Helene

 September 27, 2024

The Journal of Hurricane Helene, which I keep in longhand in a sketchbook because the power is out and there’s nothing but paper and ink. Last night was calm except for inexhaustible sheets of lightning to the west. Wind hit around dawn, and as I write there are terrifying gusts of I can’t imagine what velocity. My power went out at about 6:30 AM, accompanied by two giant balls of chartreuse fire, where a tree at the Apartments hit the power lines. Called 911. Nobody answered.. Rose and set out to check on DJ. Couldn’t get there because of deep, swirling water at the intersection. Returned to help a woman with a chainsaw clear the street of the fallen silver maple. She said, “I’m just trying to get home.” I thought it mightily resourceful to travel with a chainsaw. We had it mostly cleared away when a fire engine pulled up and disgorged four firemen and a bigger chainsaw. You don’t realize how big firemen are until you’re among them. Lest we think they were there to help us, they said “We’re headed for an emergency,” and took off as soon as the hole was big enough for a fire truck. Did finally make it to DJ’s. He was safe, but with all his electric accessories, worse off than most of us. The stroll, short as it was, showed me the real damage. Two houses I passed were annihilated by uprooted trees, and the alley behind 62 was a mare’s nest of lumber and incapacitated cars. The damage is theatrical, gratuitous, the immensity and indifference of Nature now past question. I showered and gloated “well, at least we have water,” when the water went off. They’ll blame it on the hurricane, but Asheville’s water system has teetered on the edge of catastrophe since I moved here. Ventured out in my car, having to double back whenever a street was blocked, Devastation unimaginable, everywhere. People wandered the streets, dazed, regarding the ruin of their lives. I hadn’t anticipated the additional peril of dead streetlights, every intersection therefore chaos. Addressed the long dark night by sitting on my front porch drinking bourbon and having a heart-to-heart with God. It was a beautiful experience, actually, and if it had marked the end of the ordeal, it would have been more satisfying as a tale told in following years.