After walking the Greenway today I needed to do SOMETHING, ANYTHING. I couldn’t just go home and eat chocolates. I decided to do something I’ve never ever done before and also thought was a tad insane.
If you have driven through Black Mountain on a Wed from 5-6pm since 2018 then you know about the “Love Lady”, Ruth Pittard. She made a sign that says “Love”, hung it around her neck and stood on the town square corner. She waved and she smiled. It caught on. Everyone knows about the Love Group. Sometimes small in number and sometimes large, every Wednesday, 5-6 pm, rain or shine, someone will be there. In fact Ruth has only missed one day and it was this year due to a really nasty case of Covid.
Today I hung a”Love” sign on my neck at 5 pm and waved and waved and waved. I smiled so much my mouth hurt and it was glorious. People honked, they hung out of their windows and they thanked us. One guy played a little tune on his horn and we danced. We cheered as Spectrum, AT&T, Duke Energy, portable potties, portable potty tankers and dumpsters passed. We chatted with people as they stopped for the light. The Spectrum driver smiled and said “I’m from New York, I don’t even know where I am!” We laughed and told him to watch it, he will definitely want to stay!
Ruth is one of my Mom’s dearest and oldest friends. When I need my Mom to listen, Ruth is my person. She misses Mom dreadfully and I am her person for that too. My Mom was so embarrassed that Ruth started this tradition. She, well, a lot of us think Ruth does crazy things. But that’s our Ruth. She also came to see Mom every Wednesday when she left the Love Corner. After Mom passed I found out Mom never ever drove past the square on Wednesdays from 5-6 because she didn’t want Ruth to wave at her. One afternoon in March 2022, Mom and I were coming home from chemo, or a blood transfusion or platelets or bookwork, and horror of all horrors! I drove through the square, waved and honked!
Today I stood with my surrogate Mom, feeling fully indoctrinated into the blood of Black Mountain. We ARE #BlackMountainStrong and #braveinallthings.
In late August, Johnny and I joined our Huntersville church for a long weekend mission trip to Asheville. We had never been on a mission trip together and had always wanted to. After Mom died, I realized that life is too short and also too long to not do the things on your bucket list. We have been slowly picking from that bucket and serving along side our Huntersville church in a city near and dear to our hearts was an obvious choice. We live in Black Mountain part time and are keenly aware of the houseless population in Asheville. We thought we knew it was a problem…little did we know, houselessness would reach thousands more, very quickly.
The second morning of our trip, our team gathered in a beautiful garden outside of 12 Baskets of Poverty, party of the Asheville Poverty Initiative. Under the shade of a glorious tree, we chatted with folks and shared coffee. At 11am we began lunch service. We spoke to each guest individually and took their orders one by one. We hand plated each order and delivered it to them. For two solid hours anyone who walked through the door was served a plate of warm food and hot coffee. We were greeted with smiles, laughter, eye contact, kindness and high fives. My name was a hot topic of conversation too. That was funny. I met a young man with the last name Garwood and we connected immediately.
I was on lunch service and Johnny was on coffee duty. As the son of a truck driver he knows the importance of a good cup of coffee. He kept hot coffee coming for two straight hours. As someone who seriously struggles to remember the names of his own extended family, I watched in awe as Johnny called our new friends by name, remembering details about them and saying goodbye with hugs. In just a couple of hours we connected with new faces, with the common survival need; connection to each other.
After lunch we gathered out under the tree again for a creative writing exercise. A writing prompt was given and time allowed for quiet writing. Anyone who wanted was invited to stand and share their journaling. Most folks did indeed stand and share. Some shared by singing and playing music with their own lyrics. I was late finishing lunch and arrived to creative writing towards the end of the writing time. I had a piece of paper, and a pen to jot thoughts, but instead used my paper to write down thoughts about what I heard. I tucked the paper into my pocket. Just last weekend I was finally beginning to sort through some things pre-Helene. I found that coffee-cup stained paper. I opened it up and saw I had written the prompt which was about writing ourselves into future. The next words I read sting so much more now. Powerful words by someone our mission team came to know and love and someone Johnny and I now see on the Asheville streets and call by name. He mentioned having broader visions; of clean baths, of clean showers and of clean water. “We are human beings, not human doings.” His words impacted me that day. I had taken a shower that morning with clean water, brushed my teeth with safe water, eaten a full breakfast, dressed in my own clean clothes and ridden in our own car that day. I was a “have” among “have-nots” and it stung in ways that shuttered and embarrassed me. It was a lot to digest and I knew I wouldn’t walk away unchanged. I had to figure out what to do with this new enlightenment and help be part of the change in Asheville.
Fast forward just 6 weeks. Helene happened. I still have no words for what Helene did. We were in our home away from home that we inherited from my Mom after she passed. She loved her home deeply. She bought it on her own after her divorce and it still exudes her spirit. She was proud of it and she should have been. The thing she was most proud of was that Johnny and I would love it just as much as she did and likely make it our own permanent home in retirement. The week leading up to Helene was full of downpours and we were there to detect the problem of 2 inches standing water on our patio that would flood our home with just another bit of water. Johnny took Thursday off to build a new trench and added 29 sandbags from the local home improvement store to build a berm. Note to others in the path of a hurricane, 25 proper sandbags vs 4 bags of play sand are actually not equal in prices. You do what you have to and have no regrets. Johnny saved our home from flooding. I feel like Mom’s home survived a fire last year and a flood this year, so surely we are good for a while now, right?
As you now know, most of Western North Carolina lost all sources of water, potable and non-potable, for several weeks. There were no “haves and have-nots”. Everyone was now dependent on something we did not have and did not know how to get. Many of us used the creeks that destroyed our towns to haul water to flush our toilets. No one could shower for weeks, and those showers only arrived when brought in by trailers also hauling safe, clean, treated water that wouldn’t cause infection to our open wounds. I remember gathering around our small gas grill with my neighbors cooking anything we had left in our kitchens and trying to make 5 loaves and 2 fishes feed 39 homes in our neighborhood. We had quit bothering to wear clean clothes, that was just something that would need laundering, which we didn’t have. Showers were a dream, and some of us no longer bothered to brush our teeth. When you may only have one half gallon of water saved from melted ice from your freezer, survival means drinking water, not brushing teeth. Societal tiers no longer existed. We all had basic survival needs and no one’s needs were more critical than anyone else’s.
As I hold that coffee stained paper today, I feel it more deeply. I see our friend, in his sport coat and ever-present headphones, reading his own words. He took the task to heart. He visioned writing himself into the future with clean baths, clean showers and clean water. Here I am, still in a community without safe water to shower in and safe water to drink. We have all become one, in our basic survival needs. I haven’t seen people hoarding supplies. We recognize the level of need is vast and equal. We take what we need and pass it on. I knew joining a mission trip team could be life-changing but I didn’t know how quickly I might understand it. Johnny and I are among the lucky ones. Our home remained dry and we have a place to escape the hell that has become Western North Carolina. I have wondered about my friends at 12 Baskets. Some of them came to get supplies from the store of supplies we set up at our home. We have also been able to send some supplies to them, some donated by YOU and the massive outpouring from my own Facebook posts.
Western North Carolina is all in this together. The immeasurable strength and power of community is something I have not yet been able to comprehend. The road to recovery is long and winding and I hope we can show the rest of the world how Western North Carolina rises above the flooded land and makes a place for all. May this sunflower on that Friday morning in the 12 Baskets of Poverty garden be a beacon of hope, survival and light, to us all.
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.
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.
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.
Embracing Change 