Opinion: Hurricane Helene Hits Home - What's REALLY Happening

A Minnesotan’s heartfelt ode to the Carolina mountains in the wake of Hurricane Helene – where bluegrass still plays amidst the storm. 🌐 #News #Minnesota #HurricaneHelene #Opinion

ST. PAUL, MN – I grew up a weird kid. Born and raised in Minneapolis. Always wishing I was born down South. I loved country music when I was a kid – but not the kind you heard on the radio. Nope, I liked the kind that was already fading away long before I was born. The kind made by guys with names like Bill Monroe, Emmett Miller, Jimmie Rodgers, and the Carter Family.

Don’t ask me how – or why – a five year old kid from Edina knew about Jimmie Rodgers or why I use to fake a Southern accent, telling my classmates I was from an exotic place called Asheville, North Carolina.

“Nork-a-lina” is how I pronounced it. I’m sure most of the Tar Heel State would have rolled their eyes hearing my thick Minnesota accent butchering the word “Nork-a-lina” and spreading lies about my time spent wandering the Appalachian Mountains.

From Minnesota to Moonshine: A Childhood Obsession

As soon as I graduated, barely, from Perpich Arts High School in Golden Valley, I started making music with my girlfriend and turning all those lies into truths. We hit the road – wandering to places I had only heard about from old records. Places with names like Black Mountain (thanks, Bessie Smith) or the Blue Ridge Mountains (shout out to my boys, The Carolina Tar Heels).

I forgot to tell you my girlfriend was a cute girl named Kitty I met in high school – and spoiler alert – decades later we’re still just as madly in love and still wandering the backroads of America in search of good times here, and better times down the line.

Eventually we left Minnesota and moved to Nashville. That gave us an excuse to go to Asheville and see the place where Emmett Miller and Jimmie Rodgers made their records. It gave us a reason to see where country music was born in Bristol, Tennessee.

Wandering the Backroads: A Musical Journey South

We discovered raw food and the vegan lifestyle at a Pentecostal garden in Boone, North Carolina (of all places). We got abducted and were held hostage by Hasil Adkins in Boone County, West Virginia (that’s a whole other story).

We spent time singing songs in Virginia, Tennessee, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Florida. Falling in love with the places, the people, the food. The best damn Jamaican restaurant that my Jamaican girlfriend-turned-wife Kitty and I ever ate at was in the middle of Nowheresville, Georgia.

A dot on a map. A faded page in a journal. A memory of a smell and a toothless chef named Elvis who made the best Johnny Cakes and jerk chicken you’ve ever had. Sorry, Pimento Jamaican!

Now, all the places I love, are devastated. Changed. Perhaps gone. You know, Kitty and I were in New Orleans a few weeks after Katrina – and the destruction was numbing. The spirit in the air? The people? They were just working hard to find their way back home.

Home Is Where the Heart (and Hardship) Is

Home. Funny word. Important word. Home. America is our home. Red. Blue. Black. White. Gay. Straight. Democrat. Republican. Christian. Satanist. Boy. Girl. Anywhere in between. Who the hell cares? We’re all the same. We’re all Americans. We’re all humans. Worthy of God’s love. We’re all working hard to find our way back home.

Don’t let traditional, corporate media trick you into thinking the only devastation is in Asheville. It’s not. Asheville just happens to be a cool place folks from the North know about (thanks, Vanderbilts!)… but the entire region is hurting – this isn’t to diminish my beloved Asheville. One of my favorite cities in America. God, I miss it.

The point is: a massive part of America is hurting today and will be hurting tomorrow and the next day and the next day. They’ll be hurting for weeks, months, years. Many of the small farms and businesses will never return. A massive part of America has changed in an instant.

Long after the last politician posing for cameras has left, long after the last news van drives back to its corporate office, long after this stops trending on social media, this region will be hurting. Home. Funny, funny, word.

But you know what gives me hope tonight? I have a feeling that if I were in North Carolina right now, driving some back road, I’d be able to find some damn good bluegrass music. Somebody somewhere would be sawing on a fiddle and picking on a banjo. Just like in New Orleans where Kitty and I heard Dixieland jazz being played on the mud covered streets of death, post Katrina.

You want to know what America is? Listen to the old songs from the hills of the Carolinas. And say a prayer as you do. Thank God you’re somewhere safe tonight, and (if you’re able) donate whatever resources you can. But mostly, don’t forget the state motto of North Carolina: Esse Quam Videri.

What the heck does that mean? Don’t worry, I’ll tell you (I don’t speak Latin either) hehe.

Google says it’s basically a “reminder of the importance of being true to oneself.”

Sounds like the definition of America to me. The definition of hope. The definition of home.

There’s a lot of scams happening right now, so be careful where you donate. I found this Forbes article to be a helpful resource.

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