Fall is Interrupted

I love Fall. Where I live in Western North Carolina, Fall is less about pumpkin spice and more about crisp mountain air, glorious displays of color, and the crunch of leaves under my feet. I’m not a fan of hot weather, so when the calendar turns from August to September and the days begin to shorten, I am eager to feel the first cool breezes and see the first tinge of red in the foliage of the maple trees. But this year, things aren’t the same. Fall was interrupted.

Don’t misunderstand. Fall arrived right on schedule on September 22, with little fanfare. Pumpkin Spice Lattes had already made their debut in early August. The temperatures had cooled off a little, and I dispensed with the air conditioner and opened my bedroom windows.

Rain, rain go away

Though we started out the month in a mild drought, that didn’t last. We had plenty of rain in the first few days of September, and many of us commented on how this would affect leaf season. Sometimes a rainy September can mute the Fall color, but before this year, I don’t remember a “bad” leaf season.

Then on September 25, it started raining again. And forecasters had been watching a storm in the Gulf of Mexico that quickly strengthened to the now infamous Hurricane Helene. Here in the mountains a low-pressure system had stalled and brought flooding rains before Helene began her deadly trek north. And Fall was interrupted

Fall interrupted by Helene

Hurricane Helene made landfall in Florida around midnight on Thursday night. And by 4:00 AM on Friday, a persistent barrage of weather alerts and evacuation notices roused most of us from sleep, and  memories of another storm now two decades in my past filled my mind with unwanted pictures of destruction. The fear I had kept pushed into the recesses of my mind took over my thoughts and tears ran down my cheeks as I forced myself to remember I was on high ground. Even if the river rose, I no longer lived in its floodplain.

A Devastating Blow

I gave up trying to sleep, made coffee and talked on the phone to a friend who saw my post and knew I was awake. News reports were spotty, but I could tell that our area had experienced a devastating blow. I kept hearing and seeing the name Swannanoa. This is my home town and it was on national news. 

Dawn came, but the rain didn’t stop. The wind was relentless, and I regretted not stowing my outdoor furniture in a safer place. I could see tree limbs down and lots of leaves and debris in the road, but nothing major was amiss for my immediate neighbors. I called or texted my closest friends. And then it all went dark. 

Dystopian reality

It seemed like a nightmare or the plot from a dystopian novel. We found ourselves isolated with no contact outside our own little community. The power came on a few hours later. But cell phones remained useless. And even the neighbors who had landlines discovered they too were dependent on the internet.

As we ventured out, it became clear that our world had changed in the space of a few hours. Most gas stations were closed, and the few that were open were only accepting cash.

Life when Fall is Interrupted

It is no exaggeration to say that Fall was interrupted. Indeed, it seemed that life itself was disrupted in a way no one ever imagined.

My car radio became a lifeline when I realized that  though internet radio no longer worked AM/FM did. Local stations cranked up generators and supplied information, helped direct rescue efforts, and provided a link to the outside.

Travelogue of Trouble

Those of you reading this blog were most likely aware of the desperate situation long before we were. Tiny towns that once made news as vacation destinations now became synonymous with horror stories. Lake Lure. Chimney Rock. Black Mountain. Swannanoa. They had suffered irreparable damage as water rushed from pristine reservoirs nestled in the higher mountains into isolated valleys with unbelievable speed and force. Hundreds were dead.* Thousands were displaced.

Not again. Please not again. 

Canton, my adopted hometown, has seen a lot of destruction in the past 20 years. Twin hurricanes destroyed the downtown in 2004. 

Then in 2021, another tropical storm killed 7 people and displaced many others in a flash flood that washed campgrounds and homes down the Pigeon River into the Bethel valley below. Then in 2022, the paper mill that had sustained hundreds of locals for 100 years closed.

Now Helene has destroyed much of our infrastructure once again.

A solemn perspective

Sunday morning, I took my coffee and Bible onto my front porch. Fall was in the air, so I donned a sweatshirt and took a fluffy blanket with me. My dogs joined me as I looked over the familiar mountain scenery. The cooler breezes that have been happy heralds of crisp days and afternoon hikes now seemed sinister as I imagined hundreds of people stranded in mountain coves and valleys without power or water.

I thumbed through my Bible until I found the passage I was looking for. “God is our refuge and strength, a very ready help in trouble.  Therefore we will not fear though the earth shakes and the mountains slip into the heart of the sea. Though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains quake at its swelling pride.” Psalm 46: 1-3

Cataclysmic? Or worse?

Words have failed us as we try to describe what we have seen and experienced. Apocalyptic. Cataclysmic. Unprecedented. Calamitous. Catastrophic. I heard the mayor of my small town as he talked to news reporter. He settled on the word “cataclysmic”. But even that didn’t do justice to what we had seen.

An ancient perspective on a modern problem

Somehow these words, penned by an anonymous worship leader who lived more than 2 millennia ago, expressed what I felt. This guy got it. He had watched mountains slip into the sea, rivers turned to lakes and waters roaring their discontent. And yet, he declares, “We will not fear.” And in my heart I whispered, “But God, I am afraid. How can I not be? Nothing is familiar.” 

But reading the words again, I realized that the Psalmist didn’t start with a rant about roaring waves or falling mountains. He started by declaring who he knew God to be. “God is our refuge and our strength.”  

We serve a God who does not change. 

Hurricanes change landscapes, undermine roads and  bridges and wash out towns. But God doesn’t change. He is still a refuge for those of us who will turn to Him. He doesn’t promise we will escape harm or loss. But he promises to be there with us, a refuge, a safe place in the storm, not outside the storm. 

Normal? Fall is Interrupted

The days since Helene tore our world apart here in Southern Appalachia have been chaotic. Churches have transformed into distribution centers of every kind of supply imaginable. Helicopters, once a rare sight, fly over several times a day.  Work crews from as far away as Canada have come to repair power lines. Mule teams have trekked supplies to remote people cut off by road closures. Many friends have rushed to help in this desperate situation. 

But many of my neighbors have lost jobs in the wake of the devastation.  And we have reluctantly asked tourists to stay home this year. There is not room, and many of the roads have vanished. But tourism has been the foundation of our economy for years.  We will have to regroup.

Fall is interrupted. Or is it?

But I was wrong. Fall isn’t interrupted. Cooler breezes are blowing. We can see hints of red and orange high on the ridge tops. Fall will come. 

In all the chaos, my mind struggle to be at peace. I fight guilt for escaping the storm this time. I search how I can help. And I know that yet another huge storm is approaching Florida. How can I not be discouraged when everything is unstable? 

Stop fighting. Be Still 

The Psalmist struggled with uncertainty. But he recognized the voice of God.  “Stop striving and know that I am God.”Or another translation says “Be still”.

I need to refocus my scattered thoughts and declare that God is in charge. He has not left us and He will not.

These are difficult days for many of us. But the psalmist faced similar struggles long before us. And his words live to comfort us. Fall is not interrupted. Because God is God.  

*As of October 8, 2024, there have been 232 confirmed deaths, and the count is expected to rise in days to come. 

Scripture is from the NASB 1995. Copyright by the Lockman Foundation.

If you are interested in helping with ongoing relief efforts in areas affected by Hurricane Helene, I have added links to organizations who are active in my area. 

• https://www.mapglobal.org/rebuildwnc
• https://www.samaritanspurse.org/disaster/hurricane-helene/?utm_source=Bing&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=m_YYND-B24V&utm_content=HurricaneHelene&msclkid=8f06ff1e3a7a1a0435bf981ba375dfd4&utm_term=samaritan%27s%20purse
• https://baptistsonmission.org/Mission-Projects/By-Mission-Type/Disaster-Relief/Hurricane-Helene
• https://eightdaysofhope.com
• https://www.theorchardnc.com/relief/
• https://newcovenantchurchclyde.churchcenter.com/giving
• https://spiritandtruthch.com
• https://www.overflowasheville.com/give