Betrayed by beauty…That’s how I feel at present as I see the devastation from the path of Helene in the mountains of Virginia, North Carolina and Tennessee. This beauty has been on display for many years. As example, Chimney Rock State Park, the grounds of the Biltmore Estate designed by Frederick Olmstead, the father of modern Landscape Architecture, and the local water falls that were the backdrop for the acclaimed movie, The Last of The Mohicans. These streams, rivers, valleys and mountains of the southern Appalachians are my sanctuary. This is where I go to be with God, find peace, and literally commune with nature. This is where I have simple conversations about life or sit in silence along a stream bank or sandstone ridge. This is where the mountain laurel provides cover and canopy. This is where I feel the presence of age and time. This is where beauty calls and invites me deeper into life.
From my early years, I’ve spent time in these mountains and valleys discovering and exploring. Just as the elements of wind, rain, and weathering shaped the topography, this terrain shaped my life. The Quinn family farm was located in the southern area of the Roanoke Valley in Franklin County. Since I can remember, I have heard stories and read about large storm events and flash floods that destroyed property and landscape and took the lives of local residents. My father, Marvin Quinn, who lived on the farm after World War II, would warn me of the dangers of flash floods. He would recount the story of seeing walls of water four feet high rolling down the hillside streams caring small boulders, roots and trees. He remembers a neighbor taking a wagon across Maggodee Creek, a south-west tributary of the Blackwater River, and being swept away by a flash flood. He said the energy of the approaching water sounded like a fast moving fully loaded coal train. This story and other warnings of how nature can change in a flash have stayed with me and serve as part of my preparation and awareness when in the mountains. Yet, these stories and my personal experience with major weather events while hiking in the Appalachians and being involved in search and rescue activities in the White Mountains did not prepare me for the actual devastation and change created by hurricane Helene.
As a Geologist, I learned about environmental change. While attending Virginia Tech, our classes studied, mapped and explored the stratigraphy, structure and geologic history of the Blue Ridge Mountains. We were taught of the powerful slow moving change of continental drift that resulted in the orogenic process of mountain building. This happened three distinct times over millions of years. We learned of the power and persistence of water through studying the New River, the second oldest river in the world. Current and ancient debris flows, identical to the ones that hit North Carolina, were mapped as we studied physical weathering. We engaged in debate over what features in the geologic record occurred as a result of catastrophic verses incremental change, and how these changes can appear to produce the same visible result over time. The conversations around these topics were scientific and academic and rarely personal. Only when a student or professor’s belief systems were challenged around material such as old earth verses new earth or the time it took to create the Grand Canyon, did emotion enter the equation. When emotion did enter, there were hard lines drawn and rigorous debate based on historical, physical and chemical data. Sure, intellect was questioned, doctoral dissertations were challenged, egos became bruised, and the usual loss was positional or academic, with maybe next years grant money at risk. But, no one lost their life. After all, these were scientific arguments. The common expression, “it’s not personal, just business” was parlayed into a feeling of, “it’s personal because it is science!”
These recent hydrologic events bring all the descriptors and expressions mentioned above into sharp focus. They are personal, very personal. They are business…big business. Science is on display providing unanswerable questions. Emotions are raw and real and do not have to be elicited from local residents being interviewed by national news reporters following a script. These events have resulted in loss, trauma and tragedy. This is where beauty betrayed! This is where trust was broken. This is where the surreal became real. In light of this “betrayal”, there is one fundamental question that must be addressed…whether survivor, responder or observer. How now shall we live?
Before this question can be answered, let’s take a brief look at the nature of betrayal. At its very root, “betrayal” is a violation of a deep attachment or trust often resulting in anger, disappointment or trauma. At some point, each of us will experience some form of betrayal. We are hard wired to be attached to and to trust someone or something. This attachment is usually motivated by love and affection, or a desire to be “one” with something. I know from friends and family that live in this area that they are there for a reason. Many have made a decision to leave the cities and suburbs to be “in the mountains” allowing intimate proximity to rivers, streams, valleys, waterfalls, and prominent geologic features. Their reasons usually come down to a few words: inspiration, solitude, beauty, peace, freedom, being one with nature, a slower pace, or a safe place to raise a family.
Do these words call to something within you? Are they words paired with beauty? When I started Root and Rock Adventures as a therapeutic response to my own personal story, alignment with beauty and the exploration of the natural world was, and still is, a foundational tenant. In my own words in the “About” sections I wrote, “ RAR was created as Mike’s personal response to cancer and to acknowledge the restorative power of the natural created world. RAR engages with fellow explorers through story, community, and gear. We believe life isn’t just an adventure…it’s the adventure. So we celebrate life through exploration of the beauty and the journey found on the trail. We’ve learned that navigating terrain connects us to ourselves and each other while building deeper relationships, perspective, and resiliency. Join us on the trail.”
When I wrote and refined these words, I was very focused on the past experience of being restored through life outdoors. Like many people who have had transformational moments of faith or “mountain top” experiences, I can recall being fundamentally changed through the created beauty of the natural world. It was good, very good. Just as my belief that beauty and nature are good. And, there was an implied understanding that this beauty, that did come with certain risks, was also safe and made me feel protected. In essence, beauty and safety coexisted.
In his novel, The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, CS Lewis writes of his main character Aslan, the lion…I paraphrase, “He is beautiful, very beautiful, he is good, very good, but he is not safe!” The Appalachian Mountains are beautiful, very beautiful. They are good, very good, but they are note safe! We have been reminded of this truth through the recent tragic natural events. The implied agreement of trust found in beauty and safety has been broken, again.
So, in light of the natural tragedy, the question remains, “How now shall we live?” In part 2 of this post, I will attempt to offer a response to this question. I welcome you thoughts and insights as well.