The Aftermath
The Intersection of Wilson Avenue, Northeast Avenue and Old-70 at the Swannanoa River's greatest height. -Photo Credit Thomas Rodeck
My family and I awoke to no power, pounding rain and swaying trees, sheets of water swept the road, a creek across from our home was now a river and lake at the bottom of the hill. Wide-eyed and disoriented I fed my children cereal and milk, closing the fridge tight, grateful that I filled up water bottles the night before. Little did I know that six water bottles would not nearly cover our basic needs in the coming days.
My brother pounded on the door around 10 AM, drenched and told us to come see down the road. My family and I dressed and readied to leave our home, completely naive to the absolute horror and destruction just beyond our street.
We donned our best waterproof gear and headed out just as the rain and winds began to quell. Other neighbors began to emerge from their houses to assess the damage too. We walked two blocks and rounded the corner onto Wilson Avenue, at the bottom a river raged where Old Highway-70 once stood. Water slapped the roof of the local F&J Gas Station just down the street. Frozen with shock, we stood at the edge of a now raging river and watched in disbelief as homes, cars, debris tossed along in the wrathful currents of the Swannanoa River that reached far beyond its usual banks.
Neighbors lined the edges of the water crying, hands covering mouths agape in shock, as we heard the echoing screams of “Help, Help us,” families trapped on roofs, in trees, and the second levels of homes along Old-70. I watched in horror, my mind racing and heart pounding. Pleading, “Can’t we get them a rope, a boat, how can we help them?” People gathered with ropes, I ran home for two life jackets, handed them off then took my children home, wanting to spare them from any more terror. I prayed that they might live, that by some miracle rescue workers would find us, all the while, anyone that any civilians attempted to cross those wild waters would likely be swept away in an instant.
We took a short break at home and returned later in the afternoon as waters finally began to recede. More were out and walking, even from nearby neighborhoods that were passable. I hugged neighbors and friends; I feared I had been lost to the floods. We are alive, we have a home. My boyfriend and children are safe. My immediate neighbors and friends or safe. I repeated this mantra, as I knew others had not been so fortunate, the lives and home swept away in minutes. I wondered if they had any warning, any time to get out? Were their last moments of terror filled or was it so instantaneous they never knew?
With no cell service, no power, no internet access, and no idea how such devastation had swirled around us so quickly neighbors continued to walk along the receding waters, take pictures, glare and talk. We heard rumors of a breached dam and discussed the warnings to evacuate that were unclear and misinterpreted or never received at all.
The Intersection of Old Highway 70, Whiston Ave. and 70 as the Swannanoa River receded. -Photo Credit Thomas Rodeck
As the waters continued to recede the true reality of the aftermath and devastation set in. We walked the mud stained roads, many fractured or fallen away. It felt apocalyptic walking down muddied streets, mattresses curled around power poles, roads completely carved away. A large muddied Teddy Bear twisted in a pile of things where the water had been, and I wondered if its owner was still alive. People walked by with backpacks looking for water and supplies, when none were to be found.
A resident of the Grovement Community for the past five years, I live in a neighborhood that is fortunate to have a central library, park and covered pavilion. My community quickly rallied at this central location the following morning and began to organize and make a list of medical needs, urgent food and water needs, chainsaw crews and wellness checks. Still it was forty-eight hours before some organizations were able to reach us with much needed food and supplies due to impassable roads, no cell service and sheer scale of this event.
My heart was warmed to see our neighborhood organized charging stations in people’s personal cars, generators were gathered to boil water within 48 hours of Hurricane Helene’s passing, and our community organized a massive cookout to feed as many people as possible, anyone that could contribute thawed out meats, perishable foods and hands to help others.
We are still in shock as search and rescue teams continue to look for people, the scary reality of thudding choppers overhead are commonplace, and sirens echo at all times of day. This is our home; our hearts are heavy and numb, as we recover from life-altering losses of people, places and landscape that may never be quite the same. But I am assured by the outpouring of love, the leaning on and into each other for recovery: the share of food, water, a kind smile, a wave, a listening ear. It’s a long journey ahead of us now, as we rebuild our homes, our community, our hope, but we will get through together.
This was written on the morning of 9/30. As of today 10/6/24, many relief agencies have reached Swannanoa, however we are still without water and power.
