Dispatch from Western North Carolina

Spruce Pine, North Carolina - September 30 - Photo by Amanda Opelt

A few years ago, I was at a conference, and someone walked up to me. “Hey,” they said, “aren’t you that apologist for Appalachia??”

I’ve never been more pleased with a moniker.

I love this region. I love its people. I love the culture, the land, the history. I will give my whole heart to testifying to its beauty, its resilience, its dignity.

Today, Southern Appalachia is hurting.

Those who live in the mountains are shaped by the mountains. Pulitzer Prize winning social psychiatrist Robert Coles once conducted a study in which he asked children across the country to draw a picture of their home. While most American kids covered their papers with drawings of their actual houses – the brick and mortar that sheltered them– the children of Appalachia drew the mountains. They drew the rocks, the creeks, the trees, and the hillsides with their houses tucked in.

Last week, it felt like that geography turned against us.

To understand this catastrophe, you must understand the topography here. Every disaster has its own unique challenges. Ours is a devastating lack of access.

Our hills were carved not only by wide rivers, but by thousands and thousands of creeks, streams, and underground springs. I cross seven different creeks just to get to town every day. Our roads follow water. We depend on bridges large and small to go about our daily lives.

What some people don’t know is that it was raining HARD here for two days BEFORE Helene hit. It wasn’t until Wednesday that we began hearing warnings of "catastrophic rainfall amounts” and “100-year flood.” By then, it was already raining. Unlike areas along the coast of Florida, we were not given evacuation orders.

All of us here know that when it really rains hard, creeks rise. Every flood is a flash flood. There are areas we know are prone to flooding. We know to avoid those areas when it rains. But on Friday, September 27th, every river, every creek, and every stream rose higher than we ever imagined it could. Underground springs burst forth from the mountains.

One town just north of Asheville recorded 31 inches of rain.

It was not a 100-year flood. It was a 1,000-year flood.

So now, we are left with a crumbling road and bridge system across the entire region of Southern Appalachia. In other parts of country, if a road is out, you simply “go around” or find another way. Here, you can’t go around. Mountains stand in your path. There is no other way.

Take a look at Western North Carolina on google maps and tap the terrain layer. Every bump or crease you see on that map represents a holler or cove…and so many of those hollers and coves represent communities that have one road in and out. Those bumps and creases represent families (children, the elderly, moms and dads) who are stuck with no electricity and (because so many people here rely on well pumps) no water. Cell service in rural Appalachia is spotty at best, so with no internet, there is no communication. People can’t call loved ones to confirm they are ok or ask for help.

Every day I learn of another place I love that sustained damage or was wiped out: the Virginia Creeper Trail, Todd Island Park in the New River, Old Orchard Creek General Store, the old ginseng warehouse. It is not just our homes that are lost and cut off. It is our cultural heritage sites, our communal gathering places, our history swept away.

Those who know me well know that Boone has been a place of immense healing for me. It’s been a difficult seven years, between the death of my sister, pregnancy losses, difficult humanitarian deployments, and other losses I don’t write publicly about. Our home in the mountains is the place I’d always come back to for healing after serving in disaster zones. Its beauty was a balm.

I think what I’m trying to say is that the feeling so many of us have now is grief…and maybe a feeling of betrayal. How could a landscape we love so much seem now so uniquely designed for devastation? Home is now the disaster zone.

A friend who flew over the mountains just a few days ago said, “the mountains look the same from up here.” Deep in my heart I know they are the same. It’s the same land from which my ancestors carved out a life, growing vegetables in rocky soil, herding cattle over high ridges, felling trees to build homes, weaving tapestries of kinship ties and bonds of faith and friendship.

I’ve heard it said that it takes a certain kind of grit to live in the mountains of Appalachia. Grit and grief often seem to walk hand in hand. There has always been a risk in living here, just as there is anywhere in this fallen world. All of creation groans, and we groan with it.

And while the land may be the same, we who inhabit it are changed forever. I see it in the faces of my neighbors and friends. I see the change grief always brings. But I also see a newfound tenacity and resolve. I see faith in God’s goodness restored even in the midst of tragedy. I see neighborly love and sacrifice beyond anything I’ve ever witnessed.

Most of all, I see thankfulness. For those of us who lost little, we are overwhelmed with gratitude, and we are eager to share what we can with those who lost much. Our town of Boone is HOPPING, a bona fide humanitarian hub. As the only operational town in north-western North Carolina, I’m so proud of the way this place has STEPPED UP for the region.

That said, I want to thank all of you who have written to check in - my family and I are safe, and our home is undamaged. It has no electricity or water and the two bridges in and out of our neighborhood are severely damaged, but we are fortunate to have a safe place to go - my parents just moved to Boone and have lovingly opened their home to us this past week.

But my Appalachian neighbors need some PROVISIONS, some basic necessities to help them get through. Below is a list of ways you can help:

Health and Hunger Coalition - I know the Executive Director and other staff here; they are local to Boone, and they are delivering food directly to families in remote, cut off areas. A great organization making an awesome impact.

Samaritan’s Purse - This organization is based in Boone and normally goes OUT to the disasters, but now they are responding to a disaster on their own doorstep. They are a well-oiled machine, particularly when it comes to mobilizing volunteers to do mud-outs of homes and clean up tree debris. I’ve seen these folks ALL OVER town, and they are also doing air lifts of supplies (including medical supplies like oxygen) to places that aren’t accessible by road. I personally know the folks leading these responses and they are some of the best humans I’ve ever known.

World Central Kitchen - These folks are operation all over the Southeast in the wake of Helene, and I hear nothing but good things about them.

Hope After Helene - The Watauga Arts Council has just started an artists’ relief fund to support artists whose livelihoods will be impacted not only by the initial disaster but also the events, fairs, and shows that have been cancelled in the wake of the storm.

Water Mission - If you are watching the news, you know water is a HUGE issue, particularly in hard hit Asheville. Water Mission is on the ground addressing this need in communities across the region.

Thanks to each of you for reading this and for caring about this place I love so much. I will always be an apologist for Appalachia, an advocate for its needs, and an admirer of its people. I took this picture just two days before the rain started. This is still home. It will always be home.