The Stolen Future of Western North Carolina

This is a blog that I never envisioned writing or one I ever really wanted to write. However, I sit here today with tear-stained cheeks, pouring out my love and condolences to those in the western part of the state. While I have never lived there, I have always felt the sheer amount of warmth that radiates from these mountains.

To those looking to support the state after the devastation of Hurricane Helene, check out my blog post or go to: https://www.vpm.org/news/2024-10-01/hurricane-helene-donations-relief-western-north-carolina-blue-ridge-public-radio

I woke up on Friday to an eerie quiet in Chapel Hill. The hurricane had been brewing for days, and as it finally made landfall, I couldn’t stop thinking about my family in western North Carolina. Morganton, Boone, Asheville—these places feel like home, and now they are in the storm’s direct path.

As I made my coffee, alarms blared from every device I owned. The rain started, and soon after, messages flooded in from friends and family—until, abruptly, they stopped. The storm knocked out power and the internet, leaving them cut off. Helpless, I sat scrolling through photos and videos of homes drowning in floodwaters, cars floating away, and people struggling to find shelter. Everything was happening so fast, and it felt impossible to wrap my mind around the scale of the devastation.

Boone, central to my family’s story for decades, was one of the hardest-hit areas. For nearly 30 years, we’ve spent every Thanksgiving there. It’s not just a holiday tradition; it’s part of who we are. From my mom to my cousins, everyone in my family went to Appalachian State. Even my oldest sister got married in the area. Boone is where we’ve always felt grounded, where we return year after year.

All smiles as we take our newly annual hike around Boone over the Thanksgiving holiday.

But now, as I watched the storm surge through its streets, it didn’t feel like the place we’ve always known. I imagined the homes we drive past during Thanksgiving looking nothing like they used to, the familiar streets and shops submerged in water.

Chimney Rock, another place that has always felt timeless, was nearly washed away. The town, once a fortress of nature, was no match for the storm. Watching video after video of water tearing through the town felt like witnessing a piece of our state’s history disappear.

It wasn’t just buildings or roads being destroyed—it was stories. The people who built their lives there, whose children grew up in these communities, now saw everything they worked for taken away.

The loss isn’t just personal; entire rural communities feel it. For many in Weaverville, Brevard, and Canton, these stories are painfully familiar. These aren’t just names on a map—they’re homes where generations have lived, worked, and built their lives. People who know the land intimately have seen everything uprooted in an instant.

I think about the people we’ve met during our Thanksgiving trips—the shopkeepers, neighbors, and families who gather just like ours. I wonder what their lives look like now. How many have lost everything? How many won’t be able to rebuild? One might assume these small towns will recover quickly, but the truth is, some won’t. People in these rural communities have lost everything, and for many, they’ll never get it back. This storm didn’t just wash away homes—it took livelihoods, futures, and irreplaceable memories.

What breaks my heart is knowing these towns will never be the same. The mountains might still stand, but everything has changed for the families who’ve built their lives there. There’s a shared loss that goes beyond physical destruction. It’s the weight of knowing life won’t return to what it was. So many of the people of Boone, Chimney Rock, and Asheville will never have the chance to rebuild the way they once lived. It’s a loss that’s hard to measure and one that many are now grappling with.

As I sit here, safe in Chapel Hill, I can’t help but think about the pain and uncertainty these communities face. Boone has always been more than just a town for my family—it’s been a symbol of home, warmth, and tradition. Now, as we prepare to return this Thanksgiving, I know it won’t feel the same. For so many others in these rural areas, “going back” is no longer an option.

The girls and their grandpa are in Blowing Rock for their annual Christmas parade in 2011.

We’ll go back to Boone, but it will be different. For the families who can’t go back at all, who’ve seen everything they own swept away, there’s no easy path forward. What’s left behind is the question of what comes next, and for many, there are no clear answers.

For those of us who can’t be there physically, there are ways to support these communities:

• DONATE: Consider contributing to the Western North Carolina Disaster Relief Fund. Your donations provide emergency housing, food, and rebuilding efforts.

• VOLUNTEER: If you’re nearby, volunteer with local organizations like the Appalachian Community Fund, which works directly with those impacted to address immediate needs and long-term recovery.

• SUPPORT LOCAL FOOD BANKS: Local food banks like MANNA FoodBank are in desperate need of donations to ensure that families aren’t going hungry as they rebuild their lives.

Your help can make a big difference. Together, we can offer a light in these dark times. Consider donating or volunteering to aid the recovery efforts.

For many families in rural North Carolina, the future feels uncertain, but through our support, we can offer hope and help them rebuild.

It’s with a heavy heart that I write this blog, reflecting on a loss I never could have imagined. To those who have lost loved ones, homes, and everything they’ve known: we see you, we stand with you, and we are here for you. From Manteo to Murphy, North Carolina’s strength lies in our ability to come together.