In just a few hours, Big Horse Creek sent a 10-foot wall of water into the tiny mountain town of Lansing, destroying its row of quaint brick art shops, antique stores and cleverly named pizza parlor — Pie on the Mountain.
Hurricane Helene roared through Lansing’s section of the popular Virginia Creeper Trail and left it strewn with mud, tree trunks and a Winnebago-sized camper turned upside-down in the water.
All along Lansing’s main street, the shopkeepers pulled out soaking walls and floorboards already reeking with mildew, and they offered their canned goods and water bottles for all needy comers.
“This area has been devastated,” said Jeff Pierce, a volunteer at the fire department, “Something we’ve not seen since the 1940s. You’re familiar with Carter-Finley Stadium. Two of those, 40 feet high. That’s how much water.”
As rescue crews cut trees off roads and cleared branches and strips of sheet metal off bridges, the larger world began to see the extent of ruin in North Carolina’s northwest corner.
‘Caskets floating in the river’
While repairing a broken gas line in Boone, Steve Calhoun recalled the worst he’d seen in Ashe County since Friday.
”Caskets floating in the river,” he said. “People in the water and nobody can get to them. Houses in the road. Cars in trees.”
The water has receded, but locals do not expect all the area’s power to be restored for months. The roads to many remote areas, including west of Lansing, are too washed out for crews to reach.
They worry about those still missing, unaccounted for in the chaos.
In Lansing, the Squirrel and Nut got walloped only four months after it opened. It sold local and vintage art, including pieces made by Lora Young, who spent Saturday, Sunday and Monday grilling donated food.
”A lot of us don’t have power,” she said, “so they’re bringing us stuff out of their freezers. Need some food? We’ve got chicken grilling now.”
Volunteers feeding hundreds
At the fire department, volunteers fed 300 people barbecue though the population of the town 33 miles northeast of Boone is only 128.
Pierce led a prayer over the pig cooker, giving thanks and asking for guidance.
”One thing you have to understand about mountain people,” he said. “We’re resilient. We keep fighting.”
As he spoke, the shopkeepers moved up and down Lansing’s main street, shoveling mud.
Young smiled at them over her grill.
”You gave to,” she said. “Once you get a chance to slow down, it’ll all sink in.”
