By Eduardo Medina and Richard Fausset
Erica Scott, a wedding photographer, spent a significant portion of her life in California but relocated to Asheville, North Carolina, 16 years ago with the belief that she was escaping the constant risk of natural disasters. With its temperate mountain climate and location far from the coast, the city appeared to offer a sanctuary from some of the concerns associated with a warming world.
“I always believed that this area was insulated from climate change; we discussed it often in the community,” remarked Scott, 55. “But now I’m beginning to wonder if anywhere is truly safe.”
Various sections of Asheville, a rapidly expanding and culturally vibrant jewel of the Blue Ridge Mountains, were devastated by water and mud after Hurricane Helene surged up the Florida coastline on Friday, sparking devastating flooding across a vast region of the Southeast.
Western North Carolina experienced some of the most severe impacts, prompting Gov. Roy Cooper to label it “one of the worst storms in modern history” for the area. By Monday, the city and many adjacent towns were without running water; electricity and cellular service remained limited.
Asheville, located along the French Broad River, has a historical backdrop of flooding, particularly in 1916, when a series of intense summer storms overwhelmed rivers, resulting in numerous fatalities. Another river, the Swannanoa, is situated nearby.
However, the concern regarding flooding had faded from the minds of many locals as the city thrived in recent years, becoming a haven for artists, chefs, brewmasters, entrepreneurs, and retirees. There was even a sentiment that the threat was fairly well managed: A 2016 article on the city’s website was titled “100 years after the Flood of 1916, the City of Asheville is prepared for the next one.”
Hurricane Helene demonstrated that Asheville, approximately 500 miles from where the storm made landfall in Florida, was not a safe haven from the increasing rains that experts attribute to rising air and ocean temperatures.
This realization came as a shock.
“When I taught dance in public schools, we had tornado drills every month, but hurricane drills or preparedness were never on our agenda,” said Barrie Barton, 64, a public-speaking coach who organizes the local TEDx conference series and spent his childhood in Asheville. “It took many of us by surprise.”
The Blue Ridge Mountains around Asheville have long served as an inspiration for both the affluent and the creative: In the late 19th century, George W. Vanderbilt II, heir of the industrialist Vanderbilt family, commissioned the expansive 250-room Biltmore Estate on the outskirts of town, which remains a major attraction. In the mid-20th century, the now-closed Black Mountain College, just a few miles east of Asheville, drew innovative artists like Merce Cunningham, Cy Twombly, and Willem de Kooning.
The mountains have also attracted later generations who contributed to Asheville’s current transformative period. However, the mountains were not the sole attraction. Some new age followers believe that Asheville, similar to Sedona, Arizona, lies within a potent “energy vortex,” a notion that attracted waves of spiritual seekers beginning around the early 1990s.
Water played a pivotal role as well. In the mid-1980s, artists and craftspeople began occupying large, affordable warehouses in what became the River Arts District along the French Broad River, catalyzing a flourishing arts scene. Meanwhile, craft brewers discovered that the pristine mountain water surrounding Asheville was ideal for brewing beer.
Shortly thereafter, the beer culture exploded. With 42 breweries, as reported by the Brewers Association, Asheville dubbed itself “Beer City USA.” Creative chefs also flocked to the area, helping the city gain acclaim from the culinary media.
At a certain point, the energy felt by new agers seemed to manifest more clearly. New hotels rose, a wide variety of street performers filled downtown, and the city’s population surged from 53,000 in 1980 to over 94,000 by 2020, according to Census data.
Housing prices skyrocketed, raising concerns over the impact of gentrification. A recent municipal report indicated that 36% of Asheville households faced “housing cost burden,” meaning they allocated 30% or more of their income to housing expenses. Officials estimate that 14,000 new homes will need to be constructed by 2050 to accommodate anticipated growth.
Helene brought all of this momentum to a standstill. On Monday, the River Arts District lay in ruins, its streets unpassable, with breweries and galleries closed. Some residents wandered through a city that local advocates promote as “foodtopia,” searching for a hot meal. Others congregated around areas where they might catch a weak internet signal, hoping to reach out to loved ones.
There were mountain-specific challenges. Numerous residents reported difficulties in disposing of expired food due to bears raiding trash cans. Trash collection was halted because of poor road conditions.
Much of downtown Asheville and other elevated areas appeared to have sustained less physical damage, yet even there, the city felt immobilized. A sign outside Malaprop’s, Asheville’s cherished downtown bookstore, read: “Closed. This is Katie. Be safe. I will try to reach you when I can.”
Nearly all residents were deprived of running water. At the Battery Park Apartments, home to many elderly and disabled individuals, several residents took to driving to nearby streams to collect water for their bathrooms.
“It’s urgent,” expressed Judy Cuellar, 73, a retired nurse residing in the building. “The creek water is probably tainted. But we have no alternative for flushing toilets.”
The frustration was evident. On Monday afternoon, Carolyn Ryden, 60, sat on a bench outside a public library, attempting to secure an internet connection.
“I’ve been somewhat frantic about our water situation, and I’m aware that it’s going to take a long time before we have running water again,” Ryden mentioned, recalling the long line she waited in at Publix on Monday morning to purchase a case of water. She noted that the granola bars at the store were largely sold out.
Ryden, owner of a downtown Asheville gift shop called Delighted, relocated from Los Angeles to Asheville in 2020 after hearing friends rave about its progressive and artistic vibe.
“My other friends moved here from Brooklyn, and we referred to it as a climate refuge because the weather isn’t too extreme in either direction,” she shared.
Yet, there was also a sense that the community, marked by the contrast between liberal free thinkers and more traditional mountain residents, was now coming together in this challenging time.
Over the weekend, a woman distributed free chocolates, cyclists ascended hills to bring water, and neighbors collaborated to clear fallen trees and unblock roads. On Sunday, as individuals gathered outside a hotel offering Wi-Fi, a man approached the crowd asking if anyone required a ride.
How long this spirit might endure, considering the extent of the challenges, remains uncertain.
David Shoham, 53, employed at a university in Tennessee about an hour’s drive from Asheville, stated he chose to reside in the mountainous city due to its “communitarian spirit.” He noted that the disastrous effects of the storm further emphasized this quality of Asheville.
“If the situation continues for another week,” he cautioned, “it could start to fall apart.”
Kim Roney, a member of the Asheville City Council, stated that Helene was destined to overwhelm even the most carefully crafted plans, especially after another storm had drenched the area earlier in the week. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime storm; it’s not something you can prepare for,” Roney explained. “What we are equipped for is the response now that it has arrived.”
State and federal officials, including President Joe Biden, assured on Monday that they were doing everything possible to restore power, ensure water supplies, and provide food.
However, they could not promise to reinstate the sense of invulnerability once felt by individuals like Scott.
“This was a sacred, safe space,” she stated. “And now that has been compromised as well.”
