Stuck Spaces: Disaster

Or, how I am in the biggest Stuck Space of all

Hello Stucksters, I am writing this in the Asheville Whole Food community space, with the one outlet available, which I am shamelessly hogging, so I can get this Substack out. Hurricane Helene hit our area, where I live, about 8 days ago. We have been without water, power or internet, but slowly things are happening to restore a bit of Regular Life. Bit by bit, we are recovering the lost ground of a natural disaster. At least in my little bubble where I live. The devastation is huge and widespread.

Asheville is not only a town, it is a patchwork quilt of neighborhoods and areas. Beyond the city limits, we spread out even further, under the umbrella of “Western North Carolina”. So many little towns and municipalities, all connected with windy, twisty roads. The roads are now buckled, or completely gone.

Along with these beautiful mountains, we are bordered by rivers: The French Broad, the Swannanoa and the Toe river a bit further north. They all swelled to enormous mass, swallowing and destroying everything nearby. Towns I drove through a few weeks ago are now gone. My heart hurts.

We were fortunate to not be near major rivers, and the creek across the street from us roared and rose in height, but we live on a hill, so no flooding. When we first heard about Helene, I knew this was different. I usually sort of pooh-pooh weather reports, thinking I was safe up in the mountains of Western North Carolina. That was not the case this time, and the winds and rain roared in on Friday morning, after so many days of rain before then. The ground was soaked, our house is surrounded by hugely tall trees that bent and swayed in the wind as we gazed through our windows as the storm raged on. Our little forest of trees, so tall and majestic, were bending in the wind gracefully, yet frighteningly. At one point, it got quiet, and then we heard the heavy sigh and deep boom of trees hitting our house. Four trees from our neighbors’ yard seemingly took a break and leaned onto our roof, resting gently with a few more sighs. They didn’t even get uprooted, they just bent over and hugged our roof.

Our little neighborhood rallied, and we all began helping each other. Our little creek returned to its regular stream, and people are now using it to flush toilets. World Central Kitchen showed up immediately and BeLoved Asheville, who normally shepherds our homeless population, has been a beacon of light and hope for many. If you would like to donate to this area, I strongly urge you to donate to those two causes.

Since then, we have learned to ask for help and lean on each other. People we normally wave hello to are now first-name friends. We have been fed freely from local restaurants and given water at every opportunity. People are kind and helping each other. We are all still stunned and in shock. We walk around in sort of a dazed stupor, crying easily, and hugging each other when we can.

Yesterday, we lined up to to go the Y to take our first shower in a week. In the line, we heard of horror stories of people losing their homes, of neighbors washed away in the raging rivers, and heartbreak that our beautiful area has been ravaged and turn asunder. Huge swaths are gone, covered in mud and unrecognizable. In the midst of all this, online, people are still asking about visiting this area for celebrations and anniversary trips.

Just…not now. This is our home, so please cancel your plans, go elsewhere and come back next year. We will welcome you back then, no doubt. For now, we need to recover, regroup and recalibrate. Our way of life is gone. Asheville has always felt like a precarious deck of cards, besieged by developers, and endless streams of people wanting to live here or experience the magic we no longer take for granted. Hurricane Helene, in its mighty power, said “Oh yeah?! Let me show you what I can do.”

In her destruction, I have respect for her power. In her aftermath, she has kindled a burning flame within me that this is HOME. A home I will not leave, and will definitely help rebuild. I have wandered my entire life, lived in different states and Europe, but this beautiful broken place is home. Together, we will rebuild. Together, we will get through this. Together, we will survive.

Thank you for being here, Stucksters. I normally post a Substack every Sunday, so this will be a bit early. Paid subscribers, you have helped me tremendously. With no access to internet, I have not been able to accept donations, but your paid subscriptions will keep me going for a bit. The storm wiped out my online livelihood, but hopefully as internet returns, I can get back to it. I will make it up to all of you the best way I can, in the future.

Please keep us in your thoughts, prayers and intentions. Your care and concern mean the world to us, and keep us going.