Disaster Hits Home

Oct 18

We’ve been lucky to escape many natural disasters despite living in the American South for 20 years. But all good things must pass. We arrived home after a short book event weekend a few weeks ago to discover how badly our home and city has been ravaged by the after-effects of Hurricane Helene. Parts of the city are underwater. Our home is still standing but buried under giant trees. Many businesses we have come to love and adore are devastated.

I usually talk about writerly stuff at SleuthSayers, the mystery blog, but this week I naturally felt compelled to share my eyewitness report of what we’ve experience on the ground here in Asheville, North Carolina.

I’m talking about it all in a post entitled:

My Resiliency Bucket Needs a Refill!

I’m not going to linger on this here because our water and electricity issues are ongoing. I’ll circle back at a later time to add some photos. But here’s a bit of what I’m saying today:

There are tons of these stories, and the list will only grow because as I write this, the news tells me that there are still—three weeks after the storms passed—600 impassable roads in the state. In a mountainous region with challenging terrain, that means people are still trapped, hungry, ill, or even dead in or near their homes, and no one will know until the roads that lead to their doors are rebuilt, or someone helicopters in to check on them. The body count keeps climbing. Power restoration efforts will take time because in so many of these areas, workers must rebuild roads or else hike into an area on foot and hand-dig holes before new electrical poles can be erected and strung.

We are proud of these mountains and their history, but they have a distinct disadvantage when dumped with excess water. On flat terrain, rainwater has a whisper of a chance to seep into the earth. When it lands on slopes, rain doesn’t so much seep as it rushes downhill, seeking the lowest point. This process happens with alarming speed. This simple concept had never occurred to me until it was explained to me by a climate scientist I interviewed when I first moved here twenty years ago. As a species, we should cultivate the habit of shutting up and listening to scientists speak more often.

That’s another reason why we remain in our home. We are safe. We have a roof over our heads. Electricity, Internet, and cell coverage work but remain erratic. As long as I can communicate, I will do so. We were trained as journalists. Stories are important to us. Someone’s got to collect them, and share them with others. I don’t own a chainsaw. I don’t keep an excavator on my property like my pal Tom. But I do what I do. They also serve who sit and write.

That’s about it. If you are moved to donate to people and organizations in this region, I know many people would appreciate it. You will find some links in my article, along with links to local bookstores in the region.