‘I Am One of You Forever’: A Love Letter to Western North Carolina

You’ve taken a tremendous hit, but you should know that you’re also teaching our country some tremendous lessons in fortitude and love.
‘I Am One of You Forever’: A Love Letter to Western North Carolina
Rescue workers look for bodies after Hurricane Helene in Asheville, N.C., on Oct. 6, 2024. John Fredricks/The Epoch Times
Jeff Minick
Updated:
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Commentary

Dear family, friends, and former neighbors,

The rains that preceded Hurricane Helene—and the hurricane itself—have come and gone after dumping anywhere from 13 inches to more than two feet of water on the towns, hills, and coves where you live. The floods that followed destroyed thousands of your homes and businesses and killed more than 200 people in the Southeast, with hundreds more still missing. High winds together with the storm-soaked earth brought down countless trees, crushing cars and houses and leaving roads impassable. Many in the neighboring states of Georgia, South Carolina, Tennessee, and Virginia are suffering through this same nightmare.

From a good friend in a lovely neighborhood in South Asheville comes this description: “Asheville is devastated. Between the flooding and downed trees, it looks like a war zone. We lost two cars in the driveway with tree damage but only minor gutter issue on the house itself. Fifty percent of the houses around us have tree damage (think 75- to 100-foot oak trees, 24- to 36-inch diameter trunks) falling on roofs.”

“War zone” is a phrase I’ve heard repeated on the news and in the messages from my western North Carolina correspondents, and the many videos and photos that have appeared online confirm that description. In Asheville, where I lived for 10 years, Helene demolished the thriving River Arts District and wrecked Biltmore Village. In Haywood County, my other home during the 33 years I lived among you, raising a family while operating a bookstore and a bed-and-breakfast in Waynesville, the scenario is much the same: tree-clogged roads, several people dead and many unaccounted for, and houses and mobile homes washed away.

Most of you have now regained cell service and power, yet many, especially you residents of Asheville, remain without tap water after more than a week. Schools are closed, medical services are severely limited, and a police officer whom I taught in high school reported that some looting has occurred.

You’ve taken a tremendous hit, but you should know that you’re also teaching our country some tremendous lessons in fortitude and love.

Neighbor Helping Neighbor

An attorney I know who grew up in Waynesville and now lives on the coast organized and had delivered a trailer load of supplies to you from monies donated by family, friends, and colleagues.
The ex-Marine driving that load, who now operates an auto repair shop, had already dropped off one collection of supplies and then spent the weekend hauling cars out of the mud with his truck.

One of my sisters who was preparing salads for a large luncheon before the storm hit finished making them, bagged them up, and delivered them to her neighbors.

The man who wrote me about the downed trees reports that a group of young men cleared block after block of street debris in the neighborhood where he lived.

A Weaverville man almost singlehandedly removed five feet of mud from the town’s waste station. He worked 12 hours, took half an hour off to check on his family, and worked another 12-hour shift.

In that same town, a husband and wife who had a generator cooked food for several days for families living in a small nearby trailer park.

These are only a tiny fraction of the people who have come together, who have broken out chainsaws and pickup trucks to clear roadways, who have set up food and water stations, and who ask a question now common in communities throughout the mountains—“Do you need anything?”

Over the past week, the news and social media have spotlighted example after example of your good deeds large and small, from dramatic rescues to feeding the hungry. Some restaurants that survived the storm were serving free meals. Grocery and chain stores gave away bottled water and ice. In these reports, and from both the media and some of you writing to me, the phrase “neighbor helping neighbor” occurs again and again.

A journalist living in Asheville reported that six days passed before the county finalized food and water distribution plans. State and federal assistance didn’t arrive for seven days.
But there you were, as soon as the hurricane passed, looking out for each other.

America Helping Americans

My sister spoke with the men of an out-of-state power truck crew in her neighborhood. These New Yorkers were working 17-hour days, snagging some sleep in a nearby motel that was without electricity or running water. Helicopters and pilots from other states have searched coves and other remote areas, rescuing isolated victims of Helene. One of my daughters-in-law reported that a National Guard chopper dropped into her parents’ pasture to see whether her ailing father needed medical assistance.

One correspondent wrote to my daughter: “I feel like I’ve woken up from a bad dream that won’t go away. ... I’m thankful for community, people with grit and determination, citizens flying their own helicopters in from all over America to assist in rescue for people that still have had no assistance. ... Please keep praying. It’s truly how we bring Heaven to earth, and that’s what’s needed most. Angels can be sent on the wings of our prayers to assist in ways that only the Father sees and knows.”

You are not forgotten. Keep watch, and you’ll see that angels sometimes arrive disguised as a rough-cut crew of line workers from Florida.

The Golden Rule

The differences among people, especially in our time of political animosity, shrink in proportion to the trials that those people face together.

The catastrophe you have undergone has, I am certain, abolished such antagonisms. When a man needs a drink of water or a family lacks food, you don’t ask which candidate they’re supporting for president.

When “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” becomes commonplace, as it has now among you, you’re building bridges rather than walls. Don’t let the media or any politician interfere with the good work you are doing.

And in a note to his readers of the Smoky Mountain News, editor Scott McLeod reminded you that now is the time, more than ever, to shop local. Your merchants and your community will be relying on your financial help, especially with the loss of the autumn revenue normally injected into the economy by leaf-lookers. “Do unto others” applies here.

A Last Word

From 1983 to 2016, Waynesville and then Asheville were home to me. In both places, some of you were mentors, coaches, and close friends to my children. You offered our family comfort, love, and support when my wife, Kris, their mother, died in 2004. Seeing the photos and videos of the suffering and trials that nature has inflicted on you and the places I loved has left me sick with sorrow.
The header of this letter, “I Am One of You Forever,” is taken from a book title by that award-winning poet from Canton, North Carolina, Fred Chappell. Unlike him, I’m not a native son of the Smokies. Application of his words to myself may therefore seem presumptuous, yet someday my flesh and bones will return to Waynesville, where I’ll be buried in Green Hill Cemetery beside Kris. Engraved on our tombstone is a prayer, “Deus Vobiscum.” God be with you. I deliberately chose those words so that those who pause and read that inscription not only pray for my wife and me, but we pray for them as well.

For you whose lives have been torn asunder by Helene, that is my prayer in the days to come.

God be with you.

Views expressed in this article are opinions of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Epoch Times.
Jeff Minick
Jeff Minick
Author
Jeff Minick has four children and a growing platoon of grandchildren. For 20 years, he taught history, literature, and Latin to seminars of homeschooling students in Asheville, N.C. He is the author of two novels, “Amanda Bell” and “Dust On Their Wings,” and two works of nonfiction, “Learning As I Go” and “Movies Make The Man.” Today, he lives and writes in Front Royal, Va.
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