It may save your life.

Written by Rays of Gratitude Marketing Director Megan Kanzinger

Marketing Director Megan Kanzinger at Linville Gorge

I know how to prepare for a hurricane. I know to fill up the bathtub, I know to fill extra jugs with drinkable water, I know to get canned fruit and bread, and to always keep a flashlight in the same place. I know these things because I grew up at the beach. We expected hurricanes, we knew when we needed to hunker down and pull our mattresses into the hallway, and we also knew when it was time to leave. When Hurricane Florence hit Wilmington, NC in 2019, that was the first time my family and I evacuated for a storm. We boarded up the windows, collected important documents, and hoped for the best. We were gone for a week, and while we lost a few good trees, the house was okay. We were luckier than a lot of other families. 

I moved to Asheville, NC in January of 2020. I transferred to UNC Asheville to finish college and I’ve weathered a lot of things here. COVID hit three months into my first semester. I totaled my first car after hitting a patch of black ice. My soul dog died. Then Hurricane Helene. 

September 26, 1:42 p.m. My friends and I go to the grocery store to stock up on food before the rainstorm. We’re expecting to lose power, the outer bands of a storm are nothing to scoff at. 

September 26 9:32 p.m. I give my job a heads up that I might lose power in the heavy rain tomorrow. I’ll let them know if I’m able to log on for work. My friend texts me to check in, she sees there’s going to be a lot of rain. I say I’m fine, I’ve weathered rainstorms here before. 

September 27 4:18 a.m. I hear the whoosh of my power going out. My fridge stops, the ceiling fan slows, the AC cuts out. Nothing to hear but the storm screaming outside. My phone goes off, Dam at critical levels. Get to higher ground now. 

September 27 8:36 a.m. I have never heard wind this loud. Branches snapping off of the tree outside, rain slamming into my bedroom window. My power is out, I have a text from my grandma, I send one back saying I’m okay. It goes through. I try to text my boss saying I have no power and can’t work today. It won’t send. 

I fell back asleep until about 11:00 a.m. I was excited, I was going to have a long weekend. I heard from some people in my building that the storm was pretty bad, power might be out for a while. My partner and I went for a drive, expecting to see some debris here and there. I could never have predicted what I would see. Trees completely blocking the road, some tangled in the power lines, the creek near my apartment flooding over the train tracks. Houses destroyed. We had to drive partially on the sidewalk to get around some of the debris. Two weeks earlier I had a picnic at the lake down the road. Now it was brown, rushing with debris. The walking paths washed away, the fishing dock completely submerged.

I had to drive to the top of my mountain to get phone service. I cycled through the family, Mom. Dad. Sister. Brother. I would get one ring before the call failed. All I wanted was to talk to someone, hear my mom’s voice, let her know I was okay. I finally got through to my mom and was able to talk for a few minutes. She told me how bad the storm had been, the devastation that had wrecked my community. 

Over the next few days, I would spend time in the car listening to the daily briefings broadcasted on the radio and I could get temporary internet service at the library. This was my only access to what was going on outside of my community. Everything I learned, where I could get free food, who had water, where to pick up medication or other resources, all came from my community. I passed a woman on the sidewalk who mentioned Montford Deli was giving away free food. An older man at the library told me Pisgah Brewing had free drinkable water and cell service. 

Once one of the highways opened back up, I was able to evacuate. Water had run out and there was no sign of power or service being restored soon. I was lucky to have just filled up my car with gas and still had a full tank. One of my friends had completely run out of fuel while driving around town, so I was able to drop her and her partner off in Charlotte before driving to Wilmington. I never imagined I would need to head to the beach to escape the effects of a hurricane, but I guess climate change is funny like that. 

I stayed with my parents for two weeks until I heard my apartment had power and running water again. While I still have a boil water advisory, I am at least able to shower and cook and live as normal a life as the situation allows. My apartment survived, my life wasn’t destroyed, and I know that so many weren’t as lucky.

Though there were many moments of frustration, anger, fear, I have also never felt closer to my community. The people of Appalachia came together to help one another. People were patient in grocery lines, generous with information, and courteous driving through the powerless traffic lights. The calm after the storm came not only in clear skies and cooler weather, it came in the kindness given to one another. 

It’s been four weeks now, and it feels like the news cycle has moved on. In the neverending stream of news and media, power outages and downed trees don’t hold attention very long. But my community still needs help. There are still thousands without power and hundreds of roads closed due to debris or being washed away in floods. The need for resources has passed canned food and bottled water. We’re heading into winter, and the need for generators, camping stoves, tents, and tarps continues to grow. 

As the country moves on, the people of Asheville can’t. Recovery is slow, and complete relief is far away. And yet, the spirit of the people, the kindness of the mountains, has remained strong and steady. Through everything that happened, I try to remain grateful for the things I still have. I have my home, my friends, my life. 

While preparing for a hurricane means filling the tub with water, buying canned food, and moving your bed away from the window, I now understand preparing for a hurricane should also include befriending neighbors and being an active part of the community. It may save your life.