This must be the place: ‘I don’t expect you to listen, but the show goes on’
Destroyed tapes due to Hurricane Helene. Garret K. Woodward photo
Early Tuesday morning. Sitting in the dentist chair, I stared blankly out onto the parking lot, only to then notice the bustling traffic on nearby U.S. 276. It was at that moment when the nice dental hygienist asked if a date and time in mid-September 2025 would be ideal for my next teeth cleaning.
“That works for me,” I turned to her and smiled. As I focused back on the parking lot and U.S. 276, it dawned on me that when I made this exact appointment many months ago for this specific cleaning, it was just a few weeks before Hurricane Helene and the ravaging flood waters that overtook Western North Carolina.
It was weird to ponder that line in the sand of not only my life, personally and professionally, but also that of countless other friends and strangers surrounding my daily existence. I couldn’t help but dive deep into my mind about just what my life was on that day last September when I made this March appointment.
Early September 2024. At that time, I was in the midst of some end of the summer music festival coverage, specifically the Bristol Rhythm & Roots Reunion just over the state line in East Tennessee. Dozens of bands in seemingly every direction. And there I was, with my former girlfriend at the time, wandering and absorbing it all.
Sitting in that dentist chair, memories flooded back in vivid succession of Bristol. Myself conducting interviews for Rolling Stone with Red Clay Strays, 49 Winchester and Ashley McBryde. Cold beers at O’Mainnin’s Pub on State Street. Running into old friends, making new acquaintances in real time and in real haste, that surreal whirlwind of people, places and things at a festival.
Onward towards the end of September 2024. With word on the news about the approaching treachery of Hurricane Helene and also talk in our newsroom about potential coverage “if something goes wrong with this storm,” I found myself motoring to Raleigh the day before Helene hit WNC to cover the International Bluegrass Music Association awards. I was also nominated for “Writer of the Year” and didn’t win. Better luck next time, eh?
Related Items
Congress may mandate AM radios in every car, for safety and security
General Assembly considers fourth Helene relief bill
All down the line: Bill seeks to help local railroads affected by Hurricane Helene
Turn off lights to help spring migrants
And then waking up at the hotel in Raleigh on the morning of Friday, Sept. 27, 2024. A day now eternally chiseled into the hearts and memory of WNC folks. With a torrential rainstorm and a tornado warning overtaking the state capital, I started getting texts and phone calls from folks telling me how devastating it was back home in Haywood County and beyond. My heart dropped into my stomach. Now what? What will life be like when I return?
The next two months were pretty much a blur, which I would surmise was the same vibe for everyone else in our backyard. Beyond losing most of my earthly possessions in the flood in my storage unit in Canton along the Pigeon River (it’s just “stuff,” but still emotionally distressing regardless), I found myself on flood coverage for The Smoky Mountain News and Rolling Stone.
By the time Thanksgiving and the subsequent holidays rolled around, my mind and body were completely burned out, either by endless interviews with flood victims or merely driving around the mountains and valleys of WNC and witnessing just how apocalyptic everything had become in the aftermath of Helene. Ugh. It still hurts thinking about, well, “everything.” Truth? I think it’ll always hurt.
Cue Christmas morning. I awoke alone. My girlfriend and I had ended things by this point. We remain friends, even if the finality of “us” was heavy and sad. And yet, there I was, completely decimated by time and place, my emotional state in shambles. I knew I wanted to pick myself back up and regain my balance, physically and emotionally, so I signed up for therapy by noon that day.
Skip ahead to early February and I found myself visiting my parents’ farmhouse in the North Country of Upstate New York. At this juncture, I’ve been attending online therapy once a week since Christmas (and I still am as we speak). My mind, body and soul are vibrating harmoniously, where I’d been able to find my footing again in the great big ole world of ours. As per usual, there are never-ending assignments and deadlines, but no matter, for this gig remains my true passion and purpose in my time on this planet.
By the time I circled back to Southern Appalachia in late February, I started to recognize the face in the mirror once again. The dark clouds of last fall and early winter had parted. My energy levels were returning to familiar and deeply-missed levels of excitement for what might be waiting for me just around the corner of my intent. Onward to the warmth of spring. I welcome my true self.
Leaving the dentist office, the hygienist handed me the small business card with the date and time for my next appointment. It read mid-September 2025. One wonders just what’s in store between now and then. The mind goes crazy thinking of what possibilities lie just beyond the horizon of the “here and now.” One wonders who I may encounter, what I may experience and why it is that life itself remains so alluring and magical.
Hopping into my truck and putting the rusty, musty vehicle into drive, I merged onto U.S. 276 and back towards my humble, quaint apartment in downtown Waynesville. Putting the appointment card in the drawer of my writing desk for safe keeping, I reached for my laptop and work bag. Back to the newsroom. Back to whoever and whatever may catch my eye and my curiosity to share with readers.
Back into the truck. Put the vehicle into drive, but not before looking into the rearview mirror. A big smile in the reflection as I inspected the results from the professional cleaning. Those pearly whites sure shine brightly today, as does the soul inhabiting this body of mine.
Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.
