I have found it is the small things, everyday deeds of ordinary folk, that keep the darkness at bay.
— Gandalf, The Hobbit
It started raining Wednesday afternoon, and the forecasters predicted a big storm. Evening church activities were canceled. School was called off for Thursday and Friday.
We hunkered down and waited for the deluge.
Thursday morning brought steady rainfall but no storm. I rolled my eyes and complained about the officials who close school too quickly.
Just wait, my husband said, the real storm is coming.
I again rolled my eyes but ground up some coffee beans and filled a water cooler with water.
On Friday morning the heavens opened. Rain fell in sheets. The wind whipped through the trees and power lines.
The rivers, already full of rain from the previous 36 hours, rose and then rose some more. The saturated ground slid down the mountains, covering everything in its path with mud and rocks.
All the big words are being used to describe what remains after Helene: utter destruction, complete devastation, catastrophic damage, unprecedented, annihilated. You’ve seen the videos and photos and know even those extreme words don’t quite capture what happened.
The first day I was in shock. We all were. We gasped and exclaimed at the valley that was now a lake, the roads that didn’t exist anymore, the cars turned upside down in trees. I stood outside for hours talking bravely, almost cheerfully, to neighbors I’d never met as we planned for life without power or water.
Day Two dawned, and I realized most roads were blocked and help might not be on the way. I saw the mud, the debris, the gutted buildings, people wandering the main street of Swannanoa looking dazed and disoriented. I took in the downed power lines and the water pipes broken and scattered. Our situation became more bleak.
On Day Three I went to look at Owen Park. That was the moment I really understood the gravity of what happened.
Owen Park was a small park tucked behind a factory building. Only the locals knew about it. In a tourist destination overwhelmed with visitors during COVID, Owen was a special, private treasure.
Owen was two small lakes separated by a dam that created a figure-8 walking path with beautiful views of the mountains. There were fish, turtles and herons. On still mornings the Craggy Mountains were reflected in the glassy water, as clear as if it were a mirror. Running the length of the park and separated by a mound of earth, the friendly Swannanoa River babbled along.
People of all ages and walks of life loved Owen Park. It was a rare example of a community resource everyone enjoyed.
I use the past tense because Owen Park is gone. The friendly river became aggressive, subsumed the park and took everything with it on its way to the French Broad River.
What’s left is a large field of mud.
As I wept over my park, I realized this was nothing compared with people who had lost family members or all their possessions. Yet this was my sorrow, and it gave me a glimpse into others’ sorrow.
There are lives lost. Homes washed away. The contour of a pasture permanently altered by a landslide. The course of a creek changed. Businesses that will not reopen. A high school senior’s football season canceled. Communities that will disperse rather than rebuild.
Yes, life will go on. We will rebuild. But not without loss, abiding and permanent. We will carry that always.
God be praised that “in the darkest spot on earth, some love is found.” The examples of bravery, selflessness and kindness are staggering. FEMA and the Red Cross are here now. But it is truly the “little people” who find the way forward.
Neighbors helping each other. Guys with chain saws. The first responders and medical personnel working around the clock. The many churches who, with no training, have become centers for relief and response. The thousands of people from multiple states who send bottled water and other supplies in their church vans, box trucks and pickup trucks.
Helene brought suffering and loss to our mountains. She also brought a vivid demonstration that the meek shall inherit the Earth, those who mourn will be comforted, and the pure in heart will see God.
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