Devastation in Appalachia

Processing Hurricane Helene

I live in a sweet little town on the western side of North Carolina, nestled in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. If you’ve never been to this magical little corner of the US, it’s a little like if the Shire and Rivendell were to have a baby. For countless generations, the southern Appalachian region has been a place filled with people that simply love life, love their community, and love this beautiful place.

Right now, my town and the surrounding areas are facing devastation that is incredibly hard to put into words.

When someone asks me what it’s like here right now, one way I’ve answered that question is by explaining that it looks like multiple bombs went off. When someone asks how I’m doing since Hurricane Helene hit, in one sense, I feel that is an easy question to answer—in another, I feel empty trying to find the words. It’s true, the answer to that question is simple: I am doing far better than so many around me. I still have a home. Everyone in my family is accounted for. I have water. I have food. I have power. How else could I answer that question apart from the very truth that, I am doing very well.

But when you peel back the layers, there is more to the truth—the truth that I am not okay. Overstimulated with the site of trauma and loss, I find myself asking multiple versions of the same question—why? Buried beneath everything my mind is trying to process, there’s a familiar feeling that makes me want to go to sleep—grief.

I will tell you the truth: the loss here is more overwhelming than you could possibly imagine and there is a bitter suffering that is making a home in the mountains.

When time stopped

Over the last thirteen days, time has felt like an insignificant item I forgot about on my to-do list from a month ago. I didn’t know it then, but when I started to hear the sounds of trees crashing around our home and we eventually lost power, my sense of time stopped. The only thing that mattered, was the next moment.

Finding the present again

While Helene was very hungry for my garden, and it mostly looks like a tangled mess of okra and zinnias right now, when I walked through my garden this week I saw something that stopped me—and it did so by taking me back to a moment in the dark and cold of winter earlier this year. There, before me, was a winter sown coneflower that was not only blooming with all the vibrance and joy that coneflowers do, but it was also providing food for others. This coneflower was the one thing that stood out in this little corner of my garden that hasn’t already passed its prime and wasn’t destroyed by the winds and floods.

As an aspiring herbalist, and total flower nerd, I know that echinacea is a symbol of strength and a source of healing. When I stood there looking at my strong little coneflower, I thought of a word that has been across my mind for many days now—mend. And while the site of this beautiful, wound-mending, and oh-so-resilient native coneflower stopped me, it reminded me that the seeds you sow in the darkest seasons can bring about a beauty that heals. I want to be a coneflower.

Spreading seeds of hope, together

After about a week of processing all that has happened around us, my husband and I sat down and asked ourselves what we could do. One question we’ve gotten over and over from our friends and family in various places around the county, is “what can I do?” As we sought to answer this question, we went on a journey of finding out who is doing some of the best work here right now, especially in the areas that were the hit the worst. Instead of making a simple list, we decided to build a space to help others learn how they can help.

How you can be a coneflower to the people of western North Carolina

1. Visit mendwnc.com to learn about how you can support those in western North Carolina affected by Hurricane Helene

2. Share this website with others

Even if you are not able to give to the organizations that are here on the ground, sharing and following our website will help us spread awareness even further on how others can help.

Let’s sow seeds of hope, together.