western north carolina

#weathered

~ Kelly Wolf ~ Leave a comment

A little over a month ago, Hurricane Helene smashed through Western North Carolina, washing away lives, livelihoods, roads, and homes. People are still without water and power. Many have died. Some are still missing. The piles of debris are like a new, tragic set of mountains – giant heaps of gutted houses, smashed cars, and god-knows-what that washed downriver.

Soon after the storm, a friend sent me this diagram, titled The Emotional Life Cycle of a Disaster Explained:

Image from Episcopal Relief and Development

Given the level of destruction in WNC, the timeline between “Honeymoon” and “Reconstruction” will be a very long one, and some things can’t be reconstructed, like the thousands of downed trees. Yes, we’ll plant new ones, but it’ll be hundreds of years before they provide the lush, cooling canopies of the past.

Despite the reality of these dire circumstances, as soon as the storm blew through, the #strong label was everywhere. When did this phenomenon begin – maybe fifteen, twenty years ago? In the immediate aftermath of catastrophes, communities self-declare as, or are proclaimed to be, #strong.

I get the sentiment behind it: We will not be cowed by this. We are brave. We are resilient. We will persevere. And all of that is true. The WNC community has been incredible in its unity, compassion, generosity, and untiring aid over the past month.

But the instant, automatic application of #strong also sidesteps important parts of reaction and recovery. What about mourning and working through grief? What about granting ourselves the grace to collapse a little? What if, as I see scenes of destruction and hear stories of lost family members, friends, neighborhoods, and homes, I don’t feel like being #strong? What if my feelings are more along the lines of #gutted, #exhausted, or #curledinaballofsadness?

When I do feel hopeful, helpful, and encouraged – which is more and more often these days – I’m still balancing those feelings with profound grief and loss, like #strong + #heartache. And that’s okay. Recovery is complicated, and accepting the presence of pain is its own kind of strength.

I took this photo last week. It gives me hope. The water, though full of silt, still offers a reflection. Trees are down in those mountains, but many more stand than have fallen. This land grieves, buries its dead, and spawns new life. It is broken, and it is healing, and it is strong.

❤️

[For folks wanting to donate to WNC’s recovery, Beloved Asheville, Samaritan’s Purse, and Hearts with Hands are doing amazing, hands-on work throughout the region, and the River Arts District and LEAF Artist Relief Fund are collecting funds to support and rebuild the arts community.]

A Dream Come True

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 8 Comments

When I was about 5, I had a terrible dream. Our kitchen phone – a prototypical ’80s cream-colored landline with a loooong, dangling cord – began to ring. I picked it up, said, “Hello?” and a torrent of insects poured out of the ear piece. The stream was so thick and fast-moving, it pushed me out of the kitchen, through the front door, and down the driveway, growing ever larger as it surged ahead. The whole world became black – just an all-encompassing flood of thickly-packed bugs. I woke up shaking all over.

Today, in Western North Carolina, we’re preparing for the emergence of a “double brood” of cicadas. Apparently, sometime over the next month or so, trillions of cicadas will burst from the ground to blanket the entire outside world and fill the air with a constant, deafening roar.

Of all the dreams I’ve ever had that I did not want to come true, “bug flood” is most definitely in the top 5. And yet, here it is, preparing to will itself into existence.

I’ve heard harrowing tales of the last cicada swarm in Western NC. Folks had to use snow shovels to dig paths to their front doors. Home window screens and car windshields were so covered in bugs, people’s views were completely obscured. My friend was riding her motorcycle and thought she’d been shot in the chest, then again in the head, but she’d actually splattered two unsuspecting cicadas. The noise was so loud and incessant, people felt like they were losing their minds. And that was a single brood, mind you – half the size of what’s about to befall us. The possibilities are truly terrifying. How are my dogs gonna deal with this? Will they come in from the backyard covered in cicadas? Or with mouthfuls of cicadas?

Maybe, if it gets too bad, I’ll just act like my neighbors down in South Carolina and call the police. “Hello, 911? I’d like to report a childhood nightmare come to life. Anything y’all can do about that?”

I saw one cicada while camping last summer, and that was one too many. I did snap a photo of it, however, to send to my sister. Over the years, I’ve learned that when I see something and say, “Ew,” my sister would see the same thing and say, “Cool!” So I take pictures of gross things and send them to her.

She was pretty stoked on this one.

Now that I think of it, I may have a solution here. I just need to move my sister back from Spain so she can go through this ordeal with me.

“Look: that car’s completely covered in cicadas! Cool!”

“There are three inches of cicada carcasses on the ground! Cool!”

“The restaurants are serving fried cicadas! Cool!”

“The dogs are pooping cicada parts! Cool!”

Maybe, with her continual reframes, I could survive the bug flood. And maybe, after breathing life into a dream that was so horrifying, I vividly remember it over 40 years later, the universe will see fit to do a little balancing act and make one of my good dreams come true.

I do love a flying dream, universe. Just sayin’.