This is our second dispatch from Sheri Barker, who is writing in the aftermath of Hurricane Helene. We encourage you to read her first dispatch here.
This pair of worn, torn up work boots has been on the ground since sometime on day two or day three after Helene blew through western North Carolina and the Swannanoa River flooded the valley. They were sitting on top of a couple of feet of mud and debris outside the decimated corner store the first time I saw them, like someone from the crowd of curious or one of the looters just stepped out of them and walked away.
Hundreds of people have walked past the parking lot in the month since the storm. Dozens crowded around outside the store at various times, especially when that end of the neighborhood was being looted. Now different utility and road crews use it as a gathering space before they begin work. Most of the mud has been scraped off the pavement, the mountains of debris are being cleared away, and there are workers hard at it cleaning out the store. It seems our neighbor is going to be able to reopen his family business, possibly before the end of the year.
A pair of old boots on a sidewalk [S. Barker]
Despite all that activity, perhaps in defiance of it, the boots remain. They have been moved around and sometimes separated, but they are never more than a few feet from where they rested shortly after the waters receded. What is it about this battered old footwear that has, without active conversation, unified a community consciousness toward holding space for someone? Or is it holding space for everyone while so many are still missing, and others are afraid of being forgotten? Maybe it is an odd, organic memorial to the resilience of the people who live in these mountains. Maybe the boots are not worth taking (they are not). Whatever it is, I honor it.
This is a month into the aftermath, and I still do not have a full picture of what is happening in all the areas devastated by Helene. I do not think it is possible to live on the ground, function day to day, and zoom out far enough to see the entirety of the scene. I glimpse bits and pieces from reliable sources about my own community, parts of my county, and some of the surrounding areas. For me, there is no visual concept of whole, although my heart and spirit feel it. The course of returning to life and running errands has taken me to some areas I needed to see for myself, and I almost wish I had not turned my eyes upon them. But they are places I watched grow and thrive, and I know in my heart they will come back. Other places are so haunted by the violence of the flooding that I cannot bear to see them. I wonder how and if they will change.
The simple truth of time has moved everyone and everywhere beyond the rescue phase; that is part of the natural order of the unnatural consequences of a natural disaster. Individuals, families, and communities must move into active recovery while still grieving immeasurable losses and dealing with new challenges every day. There is not much time for sitting still even when the manmade construct of time has all but disappeared.
It is no burden to me to leave behind clock and calendar. Doing so has allowed me to fall more deeply into the rhythm of the turning of the Wheel and to be present in this Autumn season. Even during all the turmoil and layers of dust and silt, the harvest season colors are warming my gardens and the mountains that surround my home and Swannanoa. The days grow shorter, the nights grow longer, and without the presence of reliable internet or television to distract it, my brain is trying to move my body into a more instinctive sleep cycle. She is not fully cooperating, but the general idea is to go to sleep shortly after darkness falls and wake up with the rising sun. There is trauma-somnia to contend with, and the seasonal call to wake at midnight and 3:15 a.m., but the early bedtime does have a firm hold. That might be my loving Ancestors crowding around, telling me to get some sleep.
The North Carolina Wildlife Commission has not yet issued information about the loss of wildlife due to the storm. Of course there will never be an exact count, but eventually there will be numbers. In the here and now I have seen some disruption of behavior and reduction in the numbers I am used to observing, but I have no way to tell whether that is due to displacement or to loss. The American Black Bears in this region are still in hyperphagia, trying to consume up to 20,000 calories a day to bulk up for winter. Since Helene I have seen only one live bear, but I know they are active in the neighborhoods around me and on my street because they are hitting dumpsters and trash cans for meals. People who love them like I love them seem to be taking a bit more delight in posting videos and photos; it lifts our spirits when we know our wild neighbors are safe.
A North Carolina landscape [B. Rhodes]
I have seen plump rabbits and groundhogs, one humongous chipmunk, squirrels frantically working to store their food, and more songbirds, raptors, and corvids than I ever recall seeing at this time of year. Two nights ago, I was leaving a restaurant that had just reopened and watched a Great Blue Heron fly over my head and then into the twilight. Something in my heart sighed at the sight of him. The night sounds coming through my open windows are a soothing reminder that the wild goes on being wild, and no matter what I am experiencing nature and the Wheel will continue to do their thing. Last night I heard fox calling, a pack of coyotes engaging in coyote shenanigans, and a Barred Owl hoo-hoo-hooing into the darkness. My Witch heart heard these voices as well as my ears, and that is how I know every little thing is gonna be all right.
The elemental energies and land spirits are making their presence known, but still are not communicating with me. I believe that like the other wild neighbors they were frightened and their energies disrupted by the ferocity of the storm. I leave offerings and clean water for them every day and speak small verses and sing little songs. I am confident that we will eventually go back to our own normal, which is certainly not anyone else’s. I do not try to engage them in magics right now; that would just be rude and inconsiderate behavior.
After my father died my siblings and I helped my mother pack up their house so she could move into an in-law apartment. In their home, life revolved around the dining room table. Daddy kept his shoes on a little rug near his chair because it was easier for him to put them on when he was sitting down. The entire three-story house and basement were emptied of everything else before anyone was able or willing to move those shoes. They were the last thing to go before the house was locked up and my mother was ready to move on. There was something about leaving them in place that bridged the time between that Before and After.
Maybe that’s why those work boots outside of the corner store caught my eye. I suspect when we are truly ready to step into the After and all the change it will bring, those boots will disappear.
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