Swept away in Swannanoa

Sunrise over Black Mountain, near Swannanoa, North Carolina

Something that has become a bit of a tradition for me is to clean up and reorganize my digital life during the downtime after Thanksgiving. Going through the backlog of photos, reorganizing files, making sure critical items are backed up, that sort of thing. I recently launched the new Roving Nature Podcast, and built this website to go along with it, so I had a lot of cleaning up to do post-launch.

As I was going through photos, I came across a set that gave me pause. It was a batch of pictures and a video I had made from a vacation that my wife Julia, my dog Rudy, and I had gone on a couple years ago in the small mountain town of Swannanoa, North Carolina. As a fair number of you dear readers are likely to recognize, most of that town was destroyed and swept away during the extreme flooding brought on by Hurricane Helene in late September.

We had stayed on the outskirts of that small town, in a lovely, picturesque cabin rental that was situated right on the bank of the Swannanoa River. There was an adjacent deck which overlooked the river, and there was another rental unit downstream but mostly of view that was also situated on the edge of the Swannanoa.

My wife Julia and dog Rudy enjoying a peaceful summer afternoon at our rental cabin in Swannanoa, North Carolina.

My wife Julia and dog Rudy taking in the sounds, smells, and view of the Swannanoa River just behind our cabin. I can’t remember why we had him on his leash, but I suspect it was because we were about to go out exploring and we knew the owners and other guests on the property had pets.

It was one of my favorite vacation spots that we have experienced, and we’ve stayed in a lot of vacation rentals in various places around the country. It was so peaceful – hearing the constant trickle and riffling of the river nearby, being nestled under the tree canopy, and being surrounded by lush mountain vegetation was bliss. The steep hillside behind our cabin featured large rock outcroppings that revealed layers of the ancient mountain and ocean floor that once occupied this region. Birds sang, crickets chirped, and pollinators danced from flower to flower as they moved along the river.

What hit me most while viewing the photos was this: everything I was seeing in those pictures is now gone. All of it. The dwellings (our rental and the one downstream), the trees, all of the vegetation, the original shape and path of the river, even the boulders and rocks within it. I share with you those photos and the video here in this blog post.

Fleabane aster, among many other common names (Erigeron acris), grows along the bank of the Swannanoa River just behind our cabin.

The property owners lived in the main unit just up the hill, and from what we can tell, most of their dwelling was destroyed as well. Thankfully the humans on the property survived, but they lost everything...their vehicles, a large edible garden, a tool shed. Even their cat had been swept away. Check out their GoFundMe for more on their story and to donate if you would like.

Looking at the images and reliving these memories brought on a swell of mixed emotions: sadness, anger, disorientation...but mostly the heavy feeling of loss. I can only try to imagine what the people who live there and throughout other parts of western North Carolina have been feeling since the storm. The immense trauma of loss...of losing your home, your belongings, and in some cases your loved ones....is hard to fathom.

Morning summer sun and gently flowing water on the Swannanoa River

But catastrophic disasters like what happened there also impact everything you remember about a place and your connection to it. Geographically, the place is still there of course, but I mean how you know and remember a place, changes drastically. In cases like this particular property and the small town of Swannanoa, even many of your points of reference are gone. The landscape is different now. The wildlife is silent, or gone altogether. The smells are not the same. The river itself is different. 

Even as I write this blog post it’s hard to find the words and the language to reflect on this magnitude of profound loss that our neighbors out west have experienced. But what I can muster up are these words: I am grateful. Of still being here alive in this world, with my wife and my dog, and having an even deeper connection to and appreciation of nature and wildlife and our rivers, creeks, and lakes.

Layers like chapters in the ancient rock outcroppings just behind our rental cabin and the terrain and tree canopy rises steeply behind.

But I also have a deeper awareness of the drastic changes that are clearly taking place on this planet due to a rapidly changing climate. And I feel more committed than ever to learning all I can about ecosystems, watersheds, and nature in general...and doing what I can to help in the effort to communicate the significance and urgency of a very real climate crisis, and doing what needs to be done on every level to address it.

Looking at the photos and the video also reminds me how important it is to always live in the moment, to take it all in, to create memories (and if you’re lucky photos and videos) that can remind you what a place was like, and how it can be again.