital. Live music took center stage and the crowd milled about. I watched hugs, tears and joy flood, yes I said flood, Swannanoa.

Deb and I continued visiting. Turns out she sells her homemade soaps at the Swannanoa Farmers Market where we shopped Saturday. Go see her! She even has a soap called “Hell or High Water”. Buy from her and help her recover. She’s been here over 20 years and she said no matter what she has been through she’s not leaving. She pointed at her shirt and said “This is home”. Those three words mean so much more to me after Helene. For the hundreds gathered, this is home and we aren’t going anywhere. We reached out and embraced each other before leaving. Hell and high water came but humanity rose up and collectively said “You will not beat us down”. We continue to link arms, determined to do the hard work for ourselves and each other. No one here is in this alone and we all know it. We feel it. We live it daily.

I jumped back in the car and as if I needed another reminder that there is a God directing all these moving parts “Carolina On My Mind” came on the radio. I wept, again, and I smiled with a little snicker. Yea, I see you God and You see us. You will indeed give us the power, grace and energy to come back. No, it won’t be the same and we won’t be the same, ever. But we march on with our eyes only facing forward.

There’s a sign alongside Hwy 70 that always makes me honk. It says “Look at you, you’re tired, but you ain’t giving up! Honk if you ❤️”. On this day I responded with shouts and honks and a little nod in agreement. We ain’t giving up, come hell or high water. WE ARE WNC STRONG!

© Gatewood Campbell, February 2025

Crafting with glass has always been fun for me. I started playing with it over a decade ago in Montreat at the Currie Craft Center. I made earrings, pendants, spoon rests and sun catchers. It was just a summer thing but the art of taking shards of broken glass spoke volumes to me. I was taking something that had been a part of something bigger, a vital part of making something whole, and repurposing it for something new and beautiful. Glass changes with light and I have always loved how people can see something totally different depending on the light cast on it. Glass becomes alive! I began dabbling in stained glass right after Mom died, taking on bigger projects, and suddenly glass became a constant source of healing.

After Mom died I started signing up for any art class I could find. It gave me a reason to get up, get dressed and get out of the house. Sometimes I took them with a friend, but most often I went alone. I’m fine going solo anywhere, even a restaurant (which some people despise) just like my Mom. The more classes I took the wider my lens stretched to ALL the many things we can see and do with glass. Because of my job I have continued learning about glass, the possibilities and the sheer fun. It does still provide immense therapy in a good way, when I’m not suddenly sobbing because I can’t call Mom to tell her about the latest success or absolute failure. Art therapy is so real! It takes all of your senses and zeroes in on one thing. For me, it’s an escape from the whirling world around me or the circus that’s my own head.

Last month I took the first leap into what may become a bigger deep dive and I bought a small glass kiln. A good friend and fellow glass artist taught me about it and strongly encouraged me to go for it. Since then I have spent a little time almost everyday creating and firing fused glass. The kiln is small and transportable, so of course I even took it to the mountains and made things everyday while we were there. Some things are utter failures and some are massive and surprising successes. I’ve stretched myself by trying new techniques and each one helps me learn. My log book is full of facts, firing times and my own thoughts, such as “epic failure” or “I love it”.

It wasn’t long before I realized I would need to start selling my work in order to keep creating it. What am I going to do with 50 pairs of earrings or 50 sun-catchers? Although I have my favorites that I admire but glass is to be seen and shared. So… here’s the BIG news! I’ve launched G8rmade!!! Yes, it’s a play on my name. It’s pronounced G-eight-er-made. Get it? G8rmade! So stinking cute and it makes me smile. My Mom called me Gater for short. We just don’t do normal names in my family, obviously, and I love the clear nod to my Mom. I have opened a Facebook page, G8rmade, where you can follow me and purchase from my collection. At some point I’ll figure out a website, but making stuff is time consuming and of course, I have a job that I LOVE! It grows me everyday and the joy I have in teaching classes fills my cup!

A couple of years ago I found a post on my Mom’s Facebook page. She had written “Creativity is a gift that must be shared”. I found this odd because Mom wasn’t a crafty person, at all. In fact when she had to make a costume for me for a church play she traced my body onto a piece of burlap, doubled it over and iron tape fused it together. Childhood trauma is real. Mom wasn’t someone I would quickly say was creative or crafty. I don’t remember her originally posting this comment but I saw it as a sign from her for me, here, in my present space.

So here’s to you Mom, I’m doing the thing! I’m taking a risk, which is NOT my norm and seeing where it leads me. I’m having fun, stretching myself, putting myself out there and loving every minute of it. So here’s my advice, try new things, no matter where your head is. Give yourself the gift of creativity and share it too! It’s contagious! Oh and be sure to follow G8rmade on Facebook!! #braveinallthings #gjm

© Gatewood Campbell, February 2025