Editor’s Note: This is the second part of a series detailing the Hurricane Helene and Hurricane Milton relief efforts of Farm and Dairy Managing Editor Sara Welch and her childhood best friend Jessica Malek.
Winding through Ohio, West Virginia, Virginia and North Carolina, Jess and I listened to music, ate snacks and talked about the beauty surrounding us as we drove through the Appalachian Mountains. It felt like we were finally taking the road trip we’d imagined when we were younger. We felt ready to take on whatever lay ahead.
As we got closer, leaving the highway to traverse rural roads, piles of cut-up and stacked logs lined the ditches on either side — evidence of the many who came to lend a hand before us.
We arrived at NC27 Lower Creek Airport in Lenoir, North Carolina, around 6:15 p.m. on Friday, Oct. 11. Introductions were brief. Volunteers confirmed that we were the group from Ohio, and we began unloading supplies.
“We really needed this,” an older man said with a sigh of relief as he opened the large tote of baby formula in Gary’s trailer, affirming that what we were doing mattered to someone.
Witnessing that volunteer’s candid reaction made our endeavor more real. The idea of helping people in need was replaced by the look in his eyes and the inflection in his voice before he lifted the formula and carried it into the hangar.
I’ve learned that there’s a lot that people don’t say when they’re suffering or when they’ve known suffering. But in big and small ways, when you see it, you recognize it.
We couldn’t help but think about the infants and families waiting for supplies after that, wishing we had more to give.
We finished unloading everything we’d brought and sorted it into piles so it could be distributed the following morning. We shared the details of the humble plan that had gotten us as far as Lenoir and learned it struck a similar tone to the one that had organized efforts at the airport.
“Aviation is a very small group. If one person knows about it, everybody knows about it,” a volunteer from Michigan said.
Like our group, the volunteers at Lower Creek Airport simply responded to a need because they wanted to help in any small way they could. They thanked us for bringing the supplies and offered us showers, food and a place to stay for the night.
The modest airstrip, tucked into the foothills of the mountains, was more accommodating than anything we’d envisioned and we gratefully accepted their offer to camp there. They left the hangar’s office unlocked so we could use the bathroom and sleep inside, in the heat, but we decided to camp next to the creek running through the property.
I pitched my tent and Gary prepared his trailer to camp for the night. Looking back, I think we were all in awe of the trust and generosity the crew at Lower Creek Airport showed complete strangers.
Incidentally, it was standard for them. We weren’t the first — and maybe not the last — to show up with supplies, a plane, a truck or a helping hand from another part of the country who stayed and camped along the airstrip.
That night, we enjoyed each other’s company and Gary’s homemade bratwursts, cooked on a small camp stove, before bed. We also discussed the ever-evolving next leg of our journey.
While Jess and I waited to receive word from St. Petersburg, Florida, Gary realized he wanted to stay. Fortunately, the same volunteer who connected us with Lower Creek Airport found a place where Gary could help further into the disaster area in North Carolina.
We awoke to gravel stirring under the tires of the first truck to pour into Lower Creek Airport around 7 a.m. Saturday, Oct. 12. Jess was ready — camping next to the creek proved to be chillier than she’d imagined. I was slower to rouse, enjoying the warmth of my sleeping bag too much. But before long, the airstrip was bustling with volunteers coming and going.
Among the first to arrive that morning was a middle-aged woman seeking guidance to sort supplies. Jess explained the scheme, while Gary made breakfast.
As more volunteers came and left with truckloads of supplies and planes lined up to be filled with the donations we brought, I packed away our camping gear and made trips hauling it back to Jess’ SUV. On one of those trips, the volunteer who had been sorting approached me.
I don’t remember how the conversation started. I think she asked me where I’m from. After telling her and briefly explaining how we ended up camping at Lower Creek Airport, I asked her the same question. She told me she lives in the area and just wanted to help. She talked about her experience in the weeks following Hurricane Helene and what she knew of the devastation that stretched across nearby communities. She hadn’t lost anything as a result of the hurricane but broke down in tears for everyone who had lost their homes, belongings and lives.
I didn’t know how to respond to her grief other than to listen and give her — a stranger whose name I never learned — a hug.
Those kinds of interactions became commonplace. In the wake of an unimaginable tragedy, compassion and support eclipse names, stories and the small details of individual lives. Everyone’s effort is just kind of woven into one overarching response.
I will never forget the woman who wept openly in my arms as others worked in the background to shuttle indispensable supplies to those who needed them most. I will never forget the look on her face as she described her experience or the sound of her voice as it broke. I will never forget the gratitude she expressed as she gathered herself and thanked me for comforting her. Sometimes the help you can give is what people need. Sometimes seeing people instead of turning away from their pain is enough.
Before we left, we watched most of the donations we brought leave in the back of a pickup truck or take off aboard a small plane. Jess had been notified On Mission Network was ready to receive us in St. Petersburg. We said goodbye to the volunteers filling the hangar at Lower Creek Airport, wished Gary good luck and headed south shortly after 10 a.m.
Related Content
- Part One: Called to help those impacted by Hurricane Helene
- Part Three: Picking up the pieces in St. Petersburg
- Part Four: Coming home
