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I can hardly believe it, but we’re coming up on a full year since the nightmare known as Hurricane Helene barged into our lives, flipped everything upside down, and left us all wondering if Mother Nature was going through something and needed a nap and a snack.
Like much of North Carolina, we’re still knee-deep in the cleanup… emotionally and literally. We were among the lucky ones, damage-wise, but lucky doesn’t mean unscathed—it just means we are likely to finish the clean up at some point. On a recent trip to Asheville, we passed entire hillsides still stacked three stories high with tree limbs, siding, and what I swear was the remains of hundreds of people’s homes and lives. Some places may never fully recover, and the heartbreak of that truth hasn’t lessened.
In the early days after Helene’s rampage, someone coined the word “guiltitude”—a mashup of guilt and gratitude—and let me tell you, it stuck. I feel it every time I see how close we came to devastation. It’s the emotional version of survivor’s remorse, just with more chainsaws and tarps involved.
Now, I realize this sounds selfish, and it probably is, but… there is one silver lining I’ve come to appreciate. Thanks to Helene’s fury, the little road that runs in front of Two Rocker Ridge—once a favorite cut-through for every NASCAR wannabe between here and Hickory—has been closed to through traffic. Permanently? Temporarily? Indefinitely? Your guess is as good as the county’s.
What happened is this: about a mile down the road, the sweet little creek that used to babble politely under a modest bridge suddenly decided to audition for Deadliest Catch. The water roared over the bridge, dragged along tree trunks, fence posts, and probably an old recliner, until the whole mess jammed up under the pylons. The bridge gave up. It swayed, bowed, and cracked, so now it sits, damaged and sad, like a metaphor for my emotional state during Helene’s arrival in our state.
The county did come out and assess the situation. They nodded solemnly, put up a couple orange barrels, blocked off the road to through traffic at both ends, and apparently left to work on… anything else. Given how rural we are, I’m pretty sure we’re on the “we’ll get to it when the world slows down” list. Realistically? I give it another year before anyone blinks in our direction again.
I’m fine with that. The peace and quiet are downright luxurious. No more 80-mph pickup trucks trying to set land-speed records past our mailbox. No more evening drag races featuring questionable mufflers and poor life choices.
By the time the bridge gets fixed, I hope our little road ragers have found a new route—or better yet, a new hobby altogether.