SIX LESSONS I’VE LEARNED SINCE MOVING TO NORTH CAROLINA
It’s been six months since my husband and I packed up our RAV4 and drove everything we owned across the country. If you missed our goings-on over the last year or so, you can read about why we decided to uproot everything and move to rural Appalachia here. The last year has been full of so many challenges and joys, from the process of getting our house ready to rent, selling or giving away most of our possessions, and setting up for an unknown future in a new state.
The last six months have stretched us in ways we couldn’t imagine and provided immeasurable joy. We moved in mid-August, unaware of the tragedy that would hit Western North Carolina just six weeks later. We started building rhythms and routines, finding local hangouts and the best spots to take Oliver for a walk. But Hurricane Helene turned everything on its head. We were incredibly blessed to be unharmed, other than a few days without power and an impassable driveway. But the community as a whole was wrecked. Many people’s homes were destroyed. Thousands were stuck without power for two or more weeks. The infrastructure gone in less than 24 hours.
We debated moving back to Texas. Worried that we would be putting more strain on already stretched resources and selfishly, mourning the loss of the idyllic autumn we’d been looking forward to. But I am so incredibly thankful we decided to stay. Without further ado, here are six lessons I’ve learned from six months in the Blue Ridge mountains.
1. Community is everything
Having just faced a similar (though smaller scale) disaster back in Texas when a tornado swept through, we saw a large difference in the community response. It’s hard to put into words the way I felt in the weeks after the storm. It was apocalyptic walking through the grocery store aisles in the days after the storm, restocking essentials. The mood was somber and grim and it was incredibly hard for me to remain optimistic as more coverage of the widespread destruction came out in the following weeks.
The community sprung into action immediately. Before the night was over, the roads were already being cleared by neighbors and friends. Those who could stepped up to serve those who’d lost everything and everyone was so grateful for what they had. The church we’d just started attending opened a shelter to house disaster relief workers overnight and people we’d never met were offering the use of their washing machines or dishwashers. Volunteers met everyday to clean up the river and just about everywhere you turned, you could find a free meal and a friendly face.
Though the storm was horrible, I think it acted as a shortcut to our experience building community. We served alongside lifelong Watauga County residents and came together to collectively mourn what we’d lost and celebrate what we had. We served meals to volunteers from all over the country and broke bread with neighbors we’d never met
The people here in Appalachia are truly one of a kind, so friendly and hardworking and resourceful. I am incredibly honored to have been welcomed with open arms and I hope we’re able to uphold and strengthen the collective legacy of this place.
2. Emergency preparedness is crucial
Almost immediately after the rain started falling on the first day of Helene, we lost power. No big deal, we thought. The temperature wasn’t extreme and we had plenty of food. But what we didn’t know is that we’d lose water as well. In a rural area like the outskirts of Boone, most properties are set up on well, propane, and septic, only connected to the county’s power. But many wells have electric pumps, so when the power goes out, water does too. Without power, the cell towers were down so it was radio silence as we waited out the storm.
We were woefully unprepared, stuck in the property due to rising floodwaters and quickly running out of water. We rationed what we had and used portable batteries to keep some flashlights going. The previous homeowners had included a generator in the sale of the property, but it was down the hill in the barn and hadn’t been gassed up in months. Luckily, the water receded and we were able to get to town about 28 hours later, but if our bridge had been washed away, I don’t know what we would have done.
I should have taken rural living way more seriously and prepared from the get-go. Now, we have lots of water and nonperishable stores, emergency candles, and the generator set up with plenty of gas. Our power returned after only two days, but many in the region were off grid for more than two weeks. We took access to society for granted and it could have cost us dearly.
3. It’s okay not to have everything figured out
We moved here without a real plan, on a tentative six-month trial basis. In the first month or so, I was hyper focused on figuring out the rest of our lives. Did we like it? Would we build on our land? I felt an intense pressure to have everything figured out before being able to move forward with our lives or start growing our family. I needed answers and I couldn’t find any.
God has been teaching me that it’s in His timing and not my own. I don’t do well without structure, but He’s been guiding me to hold loosely to my plans, trusting in His ability to provide better for us than we can for ourselves.
I’m still not sure what our permanent plans look like, but I’m secure in knowing we’re right where we’re supposed to be at this moment.
4. Bear spray is more important than pepper spray
You know how pepper spray is often recommended for self defense? That may apply in a big city, but round these parts, bear spray makes me feel a lot safer.
On New Year’s Eve, a deer met its unfortunate fate on the road next to our mailbox and immediately afterwards, we were hit with snow that stuck to the ground for almost a month. Over the next two weeks, we witnessed the lovely circle of life as a bear dragged the carcass out of the snowbank and spent two weeks snacking on it. The joys of rural living.
While I know black bear attacks are rather rare, they’re not unheard of. I started getting extremely anxious on our walks, worried that a bear might pop out at any moment, defending its food source. It doesn’t help that the podcast Tooth & Claw has been on repeat in our house during the last two months.
So Jarod ordered us some bear spray and though it’s a little cumbersome, the peace of mind is worth it.
5. Embrace the culture
One of the hardest parts of moving is missing the things you took for granted. Familiar stores and rhythms. Walking downtown to your favorite coffee shop for an iced chai or stopping at Target to pick up the latest trending item on a whim.
Rural Appalachia is like nothing my suburban self had ever experienced. Driving “off the mountain” to made a Trader Joes run or visit your doctor is a given, and square dancing at the general store/restaurant/local watering hole is a regular Friday night activity.
There’s been so many experiences that have felt uncomfortable, but I have to check in with myself. Am I uncomfortable because it’s bad or because it’s different? Usually it’s just different.
Getting out of your comfort zone is difficult, but it helps you grow in empathy and understanding for those around you. Now I probably still won’t go square dancing of my own free will. But if a friend invites me, I’m totally game.
6. If you don’t like things, you can change them
I spent 26 years trying to make the most of my life in Texas and constantly falling short of what I’d envisioned. I thought beautiful scenery and summer nights on the porch were for vacations or TV shows. I planned so many trips and hosted themed parties to give life the whimsy I was looking for and it was never enough to cure the ache in my chest at the end of the day.
But now, every day feels like a dream. Of course I go to work and buy groceries and have to deal with the inconveniences of living 25 minutes outside of town -- life without trash collection and Amazon deliveries is no picnic. But underneath all of that, I feel joy in the everyday moments. I get to look outside my office window and watch the seasons change. I get to take our dog on hikes after work on the way to pick up groceries. Every day is whimsical by nature, instead of manufactured by me. I wake up every morning thinking, “so this is what life’s about”.
Now, I’m not knocking North Texas -- it may be the place that gives you these butterfly feelings. But for so long, I believed my life had to look the way it did because we weren’t being called to anything else. We lived close to family, in the state where we both grew up. We owned a home that we loved. Why would we leave our perfectly good community to move halfway across the country?
The question I’d rather ask is why not.
