Our home in Black Mountain sits alongside Flat Creek. Her gentle cool waters have provided relief on hot summer days for years. When our kids were young, they loved tossing a fishing line in and hoping for bite. I loved spreading out on a blanket and letting the babbling creek lull me to sleep in the shade of the trees. In the early morning and in the late afternoon, we love to sit on the patio and let the sound of the creek fill the air. There is a gazebo and creekside bench to sit and enjoy the sights and sounds of the water heading downstream. Something about the smell of the mountains and the gentle sounds of the water make me feel like I am a little closer to heaven overlooking Flat Creek.

On September 27, Hurricane Helene slammed into our community. The sound of wind and crashing trees woke us up. With no power and no cell service to try to find out when the storm would pass, all we could do was watch the unthinkable happen. Trees bent sideways and I caught a glimpse of a nearby tree snap and land on a neighbor’s home. Another tree gave in to the wind and narrowly missed another home. The wind was so loud that sometimes we thought the power was back on and the air conditioning had kicked on. Little did we know it would be two more weeks before the air conditioning kicked back on. 

Between the swaying trees, I found one window where I could see Flat Creek. She was not the creek that had brought our family peace, joy and fun. She had become a roaring river nearly 150 yards wide, and barreled over anything in her path. She took downed trees, household furniture, cars and even parts of homes with her. Just downstream, the creek split a home into two. Half was left on a island created by the river and no-one really knows where the rest ended up. Thankfully, the homeowner had evacuated to higher ground the evening before.

When the storm moved out, we went outside and survey the damage. Our home was spared but our neighbor across the street had a massive tree on their roof and many neighbors were dealing with the realization that their homes would have to be gutted. I remember feeling anger, sadness, fear and confusion. How could a creek that has brought so much joy, be a source of destruction? I never knew I could hate a creek, but I did. Flat Creek had become a fierce foe, and her damage seemed limitless and surreal. 

Over the months that followed, I watched heavy equipment crawl down our creek, cutting away trees and roots, picking up debris, and loading it into dump trucks. Little by little, operators made their way down Flat Creek, clearing away the mess that Helene had left, but she still wasn’t pretty to me and I didn’t love her. The sight of her made my stomach turn. I can’t explain how you can’t unsee the destruction we saw. I knew thousands in our community were trying to dig out their priceless possessions and recovery seemed impossible. In the darkness of the night on September 26, Flat Creek became the enemy.

A couple of months ago, a neighbor was walking back home from the creek where her dog likes to play. She moved into our neighborhood after the storm, and she saw the creek in ways that I could not; she saw potential. She said, “What I really want to do is get in the creek and clean it up.” Having not spent much time by the creek since the storm, I didn’t realize more trash and debris had littered the creek. A few weeks later, trash bags in hand, we met on the banks to spruce her up. My neighbor made her way through the waters in her waders and passed the trash to me. I quickly realized this was a two person job and I joined her in the creek. We dug out a plastic chair, lumber, a rubbermaid tub, glass and metal from the creek bed.  As we pulled trash bags from trees and overgrown weeds, we found a wrangled wrought iron table. It was lodged in the shade, in a little nook where the creek flows under the roots of a towering tree. It took two of us, a shovel and sheer stubborn determination to pull the table from the vines growing around it. We were shocked at how much trash we found, but felt a little lighter knowing our creek looked better.

Later that week, I took a beach chair to the creek to sit on the banks. I looked at the clean creek and the water delicately dancing downstream in the glow of sunshine, and I had an epiphany; Flat Creek was calling me and she had given me permission to let go of the anger I held for so long. I picked up my chair, took it right into the middle of the creek, and plopped down. The sun was beaming through the trees, the cold water rushed over my feet and my outstretched hands. I picked up rocks and wondered about the stories they could tell. Were they here before the storm, did they come from Montreat or perhaps above Montreat? I leaned my chair back, closed my eyes and listened the the familiar sounds of the babbling waters. I had never thought to just sit in the creek, but here I was, and it brought me a childlike joy.

Since that day, I have spent many afternoons sitting in our creek. Friends drive by, throw up a hand and smile at the sight of a grown adult sitting in the middle of a creek. I have started a new trend and friends often join me for an afternoon cooldown. My neighbor, who helped clean the creek, calls it “the true definition of live streaming” and I, without a doubt, am here for it. 

© Gatewood Campbell, August 2026