Renée; I was very moved reading your entries today. My wife and I lived through the terror of that storm. The next day, we surveyed the damage; at least 30 trees down around our house, tree limbs on our roof and cars causing minor damage, our long driveway completely covered in downed trees, both large and small; no power, no water, no cell service; completely isolated. We went to work over the next few days, being on survival mode. Once tree crews cleared the driveway from the large trees, for the next few days, we walked to our neighbor's house who had a generator, to fill up on water and take an occasional heavenly shower. Eventually, we were able to get to town to get gas for our cars and food. We still did not know the extent of the catastrophe that had struck our beautiful town. Over the next few days, we started to hear about all the lives lost and communities washed away. It all seemed so surreal; so hard to take in. I would let myself feel the pain of it all briefly but not fully. Reading your entry today, it hit me deeper. I've been telling my friends who are all safe fortunately, that I've never lived through anything like this, though many all over the world have done so; so why not me? Asheville was supposed to be safe from environmental calamities like this. The truth is that nowhere is safe anymore from climate change. Mother Earth is reacting to what humanity has done to her and what we continue to do in the name of progress. It's easier for me to go to anger than despair and sorrow, but all those emotions are fitting right now. It's hard to be optimistic these days. I have felt and seen the camaraderie that often occurs when people live through disasters, and that always feels good to see "strangers" pull together to help and support one another. Clearly, all of humanity needs this camaraderie more than ever as we all face the uncertain future that climate change is creating. I can only hope that we will rise to the occasion as a species, for our children's sake. A little hope from Wendell Berry: "When despair for the world grows in me, and I wake in the night at the least sound, in fear of what my life and my childrens' lives may be; I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water, and feel above me the day blind stars waiting with their light. For a time, I rest in the grace of the world, and I'm free." I wish this grace on everyone.
Dear Ed, thank you for sharing your experience through this storm and aftermath and shining a light on the complexity of feelings surfacing, all of which are "fitting right now." Perhaps we shall have a conversation here on Beyond the Comfort Zone to your comment, wondering together what it might mean to each of us to "rise to the occasion" of the fullness of our humanity. Wendell Berry's poem is read in a different light here. Thank you.
Renee, thank you for sharing. Thank you for staying and helping. Thank you for your light. As I read, I was unconsciously holding my breath. At the end a large exhale escaped me. I too have no word for this tragedy. Just a blank slate to be written on carefully, slowly, with deep, heartfelt witnessing and listening and being and recognizing that no words may ever fill that space.
Sending as much light to the sorrow and grief and loss as I can.
Much love my friend. I am glad you and Petunia are here.
My dear, you are a light that shines in the darkest hour. Your acknowledgement that "life is changing, but you don't know what in life is changing" is profoundly true, unifying, and ultimately freeing. What begins moving the needle from terror, overwhelm, paralysis, hopelessness is the equally profound power-of-love that exists in unity. Your letter to us this morning invites us to walk with you, as you are walking with us, knowing that together we create and meet the changes.
Yes, beloved, "We will find a way to get you a new home. I don’t want to be without you. The world needs you in it. " Thank you, T, for giving voice to what so many feel.
Dear Becky, thank you for your loving words, each one a tenderness and soul truth, and I am touched by you giving voice to the "profound power-of-love that exists in unity" so essential to "together . . . create and meet the changes" of these uncertain times, not only here in WNC and Southern Appalachia but across the world.
I identify deeply with the beginning of this piece where you talk about your resistance to writing about this horror. It's as if anything one says is an insult to the actual events. But you found a way and your words have great power.
I am thankful and relieved you are safe dear Renée, you and all your loved ones, that your home is in one piece, that you are unharmed and able to help those (so many) less fortunate. Bless you and T for giving sanctuary and food and of course, all others who helped too.
I am relieved that you chose not to post images with your diary, my heart is already too awash with the tragedy of the storm, the devastation it has left in its wake. I sometimes I feel a certain joy is taken in the glorification of these natural catastrophes, as if the sadness is not whole enough without...
Susie, Thank you for your care and wishes of love and courage to all here. Thank you for these words, this sentiment so important: "I sometimes feel a certain joy is taken in the glorification of these natural catastrophes, as if the sadness is not whole enough without. . ." Indeed. Thank you.
Staggering the state that daily life is reduced to by a storm in such little time. The sense of loss and chaos is strong Renee. So sorry you suffered this.
I wish you well and fight survivors remorse. Channel energy like you are doing instead. I hope the services get back up and running soon
Pipp, "staggering" captures the felt sense exquisitely. From the outside looking in, one might wonder if we are all dazed, but there is kindness and care in abundance, and yes, services are coming back on. Bit by bit. . .
Thank you for your kind words of encouragement, Pipp.
Renee your entry also struck me in the middle of the night and the sky was full of helicopters seemed like a chorus line that kept repeating through the chaos of tragedy. There was a rhythm in the timeline you wrote which was clever and surprised me in amongst the suffering you experienced.
Renée; I was very moved reading your entries today. My wife and I lived through the terror of that storm. The next day, we surveyed the damage; at least 30 trees down around our house, tree limbs on our roof and cars causing minor damage, our long driveway completely covered in downed trees, both large and small; no power, no water, no cell service; completely isolated. We went to work over the next few days, being on survival mode. Once tree crews cleared the driveway from the large trees, for the next few days, we walked to our neighbor's house who had a generator, to fill up on water and take an occasional heavenly shower. Eventually, we were able to get to town to get gas for our cars and food. We still did not know the extent of the catastrophe that had struck our beautiful town. Over the next few days, we started to hear about all the lives lost and communities washed away. It all seemed so surreal; so hard to take in. I would let myself feel the pain of it all briefly but not fully. Reading your entry today, it hit me deeper. I've been telling my friends who are all safe fortunately, that I've never lived through anything like this, though many all over the world have done so; so why not me? Asheville was supposed to be safe from environmental calamities like this. The truth is that nowhere is safe anymore from climate change. Mother Earth is reacting to what humanity has done to her and what we continue to do in the name of progress. It's easier for me to go to anger than despair and sorrow, but all those emotions are fitting right now. It's hard to be optimistic these days. I have felt and seen the camaraderie that often occurs when people live through disasters, and that always feels good to see "strangers" pull together to help and support one another. Clearly, all of humanity needs this camaraderie more than ever as we all face the uncertain future that climate change is creating. I can only hope that we will rise to the occasion as a species, for our children's sake. A little hope from Wendell Berry: "When despair for the world grows in me, and I wake in the night at the least sound, in fear of what my life and my childrens' lives may be; I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water, and feel above me the day blind stars waiting with their light. For a time, I rest in the grace of the world, and I'm free." I wish this grace on everyone.
Dear Ed, thank you for sharing your experience through this storm and aftermath and shining a light on the complexity of feelings surfacing, all of which are "fitting right now." Perhaps we shall have a conversation here on Beyond the Comfort Zone to your comment, wondering together what it might mean to each of us to "rise to the occasion" of the fullness of our humanity. Wendell Berry's poem is read in a different light here. Thank you.
Renee, thank you for sharing. Thank you for staying and helping. Thank you for your light. As I read, I was unconsciously holding my breath. At the end a large exhale escaped me. I too have no word for this tragedy. Just a blank slate to be written on carefully, slowly, with deep, heartfelt witnessing and listening and being and recognizing that no words may ever fill that space.
Sending as much light to the sorrow and grief and loss as I can.
Much love my friend. I am glad you and Petunia are here.
Erma
Erma, so very deeply touched by your heartfelt presence, understanding, and love. Thank you so. Thank you.
My dear, you are a light that shines in the darkest hour. Your acknowledgement that "life is changing, but you don't know what in life is changing" is profoundly true, unifying, and ultimately freeing. What begins moving the needle from terror, overwhelm, paralysis, hopelessness is the equally profound power-of-love that exists in unity. Your letter to us this morning invites us to walk with you, as you are walking with us, knowing that together we create and meet the changes.
Yes, beloved, "We will find a way to get you a new home. I don’t want to be without you. The world needs you in it. " Thank you, T, for giving voice to what so many feel.
Dear Becky, thank you for your loving words, each one a tenderness and soul truth, and I am touched by you giving voice to the "profound power-of-love that exists in unity" so essential to "together . . . create and meet the changes" of these uncertain times, not only here in WNC and Southern Appalachia but across the world.
I identify deeply with the beginning of this piece where you talk about your resistance to writing about this horror. It's as if anything one says is an insult to the actual events. But you found a way and your words have great power.
Susie, thank you for your reflection and these wise words especially: "It's as if anything one says is an insult to the actual events."
I am thankful and relieved you are safe dear Renée, you and all your loved ones, that your home is in one piece, that you are unharmed and able to help those (so many) less fortunate. Bless you and T for giving sanctuary and food and of course, all others who helped too.
I am relieved that you chose not to post images with your diary, my heart is already too awash with the tragedy of the storm, the devastation it has left in its wake. I sometimes I feel a certain joy is taken in the glorification of these natural catastrophes, as if the sadness is not whole enough without...
I send love and courage to you all x
Susie, Thank you for your care and wishes of love and courage to all here. Thank you for these words, this sentiment so important: "I sometimes feel a certain joy is taken in the glorification of these natural catastrophes, as if the sadness is not whole enough without. . ." Indeed. Thank you.
Staggering the state that daily life is reduced to by a storm in such little time. The sense of loss and chaos is strong Renee. So sorry you suffered this.
I wish you well and fight survivors remorse. Channel energy like you are doing instead. I hope the services get back up and running soon
Pipp, "staggering" captures the felt sense exquisitely. From the outside looking in, one might wonder if we are all dazed, but there is kindness and care in abundance, and yes, services are coming back on. Bit by bit. . .
Thank you for your kind words of encouragement, Pipp.
My goodness! I have no words, but am grateful to read and reread yours. Peace.
Tara, thank you.
I am a few days behind on this post and continue sending love and prayers to all of you. ❤❤❤
Donna, thank you.
Renee your entry also struck me in the middle of the night and the sky was full of helicopters seemed like a chorus line that kept repeating through the chaos of tragedy. There was a rhythm in the timeline you wrote which was clever and surprised me in amongst the suffering you experienced.
I hope you are recovering, you and your community
Pipp, you are a close reader. 🙏
Love from Black Mountain.💧💦🩵