Last September I was in my crafty world of Adult Craft Week finishing my stained glass masterpiece. It was raining. It was raining a lot. They warned us a storm was coming. We half-ass prepared.

And Hurricane Helene.

She came, she went and she spared nothing. We did not know how much our life would change. Our home was spared. Our eyes remain traumatized by the sights and our ears are traumatized by the sounds. The days, weeks and months that followed have been filled with survival, gratitude, empathy and down right raw humanity.

We are 8 months post Helene. Reminders of the destruction are everywhere. This week I watched earthmovers crawl through our creek clearing and cleaning debris. A crazy looking creek crawler picked it up, loaded it and walked it out of the creek. I met a couple who lives along the creek. It’s been their home over 40 years. Her grandmother, who lived in Ridgecrest, told stories of the 1916 flood. She had never grasped the images her grandmother spoke of, animals, rooftops and entire homes rushing downhill. When warnings of a storm were made, she recalled the stories her grandmother had told her. She wasn’t taking any chances. They collected as much as they could, moved things to beds and got the heck out of dodge on Wednesday.

And Hurricane Helene.

They returned home Friday afternoon after Helene unleashed hell. The couple’s home suffered tragic damage. They had to leave for 4 months while everything in their home 4’ and below was cut out and replaced. They moved what they could salvage to storage. Then it was threatened by the nearby wildfires. They shrugged their shoulders, looked at each other and said they continued to remain thankful they survived.

I asked about insurance. Nope, no help. I asked about FEMA, nope no help. They were offered a buy out, but it wouldn’t cover finding somewhere else in Black Mountain. They were determined to stay, in the home they raised their family, beside the of the stump of the grand tree their children once played in and swung high above Flat Creek. Feeling a connection and kinship I asked how they were able to come home. Without hesitation they said it was the kindness of strangers. They said church groups, volunteers, anonymous donors and Samaritan’s Purse brought them home. They said they still don’t know the people who put them back in their home, but they remain amazed, thankful and blessed.

I stood beside them watching in awe as these magical machines hauled the debris from the creek they loved. I told them they are the picture of perseverance and I was sorry they had to endure some of the worst. They told me they undoubtedly consider themselves fortunate. Homeless for 4 months, no easy method of rebuilding, salvaged belongings threatened by wildfires; and they consider themselves fortunate.

The man told me he worries about his wife and her severe anxiety. She shook her head agreeing withth him. We have had a LOT of heavy wind and rain this week. She told me she can’t sleep when the weather is intense. I know this is a common experience for many in our valley . The PTSD is real and I am not sure one can ever recover from the sights, sounds and the nightmare of Helene.

The couple raised their children beside a quaint and playful creek for over 40 years. They never wanted to go anywhere else, so they stayed. They aren’t sorry they stayed. I thanked them for sharing their story with me. They thanked me for giving them to time and space to share and listen.

Everyone here has a story. The specifics vary, but the horror, fears and anxiety remain the common denominator. People here want to talk about the experience. It’s part of the healing. It helps to share with others who experienced it and also with those who can’t imagine. We are the only ones who can educate and advocate for our area.

© Gatewood Campbell, June 2025