Affirming our Humanity

Over the past month, despite much of the surrounding national forest still being closed, we’ve braved some of the hiking trails. Hiking has felt very healing, if not also tender. Just a hundred yards in, it’s possible to feel so full of life and gratitude, only to round a corner and be gut-punched by the sight of a landslide or by being forced to turn around because the number of downed trees is truly impassable. Below, you’ll see a panoramic photo of one of the smaller landslides that occurred during Helene, which literally ripped faces off the sides of the Black Mountains where we live. You’ll also see River in the snow on our way up Bailey Mountain, which we summited with ease because a neighbor cut through sixty four trees that were blocking the ¾-mile-long trail behind our house.

There are signs of perseverance and kindness everywhere. A few days ago, five Virginia Tech undergraduate students, accompanied by two tree professionals, arrived at our doorstep. These youths had decided to spend their spring break volunteering to help Helene survivors and were working their way down the list when they got to our request. This crew of seven spent three hours (that’s 21 human-powered hours of labor) chainsawing trees on our property that had partially fallen and that have been presenting a hazard ever since. Their work enabled the trees to fall the rest of the way, and then they set to work clearing the debris into a large pile at the edge of our property. They left with smiles on their faces. To say that we were grateful would be an understatement! And what a great experience for River to witness!

I decided to also include a photo of a school classroom that I cleaned out when volunteering at one of our relief centers. It was an incredibly dusty job (I wore a mask), and when I finished, I took a look at the room and was struck by the tube of Bluey-themed Crest toothpaste, the empty chair, and the angled light. To me, it told the story of what used to be (a classroom full of kids), what came and went (relief supplies following Helene), and what might come next (the light suggesting possibility).

Thanks to everyone for your ongoing care and awareness that climate disasters don’t just involve the acute phases of disaster and response; there are many parts to this experience, and it will be years before everything is fixed. (Example: we still don’t have local internet service or landlines repaired at our house, and the road and bridge from the highway to our driveway is getting rougher by the day.) We all know there’s no going back; I don’t think anyone could kid themselves about that. But it’s true that it takes actual energy and exertion to keep waking up and living our lives in a place that is filled with so much yearning and need, and to collectively not know what our community will look like as the years unfold. One thing is certain, though: we’re resilient and closer to one another than ever before.

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