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City bands remain united

City bands remain united


Some North Carolina residents desperately searched for missing relatives and feared the worst. Others grappled with the next steps.

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RED HILL, N.C. — James Waters watched as Helene's torrential rains and fierce winds decimated his farm amid the rolling slopes of North Carolina's Appalachian Mountains, snapping trees, ripping out fences and causing a landslide.

“The whole side of the mountain collapsed,” he said. “Then it filled the valley with mud.”

It took him a whole day to dig with a farm excavator all the way to the main road. He found winding roads littered with broken power lines, fallen limbs, thick mud and debris. In some areas, cars were washed into ditches. A neighbor found a body near a river bank, he said.

No one had cell service or electricity. People could not find out whether their relatives were alive or dead. Waters knew he had a big recovery ahead of him. But his family had survived. So, like others in the area, he first grabbed his chainsaw to help clear the streets and check on the neighbors.

On Sunday afternoon, he drove his mud-white Chevy pickup truck – an 8,000-watt generator in the back – to a dark general store in Red Hill, a tiny mountain community near Bakersville that sits on a road between steep hillsides.

The store, run by Kacie Smith, 28, and her father, is a gathering place for the community. Outside, there were two soda machines next to an old diesel pump with a sign advertising live bait. Inside, residents typically pick up pickled eggs, aspirin, chewing tobacco, batteries, lottery tickets, snacks and community news — at least before the power goes out.

Since the storm, they had lost over $6,000 worth of stock, the ceiling was sagging from water and the gas pumps weren't working. After arriving, Water pointed a flashlight at a fuse box to tamper with the generator's connection. Smith said such help is simply the way things are done.

Smith added that much of the tree removal from roads in her area through Sunday was done by residents who didn't wait for overwhelmed state crews. “It’s Red Hill — it’s a pretty close-knit community,” she said, warning that the recovery would likely be long and painful for the region.

“There has been nothing but mass destruction here,” she warned.

I search in fear, fearing the worst

There was further destruction from Helene in western North Carolina and parts of eastern Tennessee on Sunday: bridges were washed away, roads were closed, buildings were destroyed and power was shut off. At least 90 people have died in several states since the record-breaking storm struck the United States last week.

At a church shelter in Greeneville, Tennessee, just across the Red Cross state line, volunteers baked pancakes early Sunday for a handful of people still sleeping on cots after being forced from their homes. Many who were there the previous night had found shelter with friends or in hotels, said Pat Barraclough, a volunteer.

In Erwin, a town of about 6,000 people, people from the storm-hit region streamed into a local high school used as a shelter to get hot food, bottled water and clothing. Some were still desperately searching for missing relatives, fearing they would be swept away by the floods. Others struggled with next steps because they lost access to their homes or saw businesses damaged.

Some had traveled from North Carolina, winding through treacherous mountainous backroads littered with power lines and fallen trees, avoiding roads cut off by washed-out bridges. Some bought fuel for generators and returned home.

How can I help those affected by Helene? Here are ways you can donate.

Further west of Red Hill, in the town of Burnsville, more than 100 people lined up outside a grocery store to buy food. In another location, people crowded around an emergency aid Wi-Fi location. The streets were clogged with supply and emergency vehicles.

Smith had also traveled to Tennessee, where telephone service still existed. Back in Red Hill on Sunday, she spoke to a steady stream of people who pulled up to ask for directions while their phones or maps were working.

“What’s the road like down to the bridge?” Can I drive there in my car?” a woman asked. “Can I get over this?”

“They worked on it. Maybe you can get through today,” she replied.

A resident handed Smith a note and asked her to call the next time she went to a place with cell service. It was a piece of paper with a phone number and the name of his neighbor's family. “He is fine, but we have no electricity, cell phone or internet,” it said.

Smith said most of her neighbors made it, too. And she's confident they'll be fine, even if there's a chance they won't have power.

“Everyone is in the same boat here. But they will survive,” Smith said. “They have their grills, their generators.”

“We'll check on the neighbors.” That's what we do'

Waters isn't sure if insurance will cover his damage to his farm, which includes cattle and a sawmill. He knows it's a long road. At least his Scottish Highland cows survived, he said.

But he also sees a silver lining as he watches some people who rarely speak suddenly find themselves compelled to help each other. That's encouraging at a time of political division, he said. And this glimmer of hope also applies to his children, he said.

“They learn about life without the internet. My son was able to go out and learn how to help the neighbors,” Waters remembers. “He asks, 'Where are we going?' We'll check on the neighbors. These are good lessons.

When the light wanted to come on Sunday afternoon, Waters – aided by friends who were trying to figure out why the generator wasn't working – finally saw the lights flicker back on as the generator roared. The lottery sign lit up. The freezer turned on again.

The gas pumps didn't work, but they kept going.

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