I returned to my beloved Asheville a few days ago, after having been evacuated for two weeks due to Hurricane Helene. Even though I lived through Hurricane Harvey in Houston in 2017, which was the scariest experience of my life before my car accident last year, I was not mentally or emotionally prepared for my return to Asheville.
These magical, mystical mountains are hurting. Everywhere you drive, there are gigantic trees down. Brown mud and dust and silt are a new fixture in our landscape that is famously lush and green. There are piles of debris where buildings used to stand that had thriving businesses. Countless houses have blue tarps on roofs and cars are parked in driveways, and immovable because trees have crushed them.
And that’s just Asheville.
I’ve heard the surrounding towns are so much worse. What I’ve seen in photographs makes me weep. The town of Chimney Rock was washed away down the river. Lake Lure, a beautiful spot for recreation and the location for filming the iconic movie, Dirty Dancing, is now just filled with debris as far as the eye can see.
My first few days back, I cried multiple times a day. Sometimes it was from the overwhelm and anxiety about where to source my water and just how many gallons it takes to flush a toilet one time. Other times, it was pulling into a parking lot and seeing a line of trucks…linemen, tree guys and others here working…or driving on the interstate and passing military vehicles driven by soldiers wearing camouflage fatigues. Other times, it was hearing stories of families who’ve lost everything—their homes, their cars, their livelihood.
But in the middle of it, all, I have a bright, shiny, happy 13-year-old girl. Riley and her dad, Eric, rode out the storm when it slammed into western North Carolina on September 27 while I was out of town. But they were able to evacuate to our family farm in Pinehurst, where Riley stayed safe and protected. She baked cookies with her grandmother and attended her cousin’s volleyball and soccer games. School is not in session and she’s missing her friends and activities, but she has handled the disruption like a champ.
When we returned to Asheville, she sang and danced all the way, lifting my spirits as I hadn’t slept for days leading up to our return because I was so anxious. She helped me shop for and unload relief supplies using the money that people have generously donated from all over the country. (So far, we have purchased fleece jackets, masks, work gloves, buckets for water, gluten-free foods, specialty skin and body care products and we are distributing cash to families in need.)
A few days ago, I went to deliver supplies to a friend who was delivering them to one of her people who are working the front lines up in Burnsville, one of the towns hardest hit. Because she lives north of the city, my friend had water and so I arrived with four 5-gallon buckets to fill up at her outside spigot so we could flush toilets.
While there, we started talking about Halloween, which is one of Riley’s favorite holidays. My friend Mista hosts a block party every year because her Weaverville neighborhood really gets into the spirit. We were discussing just how important Halloween is going to be for children this year to provide a sense of normalcy for the community. I asked Mista if she had any costume suggestions for Riley and she said “Yes, let’s go get my Halloween box out of the shed!”
The three of us had fun digging through her box of festive decorations until I heard Mista let out a small scream. “Mice!” she squealed. There was a mama mouse and two baby mice buried in her decorations and they fell out onto the ground and scattered. The mama mouse and one baby went in one direction, but the other baby ran in a different direction and was clearly distressed. Riley picked him up and couldn’t let go.
In the span of an hour, I progressed from “You are NOT bringing that mouse home!” to “Fine, you can keep it but it HAS to sleep in the garage.” To “Well, it’s cold out there so maybe it can come into the kitchen—in a box!” to “You really want it to sleep in your room? OH, whatever….”
Affectionately named Jellybean, I turned to my friend and colleague Sarah Seidelmann’s Book of Beasties: Your A-Z Guide to the Illuminating Wisdom of Spirit Animals to see what lessons I’m being invited to learn from Mouse during this time of upheaval. Here are a few excerpts:
- “Stop obsessing about the big picture, the entire world crisis, or some far-flung future outcome, and focus on your own life—the one that’s close at hand. Mouse tends to her world with care. She builds her nest. She finds her sustenance, and she nurtures her tiny creations…. You too must begin by thinking small…”
- “Mouse knows that it’s important to be grateful and present each and every step of the way.”
- “Don’t get fussy about the big picture. Work with what is right in front of your nose, Mouse-style.”
These are great reminders for me, as I’m facing some major challenges, to be present, be mindful, be grateful and take it one tiny mouse step at a time. (And Riley is a great teacher of these for me, as well!)
How does this apply to YOUR life these days? I’d love to hear. Comment and let me know. I love hearing from you.
** Note: Sarah Seidelmann, MD is the author of seven books and wrote the introduction to my book Sacred Celebrations. She’s one of my favorite teachers and healers out there right now—be sure to check out her work here.