Day 11: Still Without Power, Survivor's Guilt
Impatience and fear don't make anything happen faster
I'm deeply grateful to everyone who has reached out to offer support and contribute to my GoFundMe to help me rebuild after this storm. As independent as I've always been, it's not an easy thing to put your need out in public like this.
Thank you.
There's an odd rhythm to the days now as we wait for power to be restored.
Even though I'm awake before dawn, I lie in bed til it's light or turn over and try to fall asleep. There's no point in getting up early in the dark, other than to make coffee by fairy light and drain my phone battery while checking email, texts and community forums.
Making the bed helps home feel normal even though it's not. I've figured out how to brush my teeth and wash my hands with minimal water. Flushing the toilet is still a stinky situation, and despite my best efforts my pressure tank lost all pressure. I haven't been able to research yet what that means and if it can be fixed.
Backwoods camping in your kitchen and bathroom
Washing dishes, even a small pot from heating a can of soup, becomes a water conservation challenge. Simple kitchen clean up chores take twice as long.
It's like backwoods camping or backpacking, except in your own bathroom and kitchen, conserving water, fuel and battery power. Water jugs and bottles of all kinds line the kitchen counter. There aren't extra supplies in the trunk of the car.
This is Day 11 without power. The electrical crews are working their way toward our community, and were about a mile outside our entrance this afternoon. This crew is from another electric cooperative sent to Western North Carolina to help.
They are working on the large electrical poles with multiple lines that feed the large camp and community next door. It could be days or weeks yet. No estimate on restoration has been provided, and I can see why. They've never dealt with anything like this before.
The quiet is deceiving
The skies are quieter, with only occasional Chinook helicopters and fewer small planes. The drone of generators continues in the background, punctuated periodically by chainsaws.
Our roads are clear thanks to the community's efforts, as are roads heading to Brevard. I hear that other communities like ours tucked back into the mountains still have issues with downed trees and mudslides.
US mail delivery to three zipcodes in the region has been suspended since the storm hit. It gives you a jolt in the gut to realize you're in the middle of such widespread chaos that federal agencies are involved. My zipcode told FEMA I qualified for disaster assistance when I applied for cleanup funds a few days ago.
"You know you've reached a new point in life when you qualify for emergency meal rations," said a neighbor, a retired museum curator.
Mobility and gasoline help people cope
Everyone is coping differently. Now that we're mobile and gas is readily available, many people are driving into town daily for supplies, to eat and just get out where life is back to normal. Brevard, gratefully, was spared the devastation of some other towns but stores are still low on stock.
I've opted to say close to home and my cat, communicating by cell phone now that I have a reliable signal to take care of business and update family, friends and colleagues. Late afternoon I drive over to a neighbor's to recharge the phone and learn the latest community news.
I'm back home before its dark so I can see well enough to cook, eat and clean up. The fairly lights are charming but have limited usefulness.
Navigating the dark nights
And even though I'm ready for bed early, that would only mean I'd be up even earlier in the dark. So I listen to the crickets and generators and read a little. The waterfall in the gorge below me has slipped back into a quiet hum from the ungodly roar after the storm.
I do have open invitations in town for showers, laundry and whatever I need. It gets complicated to go somewhere for several days with a cat when everyone has several cats and dogs. If it looks like we'll be without power for a lot longer, it's something I will consider. A break would be wonderful.
Despite it all, the fall weather is gorgeous if a bit unseasonably warm. The annoying fruit flies and stink bugs have surged again.
Fall tourist season is cancelled
It's doubtful the region will have its second "leaf peeper" tourist season this month since the county has closed its doors to visitors right now.
A neighbor with a vacation rental said all her bookings for October -- her second best month -- have cancelled and renters are cancelling for November. The losses from Hurricane Helene are mounting in quiet, unseen corners.
Unable to do anything about the tangle of seven trees that missed my house, I found ridiculous satisfaction in raking the leaf and twig debris from my gravel driveway. A bit of TLC in the middle of the "debris field" shows the house is not vacant and someone's at home.
Falling trees are still a risk
A neighbor said he heard a tree crack and fall in the forest when he was refilling his generator last evening. Some neighbors heard trees "popping" during the night last week. I heard a few thuds myself. Trees everywhere are compromised in the saturated soil and you never know when one may come down.
Despite the fact that we're safe and our homes are intact -- except for one neighbor who had several trees fall on his home and vehicles -- people are tense, anxiously awaiting the power to come back on. Conspiracy theories are flourishing.
It's difficult to wrap your head, and your emotions, around the fact that wherever you live in Western North Carolina, your life and future is changed. It's trite, but nothing will ever be the same.
Moving beyond survivor’s guilt
I keep wondering when survivor's guilt will settle in, given the horrific devastation further north around Asheville. Every story I read chokes me up. That I've asked the question means it's already here.
I'm guided and comforted by two pieces of advice that are centuries apart.
There's an old piece of wisdom from the Stoics: "What's in the way is the way."
And from every airline safety drill in the world: "Put your oxygen mask on first before you help anyone else."
It's only when I'm strong and solid on my own two feet that I can help others.
My moral responsibility is to deal with what's in front of me every day with an open heart and as much compassion as I can find. Everyone is hurting in some way; look under the anger and you'll find fear.
For me this is a simple, but not easy, spiritual choice: To move into the unknown in trust or in fear. I choose trust.
Hang in there with me please. We will get through this.
Here’s how you can help:
I’ve started a GoFundMe account, Help Marsha Rebuild After the Storm, https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-marsha-rebuild-after-the-storm The goal is $12,000 (GoFundMe takes 19%) to help me meet expenses over the next three months, restock groceries and cover tree removal and other unexpected expenses. That will give me a stable base and time to get the business going.
Subscribe to a paid subscription or pledge to Essential Nature. I will be writing more frequently and will be adding other goodies like Nature-inspired meditations and audio readings of my essays.
For my business, marketing, PR and blogging friends: Help me fill my client pipeline! I can put my decades of writing experience to work on email copywriting and ghostwriting, email newsletters, LinkedIn posts, educational email courses, onboarding, nurturing and sales sequences. Call me at (828) 989-4743 or email marsha@twocrowsmedia.co. Check out my LI profile https://www.linkedin.com/in/marshastopa/ or my one-page website at https://twocrowsmedia.co/
Read my first post after Hurricane Helene:
