A Hurricane Hit My Mountain Town
The overwhelming scent of pine is what I remember the most. Not just “I’m walking in the forest, and there are pine trees all around me” pine, but the smell of burnt Christmas trees being carried on the wind and through the windows of my house.
At the time, I had no idea why it was so piney. We had a lot of wind the night before; it had been raining for days, and we knew a hurricane was coming. But our power went out along with our cell service and internet.
It wasn’t until the rain stopped and we went outside that we realized that Helene had hit us hard.
We thought the “booms” we heard during the night were thunderclaps, but it turns out those were the sounds of transformers exploding, electric poles being blown in half, and hundred-year-old trees crashing to the ground.
I’m lucky. My house is on top of a hill, one of the highest in my neighborhood. People who live below us, yards away from the French Broad River and Mud Creek, have either lost their homes completely or are still working, 11 days later, to restore them.
The droning sounds of chainsaws, shopvacs, and hammers are constant.