I don’t normally share my hygienic stats and these times aren’t normal. Maybe because I was at a hotel in Kentucky. What I did instead was repeat “Thank you God” over and over. Like the water finally flowing onto my body, this simple prayer was backed up inside me for days waiting to get out. The feeling of hot water finally on my skin is hard to describe. It washed days of sweat, burped up breast milk and the weird smell of fear that had slow-leaked from my pores. I was grateful knowing my five week old son and wife were going to have their needs met in a more relaxed way.
My story is not at all the level of heroic or tragic compared to what numerous have been through. It is a sample of bits and pieces of what many are still experiencing right now amplified by time, tension, and uncertainty.
I also want to acknowledge that there is so much going on in the mountains of North Carolina, the surrounding areas outside of Asheville, not in the public eye. I have heard glimmers that are sad beyond comprehension. I will leave these stories for other people to share as it is not mine to tell. For all the folks who are still deep in the mess, please keep your prayers coming. This is going to be a long haul.
I was finally able to get word to my sister and Chelsea Rae’s folks that we were okay on day three. I was fourth in a growing line of hundreds at Whole Foods. We had no guarantee the store was opening. The power there was on and like everywhere else, including the major hospital in our city, there was still no running water.
Word spread their wifi was on and so conversations hushed as people texted loved ones and searched the internet to see what was actually happening. We were all without communication for days—no cell service or internet. A text exchange with Chelsea Rae’s mom planted the seed that would germinate into our road trip out west. “You can always come stay with us!” I gratefully declined telling her we had enough food and water to last a while.
The Whole Foods staff spent two hours clearing the shelves, coolers, and freezers of rotting food. While in line, I connected with a sweet couple scheduled to leave for vacation before the storm hit. Their parents came to care for their 8 month old.
“What’s first on your list?” The guy asked me. “Diapers,” I replied. He shook his head “me too.” Their parents home meant two more mouths barreling through their freezer food going bad fast because—no power.
He told me they lived above a river. The houses below, really nice river homes, all washed away. Their home was fine minus the increasing smell of propane filling their living space. The homes below left propane tanks leaking into the air for days now. In other news, his boss from Black Mountain, was stranded waiting to be helicoptered out with his family. This was the first bits of news I was receiving outside our safe baby nest and walking around our neighborhood. Our home had a couple branches down in the backyard, that was it.
The morning after the storm, we walked through our neighborhood to find many of the oldest, largest trees had fallen onto cars, houses and power lines. We saw a client of ours who shared the first story of the flood. Someone from the River Arts District was saved by a floating refrigerator. He had extinguished climbing the floors of his building, finally landing on the roof as the waters rose. Someone’s lost appliance became someone else’s life raft. Stories like this and one’s with less favorable endings continued to be shared.
Our neighbors, most of whom we never met, were out nearly everyday walking the neighborhood talking, sharing resources, supporting the removal of trees and the feeling was a mix of shock, camaraderie and support.
The more surreal sights came when I ventured out to get food, supplies or gas. Most everything was shut down. Driving over the bridge to see the French Broad, one of the oldest rivers, overflowing while transporting homes, cars and everything else was like watching a movie I didn’t want to see yet couldn’t turn off.
Convoys of unmarked police cars sped by with their sirens and lights full throttle. I would attempt to get gas before the 7 am curfew unsuccessfully. Stations sold out the night before and the tanker truck hadn’t arrived yet. Even so, a line of thirty cars was forming to wait it out.
I decided gas was another day’s task and redirected my efforts to the creek near our house to collect water to flush our toilets.
Before the storm hit, a friend texted me “Better fill your bathtub.” I thought, “What the “F” does that mean?” Normally I would let it go. This time my gut said “fill up some jugs from the sink.” That twenty gallons became our way to clean ourselves and Theoden with wash cloth “baths” before bed. It washed our dishes, which by day two filled our sink and countertops.
I spread two days of cloth diapers filling a tarp in our basement. Thankfully the dehumidifier that worked once our power got back on to handle minor flooding, now served to pull the “liquid” out of diapers. If I didn’t somehow dry the diapers, North Carolina’s famous mold would quickly make a home in them and other troubles would arise.
We were “prepared” with enough food and water for a week. Even so, the time it took to live—rationing supplies, cooking, cleaning w/o running water, getting supplies—was exhausting. This was especially true with keeping Chelsea Rae well fed and therefore our baby. Then add the psychic load of living in what sounded like a war zone with nonstop sirens, helicopters overhead, and people anywhere from deep stress to outright trauma.
Reality was sinking in—our “normal life” at home with our baby was transposed with the fact that there were people still dying from the flood and growing with each passing day. This hovered thick in the air.
Though our home was fine, where we serve our clients did not fare so well. It sits in the floodplain and its property sustained damage. I attempted to visit and was met by police cars blocking every way I approached. Amazingly, the building we see clients in was untouched although without water and power was not suitable to host our business. With all of this mounting daily, we made the tough decision it was time to leave. Minus a baby, we would stay and help. Now our life had a different GPS setting than it did five weeks prior. Once decided, we felt immense relief.
The next two major hurdles were getting gas and finding a route out. That second part may seem weird and for the first several days, there was no way in or out of Asheville. I heard of people who were turned around on the highway only to return either because it was flooded or blockaded.
I texted my sister and asked her for help. After a lot of research, she sent an option I had previously found on Google maps then disappeared later when I looked for it. It matched a route we found on a private thread sharing where it get food, water, shelter, gas, etc. It was updated frequently to match ever changing situation. People had just posted the night before that they had made it out following those very same directions.
My plan was to pack in the evening and be first in line for gas come sunrise. Mid-packing I got the hit “get gas now at Ingles on Patton!” This was a pretty specific message. I left immediately to find a much smaller line than my previous attempt. I counted twenty-five cars ahead of me. “Cash only-$40 limit” the guy said. A car in front was pushed forward by Ingles employees. I topped off my tank, $6 in change left. A cop car pulled up five cars behind me to end the line. A few more police circled the station ensuring a safe close without incident. An armed officer guarded the door. This was not as intense as my neighbor reported. Sam’s Club had four cops watching with automatic rifles and bullet proof vests.
The next morning was consumed with packing, checking items off the list. We hit the road at 1:11 pm, Theoden well fed and drifting off. Traffic was light and we kept fingers crossed, prayers going as we exited Asheville. We headed towards Marshall, a town on the French Broad hit hard.
There were recent signs by the DOT yelling all caps:
NO TRUCKS. ALL TRUCKS TURN AROUND HERE.
The highway passed above Marshall and we kept straight at the Hot Springs, NC exit. At points we were eye level with a river we know well and frequent often. I was praying it was passable. It was. Once in Tennessee, 50 miles from Asheville, we found plenty of gas pumps with very few cars. Hmmm…that's weird? We had not heard this when we were seemingly stranded in Asheville two hours from the nearest gas??
We are gratefully in Missouri staying at Chelsea Rae’s parents. They are GEMS excited to be with Theoden again. We are resting and tuning into when to head back. Our desire is to be of service to our community. We know we must put Theoden and ourselves first in this precious moment.
Thanks to EVERYONE who reached out with concern. Please know your messages of LOVE have been a big part of the support we felt to make the moves we have.
Going through this in isolation is HELL. And that was not our experience thanks to so many of you.
Not to mention the huge BLESSING to have our meal train still trucking along in our fridge which was why we had food as long as we did.
THANK YOU ALL.
More to come…stay tuned!
