By Sherrie Norris
There’s likely nothing I could say that hasn’t already been said. I’ve tried hard to process and relay, but for some reason, I’ve had such a hard time expressing my thoughts in recent days.
I feel sure that I’m not alone.
The devastation and desperation our High Country has experienced since Hurricane Helene passed through three weeks ago is beyond anything any of us could have imagined, let alone something for which we could have adequately prepared.
The early morning hours of Friday, Sept. 27, found many of us on guard, as powerful winds and rains began raging through our mountains. “She,” in her fury, left behind a path of destruction that most of us have only heard about or seen on our screens from previous coastal storms and flooding. Who among us ever thought it could happen here? Weren’t we always told the mountains would stop, or at least slow, the storms?
What began unfolding before our very eyes was surreal, to say the least. For a second time this year, my family members felt that we were in the midst of a horror movie as we were quickly cast as “extras,” with little help to define our roles. We had absolutely no control over what was happening all around us, but it was necessary for us to find our place of support as the unrehearsed production took place.
And, we each had a significant part to play —whether as an encourager to our family members, friends and neighbors within reach of our outstretched arms in those early hours, (while trying to hide our own fears and concerns from the grandkids), becoming prayer warriors as waters deepened and wind velocity increased, or grill-cooks a little later, preparing items to share quickly-thawing foods from the freezers once our electrical implements lost power — or as my son and his fellow first responders even before the storm hit — leaving family behind to prepare fire and rescue departments for emergency situations — far beyond the (expected) inevitable.
And then, as Helene’s anger subsided, reality hit just as hard: Homes, property, businesses and lives were seriously damaged, and some even taken away. Life, as we knew it in these mountains, was forever changed, the “landscape” given a new identity within mere hours.
But, even before the last tree fell, help was on the way. Incredible responses from our local organizations, agencies, surviving businesses, churches, families and individuals came together immediately, setting up community care/relief centers, with others from miles around filtering in soon thereafter, all finding their niche and going to work without a second thought.
Our local power cooperatives were quickly joined by hundreds of others across the country in their efforts to begin what became a long, arduous effort to restore power, and much of it has been accomplished as I write these words. We’ll never be able to thank our linemen and their coworkers for the long hours they contributed to bringing light back into our lives. But, we can try.
The same goes for our Department of Transportation crews and construction workers who have worked nonstop, as well, to make way for us to travel safely; for the repairs, rebuilding and all they have done and continue to do to help us reach our homes and
intended destinations.
Overall, there is no way to adequately describe the “feelings” that many of us have experienced, some on each end of the spectrum and everywhere in between. It/we have been painful, helpful, insightful, exhausting, generous, draining, guilt-ridden, relieved, overwhelming, sorrowful, grateful, comforting, frustrating — and that’s just a few words to describe some of the emotions that we all have felt in the aftermath of one of, if not the most, destructive area storms on record.
A few of the area’s most senior residents have compared Helene to the historic “40 Flood.”
Della Pruitt, at 93, said this was “far worse;” other area natives indicated the water level was “about two feet” above the marks their ancestors had left as evidence (in the barn, on the shed, etc.) after the 1940 catastrophe.
One of the most amazing “after affects” is the way we’ve all come together, putting aside differences, opinions and past grievances for the best interest of our High Country. Community spirit has been alive as never before. And I don’t say that lightly. I’ve seen it. Volunteers of all ages have given themselves to help others, some of the younger ones learning as they go, but all willing to do whatever the job required.
And, we all know that we could not have come this far without the incredible outpouring of support we’ve received from generous donors. Trucks and trailers were, within hours, coming from every direction, loaded with every immediate need imaginable — food, cleansers, tools, clothing and water. Yes, countless pallets of bottled water to help replace what, ironically, water had destroyed.
Boone-based Samaritan’s Purse didn’t have to “deploy” for this one, but sent hundreds of staff members and volunteers literally into their own front yard into ravaged areas to help rescue, recover and restore; Other disaster relief agencies, rescue and recovery teams from far away found their new temporary home in these hills — the swift water rescue team from the NC Marine Patrol, Appalachian Medical Reserve Corps., Cajun Navy Relief, NC National Guard, NC Wildlife, American Red Cross,NC Baptist Men, MedCenter Air and Atrium Health, NC Emergency Management and FEMA, just to name a few. Manchester Fire Dept. in New Hampshire sent a team to the Meat Camp Fire Department within hours to lend assistance; churches, schools and fire departments became strategic points of contact in nearly every community for those needing supplies, a hot meal — and a shoulder to lean on.
Several mottos have appeared out of this that will be a part of our fabric for a long time to come, including my favorite: “Appalachian Strong.” We are and will continue to be.
We will bounce back, some more quickly than others, and for those of us who do, let’s not forget the ones still struggling. As the focus transitions, especially for those out there in the trenches, there will be many opportunities ahead for all of us to go, to give and help.
Stay tuned. If you haven’t been able to help, yet, your time is coming. Be creative like some have already started to do: offer to clean someone’s house, do their laundry, invite the neighborhood kids in for a relaxing afternoon of fun, food and games; take your elderly neighbor to the grocery store, and if you can, pay the bill. Invite someone to your church for needed fellowship and devotions. The possibilities are endless.
And, there will be plenty of time, I hope, to share recipes in the coming weeks to help our neighbors enjoy a hot, home-cooked meal. The holidays are coming soon. We need to plan now for those who will not have a home for their family gatherings this year. Or a spouse. Or other loved one who became a flood victim with whom to share it.
I’m blessed more than I deserve, and am overcome with “guiltatude,” a new phrase I’ve just learned through the storm. Feeling guilty that we came out with only minor damage and five days without power, but still full of gratitude for what and who we still have in our lives.
I hope you understand. And I hope we never take another moment for granted.
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