The Storm

River road submerged during the flood.

The impact of this storm will be felt for a long time, but I don’t want to forget all that I observed.

If we speak solely of our farm and family, we made it though the storm without a scratch. No property or personal damage came about. No trees down as a result. No flooding. We were spared, many others were not.

Here is my account of the storm and its aftermath:

I, like many others (I can only assume,) was not anticipating this great of a storm. Or I can speak even more truthfully, I had no idea until it was actually happening. My phone called for 3-4 inches for Marshall. It was word of mouth that cried Hurricane, which isn’t always something that comes to fruition.

I started becoming obsessed with the French Broad River as the rain came down(our farm and home sit 300 feet above its edge). This was not something I planned on, but starting on Thursday I started making pilgrimages to be by its banks. That obsession increased. Any opportunity, I headed to the river to watch it, run by it or bicycle on river road. The river started gaining strength ever slowly on Thursday, but it was easy to tell on that day, there was something forming in the belly of the river. It was mesmerizing. The nature of the earth was showing a reality that I have never seen before. The river was turning into an unrecognizable creature of momentous strength. The murky water by Friday started swallowing the road. Secondary creeks started swelling and turned into the tentacles of the monster that started grabbing and tearing away the banks. Big old trees were uprooted and then shattered into other objects further down. The sound and smell of the river is something you’d need to experience in person; there were explosive sounds of cracking and grinding of trees. The river smelled strongly of fossil fuels, vegetables, earth and old dank moldy wood. I’d become immune to the smell, but 10 minutes later, another wave brought the potent unusual scent from upstream.

There was a turbulent wave that had formed in the middle of our section of river. It had such a force that it was sending all sorts of debris, trees, pipes, coolers, propane tanks, anything you can imagine, was being launched into the air off the waves downstream edge. It was like watching a catapult in perpetual action. There was nothing that could combat this much strength and force.

It was at this point I started imagine what Marshall could look like. Or what was the status of the houses on the river by us,(we had no way of communication or reaching anyone…cell towers were down), so it was all speculation… it looked that everything in it’s vicinity could be wiped off the map. There is something symbolic about a town being destroyed. It affects a place that unifies people. But also shakes up a perception of something we think is stable and safe. This much water, I thought, I’d be surprised if any of Marshall would be left.

Civilzation stopped after the flood. It came to a grinding halt. Power, water and communication all stopped. Everything we rely on to get us from day to day ended. Any sort of prior plans or ambitions no longer had a context. Life became simple. The daily tasks became filling water for the cows(first from a rain cistern then hauling up from a lower spring), hand milking the cows in the mid-morning, saying hello to neighbors and just walking around. As my daughter said, there really wasn’t much to do. And that in itself, is very unique. Hearing of blocked roads and gas stations out of order, we had no reason to go out.

It really was an unusual and special time in those first few days of rain and then beautiful after-storm skies that speak of more heaven than earth. It was quiet. It was also a perfect temperature. A crispness in the air as well as the leaves just starting to change highlighted the fact that we are heading into the most beautiful season for the mountains.

After 3 days, spotty cell service returned, adding a layer of complexity and worry that became compounded. Texts came in wondering if we were okay. We were seeing people we know who have now lost their homes, businesses, or loved ones in flood waters. At this point, existential problems arose. What should we do? We are okay, many others are not, how should we help becomes a confusing aspect to this. Everyone in our immediate vicinity was okay. We were with no power and no water, but Kate and I are comfortable with this situation. This feeling of wanting to help, but not knowing how, can be debilitating and/or can facilitate roaming around aimlessly. This is both a reflection on what I observed in myself and also what I saw as a response from society as a whole. But it is hard to analyze needs. If an individual, family or area needs assistance, it will change constantly and quickly. A need is a need. Something to drink. Something to eat. Dry clothes. Somewhere to sleep. These are immediate needs. Then needs of recovery and building back, or a towns infrastructure needs are completely different and a much longer term situation. This became an existential problem when communication was restored.

Above the farm, the sky became an interstate of emergency and military cargo helicopters. Aid was being dropped. People were being airlifted. This added another layer of tension.

As all this was going on, I couldn’t help but to continue my pilgrimages to the river.

The river bank was reshaped, everything around the river was now more expansive and barren. At night, through the darkness, you could feel a void. The abandoned train cars on the other side of the river were sitting of tracks that were floating above an eroded path. PVC was everywhere. There were scattered mountains of debris. Knotted up into a mess. No giant could untangle. Islands erased. New rocky beaches were formed. We now inhabit a different environment.

For many of us, who did not receive the brunt of the storm, and seeing friends who lost their house completely or have a holes in their roof and seeing Marshall destroyed…all of these things hit a chord that drives us into a feeling that we should act. It’s hard to sit still in the beginning. Then it becomes more difficult If we want to do something but don’t really know how to help or who needs help. From what I observe, everyone does want to contribute that can.

As civilization stops, it amazing to see what gears start turning in new ways. It’s a beautiful sight to see how people can get organized and real assistance can arise through the rubble. This might be something I need to continue to observe and think about in the weeks to come. I’m finding ways to help now. It took some time. There will be a longer recovery where we can play our part. We will all find a place were we can help our community dream and rebuild.