PTSD

You expect certain types of weather depending upon where you live. If you live in parts of Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, or Nebraska you are not surprised when tornadoes pop up. If you live in a desert area you expect boiling hot days and freezing nights. If you live in the Rockies you expect snow in the winter, and in eastern North Carolina you expect hot and humid days during the summer.

If you live in the mountains, the one thing you do not expect is damage from a hurricane.

This is my second sojourn in the mountains. I lived in the Allegheny Mountains of Virginia from 1982 to 1989, and have lived in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina since 2022. Both times I experienced the wrath of a hurricane’s remnant. Once, I could understand; twice seems absurd.

In 1985 we experienced a very wet two weeks in the Virginia mountains. We lived within sight of the Jackson River (which, a few miles to our east, joined with the Cowpasture River to form the headwaters of the James River). About ten miles upstream a dam had been built for the purpose of flood control. The two weeks of rain filled the lake behind the dam to full pool. So when the remnants of Hurricane Juan decided to stall over us and drop an excessive quantity of rain on our waterlogged land, we experienced a flood. The folks in charge of the dam had no choice but to release water, which exacerbated an already dangerous situation.

Our house, though only a few yards from the Jackson River, was up on a hill, and so we did not experience any damage. Many of our friends were not so lucky. I saw very little damage from downed trees, but I did see quite a few hunting camps floating down the Jackson. The trees that did come down did so because of soggy ground. Wind was not a problem. The one thing I remember most of all was the major inconvenience caused by bridges that were hit by debris. These bridges had to be closed until they were inspected and pronounced structurally sound. Bridges are the lifelines in mountain communities. I relearned that lesson last year.

On September 25, 2024, the rain began, and continued through the 26th. The 27th brought us the remnants of Hurricane Helene, which was more rain, and a surprisingly high level of wind. I wrote about our experience with this storm last year. The wind brought down hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of trees. The Forest Service estimates that Buncombe County (excluding the city of Asheville) lost 40% of its tree cover, or some 89,440 acres of tree cover. And Kathy and I did experience damage from a downed tree. But despite the loss of all those trees, and the roads blocked by them and bridges damaged by them, I consider the major damage to be due to the flooding. In fact, Kathy and I never refer to “the hurricane”: for us, it is “the flood”.

Bridge damage was a major problem for us. I work south of the Swannanoa River but live north of it. There are five ways I can cross that river, but for quite some time, only one way, the one most out-of-the-way, was available.

Again, we live far enough up the side of the mountain so that the flooding of the Swannanoa River (27.33 feet above flood stage) did not affect us. Many people, though, were not so lucky. Our River Arts district is a bit below the point where the Swannanoa River joins the French Broad River, and at that point the river was 24.67 feet above flood stage. You can imagine the damage.

I have focused on the flood, because that is what impressed me most about the storm. The wind, however, has given many of my friends a case of post traumatic stress disorder. I can understand why, just by looking at the number of houses that were damaged by falling trees. I know a family that packs up and decamps to a hotel downtown whenever the National Weather Service issues a wind advisory. Others (including me) lose sleep at night if the wind howls.

Why am I dredging up old news that I have already chronicled in the past? June first marked the official beginning of Hurricane Season. Coincidentally, it marked the official beginning of PTSD Season.