For those of us who cherish visits to Asheville, North Carolina, the city’s devastation in the wake of Helene is a stark reminder that autumn, the hallmark of Asheville’s annual calendar, will be a much different season this year.
Like thousands of other tourists, including quite a few from Louisiana, I‘ve flocked to Asheville and its surrounding communities over many years to witness the fall foliage. Thanks to the Blue Ridge Mountains and their trees poised at every pleasing vantage, the pageant of autumn in Asheville is a canvas no human artist can match.
Sometimes, parked at one of the many overlooks along the Blue Ridge Parkway, I’ve felt a lump of emotion rising in my throat, my eyes going moist. Those experiences began nearly four decades ago, when I was a young reporter who went to the mountains for relief from daily deadlines. The pilgrimages continued as I married and became a father. Our trips now a family affair.
It was hard on those first few visits to put a name to what I was feeling. But with age, I came to understand that when the mountains moved me each October, I was enthralled not only by their brilliance but their shadows — the passing clouds that put deep patches of black on the browns, reds and oranges gracing the landscape. The scenery reminded me that true joy inspires us because it’s touched by shadows, too.
That’s evident each year with the turning of the colors along the Blue Ridge, a miracle made possible as trees lose their green and prepare for a long winter sleep. What results is a splendor of decline, abiding proof that beauty and loss can keep close company in any life.
This autumn has brought other connections with that strange mystery of existence. The suffering wrought by Hurricane Milton in Florida, another popular getaway for Louisiana residents, has felt like a family loss. I know that people outside Louisiana faced this contradiction after Hurricane Katrina. How could New Orleans, a place of pleasant escape for so many tourists, be burdened by such an epic tragedy?
I began thinking about all of this as the good people of Asheville began the long slog of recovery from their terrible storm. Among the residents are many newcomers who came to Asheville because of its loveliness. Now, they face ruin and grief, challenges now shared by all of those touched by Helene and Milton. The agony of Americans this year in some of the world’s most stunning places points to a hard truth — namely, that every earthly paradise has its trials, calling us to summon the best in ourselves to answer the worst of nature’s wrath.
Watching the storm coverage this autumn, I’ve felt a familiar lump rising in my throat. The courage of the survivors has shown us that even in deep shadows, life has a way of pushing through.
Email Danny Heitman at danny@dannyheitman.com.