Hurricane Helene tore through Florida's Big Bend as a Category 4 storm with 140 mph-winds near midnight, Thursday, September 26, 2024. Florida being Florida, they appeared to be fully prepared and there was apparently minimal damage. Nevertheless, the storm had sucked up immeasurable amounts of moisture and moved north into Georgia, the Carolina's, and Tennessee. And it was there that the full wrath of Helene appeared as she dumped record amounts of rain.
My wife Darlene and I watched it mostly from our den on TV in Lugoff, South Carolina. Yes, we got wind, rain, and fallen limbs. Our daughter's family just sixty miles away to the northwest in Newberry saw a days-long power outage. Our son Ian's home was miraculously spared despite around a dozen majestic hardwoods - oak, hickory, and tupelo - up and down the street felled in the wind and rain. Thankfully, no one was hurt in the neighborhood. His 90-year-old neighbor across the street saw trees fall all around his home, trapping him inside, and damaging – wait for it – a single screen on a window. His family and Ian helped cut him out.
“I guess the Lord decided it wasn't time for him to go home quite yet,” said our son.
The next Friday, I announced to Darlene that I was hearing God calling me to go to North Carolina.
“I've got to go.”
“Well, I can't go,” she replied. “I've got too many appointments next week. You'll have to go by yourself.”
“Okay,” I replied. “I will.”
Saturday, October 5, 2024
I spent Saturday seeing what I might need from the things I had set aside from my military days, checking on our bank accounts, and checking over my 1999 Dodge Ram 1500. A solid truck, I had been working on it since buying it ten months prior, and this would be its first real trip since then.
Spoiler alert: she performed well, despite a few very minor glitches. And those glitches are on the list of repairs.
We had been attending church at St. David's Episcopal in Columbia, South Carolina, for over nineteen years. We had also been contemplating leaving the Episcopal Church, reasons of which are probably beyond the scope of this narrative, and decided to look into the local Saint Mary Magdalene Anglican Church in Camden. So it was that we attended church there the next day.
Sunday, October 6, 2024
During the announcements a plea was read for donations to assist Hurricane Helene victims around Asheville, North Carolina, which had suffered terribly from the effects of Hurricane Helene. I approached the announcer after the service for the contact information. Using that information I was in contact with Father Michael Berg that afternoon.
Now, I had been told that the authorities weren't allowing outsiders into the area without a contact name and destination. This was reinforced with stories filtering out of North Carolina that private pilots who were flying rescue and supply missions were being threatened with arrest, and that supplies were being seized by authorities to insure “proper distribution.”
Monday, October 7, 2024
Armed with a name and address, I confidently left my home Monday morning. It seemed to take forever just to get out of Kershaw County. Between doing battle with an ATM, returning home to drop the credit card I forgot to leave behind to my wife, picking up a massive tarp from my brother to take up to North Carolina, and some other issues, I finally left Kershaw County around 9:30, around two hours later than I had planned.
Happily, there were no checkpoints, and the greatest concern was navigating the ongoing construction on Interstate 26 east of Asheville (compass direction south). I turned onto Interstate 40 westbound and using GoogleMaps soon found myself at The Vine Anglican Church in Clyde, North Carolina at around 1:30. I quickly introduced myself to Father Berg, head of the congregation there. It was there, also, that I first encountered Elon Musk's Starlink. The church had set up a free Starlink hot spot under the massive picnic shelter at the back of the church. There were no less than four people using the hot spot.
The church inside was stuffed to the gills with donated supplies. One of the more unique items, to me, were five-gallon buckets of cleaning supplies. These buckets were the type one would find for sale at Lowe's and Home Depot, or that one would encounter at your local restaurant kitchen filled with vanilla lemon cake frosting (seriously). The buckets had been filled by volunteers with supplies that included cleaning gloves, squirt bottles, soap, chlorine bleach, and the like.
Father Berg's senior vestry person Dwayne Odvody asked if I could load my truck with buckets to distribute to anyone in the Pigeon River Valley. They were sending me on my way to The Pinnacle Church in adjacent Canton. “Sure. Whatever you need me to do,” I answered. And it was at the Vine Church that I dropped off the tarp I got from my brother.
We loaded up my truck with around a dozen cleaning kit buckets, and I headed down the mountain to the bottom of the valley along the Pigeon River. And immediately obvious was the damage. The only damage that the church had sustained was the destruction of their sign at the base of the hill. Debris clung to the limbs of the trees above me, and there was a camper wrapped firmly around the upstream side of a still-straight telephone pole. The south side of the road, away from the river, was lined with the damage and detritus that was the former property of the homeowners along the road and the river.
I stopped first at a beautiful, old home that had it's porch caved in by the flood. The home still stood, defiant and festooned in gingerbread, but the homeowners were living under a tarp in the front yard. I stopped to offer a cleaning bucket, which they accepted. And I moved on.
And so began my mission of the coming week.
I arrived at The Pinnacle Church where I encountered Team Rubicon, a volunteer disaster relief group made up of former military members. I signed in and asked where I was needed. A Pinnacle Church member walked me partway across the parking lot. At the lot's edge was a substantial drop-off that led steeply down a slope to the Pigeon River. He pointed to a home directly across the river from us and asked, “Do you see that orange truck?”
“Yep.”
“We need you down there.”
“Okay.”
I hopped into my truck and soon found myself at a home that carried a brown waterline just below the top of the window two stories high. The group was mucking out the basement. The smell of the pudding-consistency mud wasn't unpleasant. But, then I had worked shoveling horse, cattle, and chicken manure before. But, the mud was as deep as a foot. Thankfully for the volunteer cleaning crew, the basement opened out into the yard on the hillside home, so using flat shovels and squeegees made for effective and fairly quick work. And thankfully, I still had chemical gloves and galoshes available from my army days. I used them for the first time since leaving the army fourteen years prior.
It was also there that I encountered the first of the “leeches.” A man in a pickup truck pulled into the driveway and went to the refuse pile. There he started to pull out items to salvage. The homeowner stepped over and asked what the man was doing. Then I heard the homeowner say, “Fine, get whatever you want. Just stay out of the way of the people helping us clean up.” My last view of the 'salvager' was of him pulling out a child's plastic tricycle from the pile.
One half of the basement was used as a kennel where the family bred show dogs. They had saved the family and the dogs, but the fury of the floodwaters was quite obvious.
Not long after my arrival, the group leader called to shut down the work and head back to the church. I was able to work for an hour. It felt good, but very much inadequate. I knew there was quite a lot to do. I followed one of the other volunteers back to The Pinnacle Church, and signed out. I thanked everyone for the opportunity to help and headed back to The Vine. It was upon entering the grounds of the church I first noticed The Beaver.
Every time I would enter the church grounds at the top of the driveway a beaver would exit the woods along the edge of the slope and run madly to a spot farther up the wood line and then disappear. Every time. It surprised me just how fast a beaver can run! Unfortunately, I would soon be so immediately focused on the job at hand, I would forget to ask if they had named it. Surely they are aware of the critter.
Upon arrival at The Vine I stated that I had not yet been able to look for a room for the night, or week. Dwayne and Michael explained that it would be difficult because of the displacement the flood had caused. Hotels and motels that had been flooded had taken many available rooms at other hotels and motels to house their displaced customers, and recovery workers were taking up many other rooms as well. So, Dwayne offered to put me up for the night.
Dwayne also let me know that Woodland Baptist Church was asking for help. Located one town farther west – Waynesville - they were asking for assistance in their work as a local recovery center. I agreed to go there at 11:30 the next morning.
I then went out to try and find others who might need cleaning kits before heading out to the Odvody house in Waynesville. And it was here that I realized the full extent of the damage. The obvious flow of water down the hillsides, the streets, the ditches, and the streams was there for all to see. It wasn't so much severe, but it was widespread.
The Odvody home sits on a ridge and overlooks Waynesville to the southeast far below. It is beautiful.
They had just gotten power back after ten days. I got my gear out of the truck, put it into their guest bedroom, and went into town for dinner. They had just lost a fair amount of food and I certainly didn't want to impose, especially after they gave a room for the night to a complete stranger. I did ask for dinner recommendations, however.
I had dinner at Maggie's Galley – a wonderful play on words for the nearby Maggie Valley. Amazingly, despite being closer to the river and apparently at a lower elevation than other restaurants that were flooded out in the area, Maggie's was untouched by flooding. I asked the waitress about it and she replied that it was “weird.” After most heavy rains they have water coming in, she said. But not this time! Despite it all, the broiled trout, collards, and black-eyed peas were wonderful, and the service was excellent. I left a very good tip.
I spent the evening, I'm afraid a bit rudely, talking about my family and myself, probably due to nervous energy. I found out little about my hosts. But, after showering, I slept well and rose early. That ended Day One, Monday, October 7.
Tuesday, October 8, 2024
I spoke to Dwayne on my way out for breakfast, loaded my truck, and grabbed fast food. Yum. I pulled into The Vine, loaded up more cleaning kits and some items to be delivered to 505 Main Street in Canton, and headed toward The Pinnacle. Enroute I stopped off at around a half-dozen homes where people were cleaning up. I saw ServPro at one home, thankful that at least one family could afford professional help, while I drove into some other neighborhoods. I set out four kits at a mobile home park that had taken a solid hit from the flooding, though it appeared the many trees throughout the park protected it from most large debris.
I encountered a man, a Mr. Cunningham, who was cleaning out a beautiful two-story, brick home that sat near the base of a bend in the Pigeon River. His back yard ended at the edge of the river. His garage had been carried away and a 40-foot shipping container floated by in the flood waters, barely missing his home. Cunningham watched it float past while sitting on higher ground a few hundred feet away on the side of US Highways 19 and 23 in Clyde.
“When the water started to go over the railroad tracks, I left.”
Debris were still piled up at the Blue Ridge Southern Railroad's short trestle paralleling Highways 19 and 23 that is just feet away. The Cunninghams had evacuated the home the day before the floods. The container lay against trees about 150 yards downstream. Cunningham's tools and all he had in the garage were scattered much farther downstream. His small vineyard and large garden were gone. He explained that he was cleaning up for the fourth time in twenty years. “I'm moving,” he told me emphatically, after relating to me the history of the neighborhood as he had seen it. I sighed and wished him good luck. There were already rumors of the town buying up or condemning all the property along the river and turning it into a park.
Two doors down, a lady was clearing out her home. She didn't need cleaning supplies as she had a fair amount of them standing on a makeshift table in her front yard. But she DID need laundry detergent. I apologized and told her that I didn't have any.
These two were stoic and determined and truly epitomized to me the spirit of The Overmountain Men that I read of in histories of Southern Appalachia, as did the proprietress of 505 Main Street in Canton.
Canton city crews and utility workers were busy cleaning streets and restoring water, sewage, and power and had blocked off all the downtown to ease the effort. Using the skills I learned in the army and realizing I had a mission to complete, breaking the law appeared to be the only option, so I did. Sitting at the corner of Main and Park Street, I carefully ran the infinitesimally-long red light and eased through a striped sawhorse barrier to get to the store. It was early, so the parking spots in front were all conveniently empty. I pulled up to the storefront in downtown Canton.
505 Main Street is a store in name only. Accepting cash and other types of donations, the building is occupied rent-free. Beverly Banks set up the charity Haywood Pantries after the most previous flooding event in 2021. Tired of waiting for governments to help after the fury of Hurricane Fred, and realizing that the outside volunteers and their donations would eventually leave, she set up 505 Main Street using the street address as the name. Inside is much of what one might have found in an old five-and-dime, as well as fresh and canned food, water, and any number of other resources someone might need if they found themselves suddenly homeless. She has been running it ever since and was very ready to help the area after the Hurricane Helene devastation. She is an important partner in the recovery. On the sidewalk were fresh and canned food and blankets sitting on rough, plywood tables, and bottled water. All the items at the store are free, donated by the people for the people.
Upon arrival I saw some folks down the sidewalk, and walked over to them, asking where Beverly might be. Beverly was out doing what it is that a non-profit operator does, according to the folks.
“Oh, there she is!”
The lady I was speaking to pointed to a Ford F-350 4x4 pulling a trailer into the parking lot across the street. I walked across the street and introduced myself to Beverly. I then unloaded the items I was sent to deliver, as well as a few cleaning kit buckets, and stood in rapt amazement as she related the story of 505 Main Street. She then led me on a brief tour, and then down the street to another store operated by a Baird. They weren't in and sadly I didn't get another opportunity to check in at a later time to see how closely we were related.
Beverly and I then broke down some empty boxes and she asked me to haul them to the recycling center. Conveniently enough, it was nearly on my way to Woodland Baptist Church. Into the truck went the boxes.
“Beverly, do you have any laundry detergent?” A bottle of liquid laundry detergent went into the truck, too. I then spoke with a Canton police officer and explained my very recent scofflaw ways and asked what would be the best way to return to Clyde. I was given directions, told to light up my emergency flashers, and drive slowly until I got past the barriers. I did as I was told and headed back west. First stop – the lady who needed laundry detergent.
After delivering the detergent, I again backtracked to The Pinnacle church with my small load of cardboard and signed in. I was told that I was needed back in Canton. So, I loaded up and pointed my truck back in the direction of Canton (and thank God and the US military for GPS). I drove barely a mile when I saw a young man heaving a large log off the road and down the hill into the woods. I pulled over, grabbed my gloves, and went to assist. He and his partner, employees of a landscaping company, were cutting up a large pine tree that had fallen in the storm. His buddy up the hill cut the tree up, then kicked the logs down the very steep hill onto the road where the other fellow rolled them out of the ditch, over the opposing curb and down the hill. I assisted him with two of the logs while simultaneously chatting.
I checked my watch and realized I'd never make the Canton location in time to do any appreciable amount of work and still be able to get to Woodland Baptist, so I bade farewell wondering mischievously on how to send a bill for my labor to the landscaping company, and drove toward Waynesville and to the recycling center and church.
Now GPS and GoogleMaps can be a wonderful thing and an aggravation all at once. I assure you. The mapping app took me on some fantastic detours through Clyde and Waynesville and around Lake Junaluska when shorter routes were clearly available. Including this and at least two other days. Algorithms?
Nevertheless, I dropped off the cardboard at the county recycling center and then rolled over to the church.
Woodland Baptist Church was founded in 1938, though their current home is in a modern steel building housing an auditorium, offices, classrooms, restrooms and showers, and a fellowship hall and kitchen that double as a mini-gym. I arrived a few minutes after the designated 11:30 and was soon escorted to the auditorium where the morning planning session/briefing was occurring. As jobs were being designated, Lead Pastor Adam Black asked what I wanted to do. I answered with, “Whatever you need me to do.”
My reasoning was that God sent me to work. His earthly leadership would guide me to where I was needed the most.
“Great! Can you work the parking lot?”
I strolled out to my truck at the far end of the large, rectangular parking lot – seriously, the lot was easily four acres in size – to grab my boonie hat and reflective vest. It was the first time anyone wore the vest as it was given to me by an old rugby mate who works in Fargo, North Dakota, for the BNSF Railway. He knows I'm a railfan and the last time we met he gave it to me, still in the shipping bag, along with some other BNSF items. And so it was that I found myself with a radio at the bottom of the church driveway entrance guiding donors and customers to their proper places.
Over the four days that I was there I spoke with, saw, or heard of donors who had traveled from as far away as Arkansas, Minnesota, Mississippi, Oklahoma, Ohio, West Virginia, and Wisconsin. There were donors in their cars, in vans, and in pickup trucks. Big dually diesels hauling 3-axle, covered auto transporters roof-to-floor full of almost every conceivable item. Band-aids, flashlights, can openers, hundreds of cans of Dinty Moore beef stew, and Chef-Boy-R-Dee ravioli and Spaghetti-O's, adult and infant diapers, and thousands of gallons of bottled water, and so much more. It was beautiful, scary, wonderful, and sad. Truly an amazing thing to witness. And it was here that I encountered my first bag ever of guinea pig pet food.
I'm pretty sure that someone made guinea pig food. I'd just never encountered any before.
Interestingly, late one day a dually hauling a large, 3-axle auto transporter rolled in from Minnesota. The Minnesotans arrived just before 6pm and the church crew, tired from a tough six hours of hard labor dove right in. Speaking to the driver, he told me that they had planned to stop in Asheville, “But I heard the Lord telling me to come here.”
The previous week the church has begun operations at 9:00am and ran till 6:00pm. But after that first week, it became clear that the hours were more than the volunteers could handle, so they were truncated to a noon-6:00pm schedule. And the people kept arriving, both to donate and to receive donations.
I encountered a man whose two mobile homes had gone up in flames. Fatalistically, he told me that the worst thing he did was to call the fire department. “If I'd let 'em burn I'd have a lot less to clean up,” he stated in a surprisingly chipper mood! I walked away shaking my head in amazement.
It was during the first days I was in the area that I heard an opinion that struck me as profound, striking, and incredibly insightful. Three other men and I were discussing the destruction of the floods. One, a US Forest Service employee, piped in that he had a different view. He stated that within two-to-three years a person who had never been to the area before and viewing it for the first time would never know that a natural disaster had occurred. The damage would be repaired, the destruction removed, and daily life would be at a new normal. It was his view that the hurricane, the flood, and the power of nature were all part of the system that God had made to regulate Planet Earth. It is, perhaps sadly, all part of the massive system He had built. We were witnessing one of the more dramatic cycles that are a part of that whole.
I must admit that I was taken aback. I had never considered such before, but it makes sense to me. It wasn't the Great Flood of the Bible, and it certainly affected many people in a negative way, but God had, perhaps, used it for a reason or reasons we were unable to understand.
At the beginning of that first day the fellowship hall was stuffed full of items with the classrooms being used as overflow. By the end of the day, it was still just as full. The church was serving 600-1000 people per day, with between 200 and 300 cars pulling in to get the things they needed. We encountered a family of eleven who had lost everything they owned. That was not atypical. And then I learned that Pastor Black and his family of a wife and two children, as well as his mother, were living at the church.They too had been flooded out.
Yet everyday, all day, the pastor ran the recovery operation at the church. So, it was that later that day I was sitting beside a lady, helping to count the day's 'receipts' of the donations we had given out. Embarrassed due to Adam's situation, I still needed to find a place to stay. I commented to the lady that I needed to find a room.
“What did you have in mind?” she asked.
“I don't know. I mean, I'm a retired soldier. I've slept on tree limbs and the ground and on army cots. I just need to find a room till at least Friday, or longer if God tells me to stay.”
“No problem. That's my job!” And she was immediately on her cellphone finding me a place to stay. And, yes, cellphone service had been restored to much of the area by this time.
She soon found me an Airbnb nearby. She got me the room and sent me the address. I would later find that it was owned by a rabbi and was just a few miles from the church. There is no doubt that He wanted me there at that time and that place. Every place in the area was booked up, and she found me a room. For less than $90-a-night. Stunning.
Every day at the church someone, whether the Salvation Army, Red Cross, or a local restaurant, either set up in the parking lot or sent hot food that was prepped for workers, customers, and donors. So, lunch and dinner were generally available for free. Now, I did take one morning to have breakfast at Shoney's. I'd missed those since our local Shoney's closed during the Covid-19 scare. Our Shoney's has since been razed and replaced by a Cook-Out restaurant. I mean, I like Cook-Out, but it certainly doesn't have the breakfast Shoney's has!
We shut down at 6:00 and I was out at around 6:30. I found my Airbnb on Old Balsam Road easily enough with GPS and was moving in when the owner's husband walked up with his very large, very friendly, orange tabby tomcat trotting along behind him. I noticed mud caked up at the front of this home that faced the road and the hills. The front room was clearly an addition to the original structure and on this event mud had come rushing down the unpaved, hillside roads, onto Old Balsam Road, then funneled down the driveway and straight into the front room. They had gotten most of it cleaned up by the time I arrived, and thankfully none of it entered the well-appointed, three-room, Airbnb apartment I had rented.
The home fronted an old motel of the type that had separate, sandstone masonry buildings around a circular drive. It was downhill from the house and closer to the river. Amazingly, none of the eight former motel buildings had flooded or received any other damage. Nor did the now blank and inoperative neon sign for the the former motel.
I carried my bags into the apartment, pet the big tomcat, and then headed back into Waynesville for dinner. I had done what any GI would call a “map recon” to look for local eateries and came upon “Clyde's Restaurant.” It had nearly five stars of five. Upon arriving, I saw a long line to get in. I parked and walked up to one of those in line and asked if the wait was worth it.
“Oh, absolutely,” she replied. So I worked my way in to get on the waiting list when an older gentleman stated that the bar was first-come-first-served and I could skip the line. I looked at the young lady behind the register who confirmed that the man was correct, but that the bar was full. Before I could finish my thought, a person got up and the older gentleman told me to take the empty bar stool.
“No sir. You were here first.”
He assured me it was fine and I took the seat next to a man dressed in a long-sleeved, plaid shirt and a baseball hat. The man in plaid was there assisting in rerouting some of the local waterways in order to restore roads. He had driven in from Arkansas with his skid steer and trailer and had spent the past week moving dirt and rock.
And yes, the food was amazing and surprisingly inexpensive. I truly can't complain that the only steak they had was sirloin tips. I really was wanting a steak that night. They were also out of about half their side dishes. But, what they had was great. And, they were recovering from a major flood. I left a very good tip.
The apartment was quite nice, though I did battle with the classic porcelain tub and the shower curtains. Pretty? Yes. Practical? Not in any way. And there was internet on the TV, so I was able to get some news by way of YouTube. And as soon as my head hit the pillow around 10:30pm, I fell asleep. And that ended Day Two, Tuesday, October 8.
Wednesday, October 9, 2024
I generally sleep seven hours every night. There are variations, but that is my personal 'standard.' And so it was that I awoke that Wednesday morning at around 5:30am. The pattern would hold for the duration of the trip.
I prepared for the day, grabbed everything that I though I might need, and left for a fine drive-through breakfast. Yum, again. I decided to take a different route to Clyde and the Anglicans, and found myself shrouded in fog. It was a cool, almost comforting sort of fog. I found the local VFW post and the adjacent Blue Ridge Southern. There I took photos of the Blue Ridge Southern locomotives, a pair of WATCO GP39-2s and the VFW's UH-1H Huey. All three vehicles were clean and well-maintained.
WATCO is one of the largest shortline railroad and contract rail switching companies in the world. Years ago, I worked for WATCO at a paper mill in Eastover, South Carolina. I performed a variety of jobs there and thoroughly enjoyed the work. It was one of my childhood dreams to work for a railroad. So, when I encounter a WATCO railroad or switching service, I try to get photos. And I did this time. As well as pics of the Huey. I am a retired army aviation soldier after all.
I then headed to The Vine and picked up additional buckets. With these I set out looking for others who might need the cleaning kits and dropped several off. Then I headed to 505 Main Street where I dropped off the remaining kits on the sidewalk as the store was not yet open. And I didn't have to break any traffic laws on this day! I saw that a number of items had been picked up overnight from the sidewalk. So, I tidied up around the storefront, taking the small bit of trash to the nearby trash can, and breaking down more boxes that had been left empty. These I also loaded up and took to the recycling center in Waynesville.
Deciding that there was little use in my going the The Pinnacle Church that morning, I drove directly to Woodland. There I was able to enter the church early and I decided to tackle the section of the fellowship hall/gymnasium with the camping and survival gear. It was not in any sort of order that was easily accessible, so I decided to make it so. By the end of the day I would also find myself helping to keep the adjacent section of medical items sorted, too.
And it was here that I continued to see the amazing Hand of God at work.
We began to run low on batteries which, of course, are essential when there is no electricity available. I let the inventory crew know of the problem and continued my self-appointed chores when suddenly appeared two large boxes of batteries of all the most popular types. Then we began running low on flashlights, and then there were two large boxes of flashlights at exactly the right time. The same happened with charcoal, which many storm victims were using to cook.
Now, I must admit that I have been remiss in explaining the amazing operation the church had set up over the previous week. Generally, it worked exceptionally well. Any professional logistician, I believe, would have approved.
At the parking lot entrance people were asked what they were there to do: donate, pick up, or volunteer. There was the occasional outlier who had an appointment with the pastor, but that was the general gist of it. They would then be directed to volunteer parking at the far end of the parking lot, donations to the left at the large double doors at the other end of the parking lot, or to pick up where they were directed to a specific parking spot in the center of the lot. Here, the 'greeters' went to each vehicle with an order sheet developed and printed up by the church and got orders from the people in their cars. The customers were not allowed inside for fear that there could be too large a crowd, or perhaps an altercation could erupt over some item. So these folks stayed in their cars in the parking lot. To designate that a car had been seen and the order taken, a blank sticky note was affixed to the back of the vehicle.
As a side, one of the volunteers unknowingly parked in the customer area having arrived very early and not knowing the protocol. The greeters, mostly middle school and high school students, realizing that a volunteer's SUV was parked in the wrong space began placing the used sticky notes all over the back of the SUV. After a bit, the volunteer, whose name will stay anonymous to prevent embarrassment, noticed all the sticky notes across his vehicle.
“What's with all that?”
“You're parked in the wrong spot.”
“Oh, yeah. Right.”
And he soon moved it. But only after he removed the sticky notes.
The greeters would take the order sheets to the 'shoppers' whose job it was to get those items requested by the customer. The shopper would also ensure by perusing the order sheet what other items might be useful to the customer. Those other items would be thrown into the order for good measure. They shopped using regular shopping carts from the local Food Lion, as well as the occasional hand truck for bulkier items like cases of bottled water, dog food, etc. I made a point to ensure that the shoppers packed can openers if they were getting canned items. I was truly amazed how many can openers were donated!
The shoppers would then take the items to the cars as noted on the request sheet. Also noted were the number of family members being helped and license numbers to assist the shoppers in finding which car was which.
At the donation receiving area was a crew that helped to unload the donated items and take them into the fellowship hall. There a crew would then inventory the items and place them for movement to the shopping area. In some cases, items would have to be thrown away due to broken packages and seals, or the obvious act of someone throwing away their out-of-date or used items. Broken cases of bottled water were set aside and these water bottles distributed to the workers to ensure everyone stayed hydrated.
One morning a volunteer noted online a recall of a certain brand of baby wipes. And so I found myself that particular morning helping sort through the hundreds (thousands?) of baby wipe packages, cases, and boxes to ensure the offending product was set aside and not distributed to an unknowing disaster victim. Eventually, the other volunteer hit upon the ingenious idea to just post a sign warning to set them aside. Problem solved.
And through it all, perhaps the oddest food item that I encountered outside of the guinea pig food, was a can of H.E.B.-brand Cream of Jalapeno soup. I took that one home. My curiosity certainly got the best of me. I pray the Lord will forgive me.
So, we received items of just about every kind. And we sorted them and did our level best to distribute it all as equitably as a first-come-first-served system could make it. And we also encountered the occasional human leech. In one case a car pulled up that had obviously been to at least one or two other centers already. The greeter who took the order at the vehicle went to Pastor Black. He stated matter-of-factly that we were not here to judge, but to spread the Gospel of Jesus through our actions. So he said to just give them the minimum of what they had requested. There's not an Israelite King that could have done any better, in my opinion.
Lunch and dinner were again provided by the Salvation Army. The Salvation Army group from coastal New Bern, North Carolina, was there Tuesday. Wednesday they arrived from the local area. Busy as we were, I honestly can't remember who helped out Friday. Monday the local Ingle's grocery store deli donated food that was prepped by the church's kitchen and distributed to any and all who were hungry. The culinary highlight of the week for me, though, was a crew that showed up Thursday and set up their giant grill and smoker. And they served the most amazing dish of smoked and barbecued pork belly.
I again ended the day quite spent. This night I drove straight to the Airbnb, showered again in that aggravating shower, lay down on the futon and watched some TV, though I was frustrated that the rabbi failed to provide tea alongside the coffee. I stayed up till 10:30 and again fell hard asleep for seven very restful hours. And that ended Day Three, Wednesday, October 9.
Thursday, October 10, 2024
The day broke like so many post-hurricane days bright and sunny, though a fall chill was again obvious. I worried about the victims who were sleeping in tents and under tarps or in their cars. I had that highly anticipated Shoney's breakfast (it didn't disappoint) and drove to The Vine which was locked up tight this morning. So, I headed back to Waynesville. Enroute, I decided to have my truck's oil changed. I stopped at the Valvoline quick lube and was informed that they were out of the oil I needed. But, the attendant was sure that the other facility in town by the Burger King was stocked. So off I went to the Valvoline quick lube by the Burger King. And they DID have the right oil.
And then I was off to Woodland Baptist. I was again able to get in early this morning, and decided to truly tackle the medical items section. The camping/survival area was still in good order. A couple of ladies had spent Tuesday straightening up the medical items, but over two days it had gotten re-disorganized. So I jumped in head first. In just two days we had received an amazing amount of new items, including surgical items. It was clear that we wouldn't be handing out IV needles, cannulae, or other items of the like, so I set them aside in one of the many boxes piling up in two collection points in the hall.
This is another job that was obviously needed. And when needed, someone would take it upon themselves to break down the many boxes and neatly stack them to be taken to the recycle center. Others would gather the trash and garbage that accumulated throughout the church. Various members owning trucks would gather the trash and broken-down boxes as needed and haul them away. It was surprising the amount of trash that was being produced.
Anyway, I separated the surgical items and found the Worship & Family Pastor Ethan Conners, a nurse in his regular, paying job. Finding him down the long hallway to the entrance, I explained my medical discovery.
“Okay. Let's go take a look.”
I then turned and lead him down the hall and back into the fellowship hall where we were somehow separated. I imagine that someone had pulled him aside as we passed and when he again turned to follow I was gone. I guess I'm faster and stealthier than I thought! Not too shabby for an old, overweight guy.
Nevertheless, I continued sorting and assisting shoppers and stockers as necessary while sorting and separating the surgical items. Finally, I found a hand truck, loaded the boxes of surgical items, and went to look for Pastor Conners again. After getting instructions I took them to the church office and stashed them as instructed in a closet for use or disposal by Ethan.
One of the more interesting events that week was a foray by a group who had learned that rural firefighters and energy responders were literally destroying their safety gear. This was due to near constant use, much of it in circumstances their gear was never intended for, in the recovery work. So, this group was approaching all the volunteer distribution centers looking for galoshes, rubber boots, waders, work gloves, and the like. They gathered it all up and made their way into the hills to distribute the items to the first responders.
And this was the day of pork belly. I couldn't eat all that was given to me, so I wrapped it up and took it back to my apartment. It served as breakfast the next morning.
I ended the day assisting in the inventory of incoming donations. Again, the church had developed check sheets and a manner to tally the day's donations. Now, yes, it was an imperfect science. I guarantee that the totals coming in and the totals going out will never jibe. For instance, it was found that to expedite the incoming inventory it was necessary to count a sealed box of ramen as one item, the same as a single cup of ramen noodles. And all canned items that were in a liquid, whether soups or sauces were counted as soup. Nevertheless, it was all being done to give a semblance of order and form to what can only be described as an event of disorder and formlessness. It was explained to me that state law required that it be done.
So, okay. Let's do it. One thing learned by everyone at the beginning of the disaster was just how badly government - any government - can screw things up.
I again got away well past 6:00pm and headed straight for the Airbnb. I showered and relaxed with a Mountain Dew I had purchased at the gas station where I filled up my truck in Waynesville. There I ran into one of my fellow Woodland volunteers. And it still amazes me the smiles and cheerfulness I encountered throughout the week, whether from volunteers or victims.
Speaking of volunteers, I should take time to tell you about these people. During the week I was there at Woodland Baptist Church we had a large group of middle and high school students who were all out of school due to the emergency. In some cases the schools had been flooded and were getting cleaned up. In other cases, students couldn't reach school because of washouts, landslides, subsidence, and flooding. Or, they no longer had a home.
So, for two weeks these young people were working hard to help their community. But, the next Monday they all would return to school.
Students from nearby Western Carolina University, including the women's' basketball team, also had volunteered at the church. Numerous area retirees volunteered, too. And also Virginia, who I found out may be kin through marriage! A day later I would contact another cousin, Ginny, from another branch of my family and find out that Virginia's deceased husband had been 15-year-old Ginny's very first date way back when! It truly is a small world!
There was a smattering of people like myself who had come in from out of the area to help in the recovery. These included groups such as Samaritan's Purse, Team Rubicon, and Cajun Navy. These groups arrived within days, if not hours, of the disaster.
So, at the end of the day Thursday, I picked up my pork belly, noted the troops of the 82nd Airborne Division rolling by the church in their Infantry Squad Vehicles as they headed to the county fairgrounds and their bivouac, and headed to my apartment to shower, relax, start packing, and go to bed. And that ended Day Four, Thursday, October 10.
Friday, October 11, 2024
I awoke Friday morning, heated up my pork belly and ate, check the news and my email, packed, loaded the truck, and headed to the Woodland Baptist Church one last time. I had some things that were pressing me at home, and I hadn't heard Him calling me to stay, so I planned to leave for home no later than 3:00pm.
I headed directly to the church where I was met by a church member who wouldn't allow me inside due to Adam and his family living there. Therefore, I grabbed my hat and vest, and headed to the church parking lot entrance where I set myself up at around 8:30.
There I was soon interacting with volunteers, potential donors, and needy folks. And then two North Carolina Army National Guard soldiers arrived in a HMMWV, aka “Humvee,” with a table and chairs.
“Can I help you sergeant?” I inquired.
“Yeah. We're supposed to drop of this table and chairs here.”
“Do you know what for?”
“Nope.”
So, I let them through and they dropped off the items. After a short conversation, they hopped in their Humvee and rolled out. Then Federal employees began to arrive. They told us that they were at the church for a meeting with the Federal Emergency Management Agency at 10:00. Yet no one at the church was aware of the meeting.
“Well, FEMA has it on their Facebook page!” I guess we now know what the table and chairs were for. It's a shame the church and FEMA were unaware.
The Feds all left by 11:00 when FEMA failed to show up. On top of that, storm victims were showing up to see FEMA after seeing posts that the agency would be at the church between 9am and 2pm. FEMA finally arrived some time around noon and set up a tent in the parking lot to talk to people who had gone online to apply for assistance. What people who had no internet access were supposed to do, I have no idea.
In the week I was in western North Carolina, I heard positive comments about FEMA and the Federal government once. That's it. Just once. The general attitude I heard was voiced by Beverly an 505 Main Street: “We don't need the government. We can handle this ourselves.”
And I have ZERO doubt that she was right.
Another man arrived around 9:30 in his truck from Mississippi with donations. He wouldn't be able to wait till noon nor return before 6pm. I instructed him to place the items in my truck, which I pointed to sitting in the parking lot, which he did.
Other volunteers began to arrive and I directed them to parking. Others pulled up to see FEMA. I had to tell them that we knew nothing of FEMA, which was tough because I knew that they needed help. And I finally walked down to the entrance for the 11:30 meeting. Pastor Black gave his instructions and a prayer. I offered to continue my work in the fellowship hall, and was asked to take charge of the inventory area and stockers. I replied that I would, but that I would have to leave no later than 3pm. I apologized for leaving early, and the pastor thanked me for coming to Waynesville.
“Don't thank me, sir,” I replied. “The Lord sent me and I learned long ago not to argue with Him. Thank Him for me being here.”
"Well thanks for listening to Him."
So, I found myself back in the fellowship hall heading up the inventory/reception area. There were a number of new volunteers who needed instruction, and someone to manage the movement of incoming items. I was in constant movement through lunch and finally hit The Wall around 1:15.
I must assume that athletes, military service members, and old people know The Wall intimately. I was spent physically. I was disappointed that I could no longer function. I turned over my job to the folks I worked with that day and found Pastor Black to let him know I was leaving. I trudged out to my truck and saw the items left by the Mississippian. So, I drove up the exit and turned back into the entrance and into the donation line. A short while later, I helped to unload my truck, grabbed a couple of bottles of water, and left western North Carolina.
I am fortunate that my daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughter were quite literally on my way home. Darlene was spending the night assisting them with babysitting, so I was able to swing by and enjoy pizza with them. But, I needed to get home. So, now becoming more physically and now mentally tired, I decided to follow my GoogleMaps instructions to go by way of Interstates 26 and 20 instead of taking our regular route home on South Carolina Highway 34. I would soon regret the decision. I got stuck in a traffic jam at what is locally known as “Malfunction Junction” in the northwest of Columbia. The intersection of Interstates 20, 26, 126, and Bush River, Broad River, and St. Andrews Roads are being improved with a massive construction project that has been years in the making. The decision would lose me nearly an hour enroute to home.
And it's where mental exhaustion arrived.
I arrived at home and began to unpack, showered, and prepared for bed. And that ended Day Five, Friday, October 11.
And it would take me at least three or four days to recover.
In the end, I feel blessed to have been called to help the victims of Hurricane Helene. It was a beautiful, wonderful, frightening, and sad trip. I met some amazing, incredible people. I heard people express anger, determination, and hope. Mostly hope. And it was truly, truly a blessing that I will cherish till my death.
Thank you Lord. Amen.
