The epicenter of the flood that has destroyed parts of Asheville, and on so many damn levels. I wanted to see it for myself. I wanted to stand there and simply look. Not to take photos or to gawk. But, to see what the landscape looks likes now. I was shocked and speechless.

The cultural heart of the city has been erased from the map. For someone like myself with a keen sense of direction, and who knows the RAD like the back of my hand, it was difficult to orient myself and figure out what buildings were what and where some once stood.

To note, for the last 12 years, I've called Western North Carolina my home. When I came here, I accepted the position of arts and entertainment editor for The Smoky Mountain News, which includes overseeing and writing all the innumerable stories for our WNC travel publications.

I've interviewed dozens of artists and small businesses all around the RAD in my tenure. I know their stories of hard work to achieve long-held dreams. I've championed their passion and purpose in my writing and stories that have been published over the years.

Many of which have become friends: Hi-Wire Brewing, The Wedge, Pleb Winery, The Grey Eagle (Outpost), Salvage Station, New Belgium Brewing, etc. All of which devastated by floodwaters.

“The whole [place] went down river,” said Russ Keith, owner of The Outpost. “If you had eyesight on the [French Broad] River, you’re probably not in good shape today — it’s going to be a long recovery.”

Not to mention the businesses I've frequented and supported, proudly: White Duck Taco, Smoky Mountain Supper Club, 12 Bones Smokehouse, etc. And all those days I'd go for a late afternoon jog along the French Broad River, starting at The Wedge and heading to Carrier Park and back.

At this moment, I remain stunned and saddened. Sick to my stomach. Windows down in my truck driving through the RAD. The pungent stench of thick mud and rotting debris, where those smells are forever etched in my memory from covering the devastating flood in Cruso in 2021.

Numerous cars in the RAD left behind by whoever was able to escape the carnage, the vehicles now caked in mud, a lone orange "X" spray painted across the side of the automobile to signify that it had been checked for bodies. There is a way forward, but it will be a long, long time before stability returns to the RAD.

And to Marshall and Hot Springs, two small mountain communities I love and adore. Shit, I was just up in Marshall for two stories earlier this year. One about the Old Marshall Jail, the other on Zuma Coffee. Of which, I then grabbed a delightful beverage at Mal's before I left town for home in Waynesville. All three of those previously mentioned businesses are now wiped away from this earth.

“Right now, I’m still in shock, so it’s hard to know what to think and what to do,” said Josh Copus, owner of the Old Marshall Jail. “Mostly, I’m just trying to be with the people in my community and be there for them.”

According to Copus, the flood gauge on the side of the Old Marshall Jail peaked at 27 feet, which is the height of the water on the street itself, not including how high the water had to rise to come over the banks. Copus said the water overtook the railroad tracks buffering the river at 9:30 a.m. Just an hour later it reached downtown.

“It just came up so fast and we lost Main Street in a matter of minutes,” Copus said. “I watched all the windows break out of Zuma Coffee. I watched a whole restaurant just float down the road. And that’s when I evacuated.”

Chimney Rock and Lake Lure, towns I've ventured into and interviewed more folks about their companies and how they do so much for their respective locations: now rubble, mostly washed away by the rushing waters that seemed to never stop rising.

I think of where I live in Waynesville. My friends at Cultivate Garden Shop in the Historic Frog Level District, who lost their business when nearby Richland Creek flooded the establishment. I finally crossed paths with all four of them this afternoon: the faces of the owners distraught and shook thinking about how their dream is now in ruins. My heart is heavy and it hurts, a lot.

“Unfortunately, these affects will be felt and seen for years to come,” said Spencer Tetrault, co-owner of Cultivate. “Despite passionate entrepreneurs and eager idea generators, property owners are going to have a long road ahead of them.”

Tetrault, who also co-owns Axe & Awl Leatherworks on Depot Street in Waynesville, is a former first responder. For him, this natural disaster underlines so many things we must keep in mind — for one another, for society at-large.

“Take care of yourself and your neighbors, period,” Tetrault said. “The willingness to lend a hand to people around you is pivotal and creates a level of ease that is otherwise difficult to [conjure].”

Whatever you see and hear on the news? It's way worse. Much more than I could even fathom. We will persevere, because that's what we do here in Southern Appalachia. What we do as human beings, in general, when faced with the unknown and unleashed powers of Mother Nature. I digress.

Love to you and yours. Always and forever.