Maybe I’m just bad luck at this point. My senior year of high school was derailed by COVID — prom ended up being a $50 event in the school cafeteria. Everyone stayed six feet apart, masked up, and the whole thing felt surreal. Now, in my senior year of college, life threw me another curveball. This time, I had to face the realities of adulthood when Hurricane Helene tore through my college town and the surrounding communities, forcing me to adapt once again.
I go to Mars Hill University, and the first question I always get when I tell people is, “Where is that?” It’s in Mars Hill, but I usually just say Asheville, North Carolina to keep things simple. Before Hurricane Helene hit, western North Carolina was already soaked from days of rain — I spent most of the week trudging through puddles on my way to class. Professors warned us about the storm, but no one seemed overly concerned. It’s North Carolina — tropical storms don’t really hit here. Or at least, that’s what we thought.
On the morning of Friday, September 27th, I woke up expecting just another day. Classes were canceled, but I still craved my morning coffee. I headed over to my boyfriend Carrick’s room, sweet-talking him into making me my usual oat milk latte. Everything felt perfect — until suddenly, the power and internet cut out. For Gen Z, losing technology feels like losing control. So much for the Kodiak pancakes and scrambled eggs I had planned. After waiting for what felt like forever, I finally gave up and headed to the cafeteria.
The storm’s impact was undeniable. While there wasn’t any flooding, trees had been ripped from their roots and scattered across campus, giving the college town an eerie, abandoned vibe. The cafeteria was clearly struggling without power. A line of students wrapped around the building. When I finally got inside, I was grateful for the hardworking staff who were doing their best with limited supplies. They handed me a brown paper bag with an egg and sausage sandwich and a bagel. Appreciative but anxious, I rushed back to my apartment to eat.
The hours passed with mounting worry. I wandered aimlessly until I found my friend, Grace, and together, as cross-country runners (and basically running addicts), we went on a six-mile run to release some stress. But when the run ended, so did the distraction. The cafeteria posted that we’d only be getting two meals a day. Rumors were spreading like wildfire — some said the caf couldn’t continue supplying us food or the water supply was contaminated, and others claimed dorms had run out of water entirely. The fear of being cut off from food and water sent my thoughts spiraling.
With no power and barely any food, it felt like we were slipping into survival mode. I tried to stretch what little I had in my apartment, rationing meals, and I wasn’t drinking much, too worried about the water situation. By the time dinner came around, I headed to the cafeteria only to find another massive line. The whispers confirmed it: all that was left were peanut butter sandwiches, completely off-limits for me with my nut allergy. Quietly, I stepped out of line and went back to my room, staring at the last bit of food in my fridge — a yogurt that was just cold enough to eat and a four-pack of turkey burgers. My boyfriend — the clear choice for surviving a zombie apocalypse — had the brilliant idea to ask his soccer team about a gas-powered grill. Luckily, one of the guys had one on hand. Despite the turkey burgers sitting in an unpowered fridge for about 10 hours, we decided to take our chances. We grabbed the buns I’d bought a few days prior, and soon enough, we had an impromptu team cookout right outside my apartment. It was everything I had left in my fridge, and a new worry crept in: how long could we make this last?
As the days blurred together, the growing panic on campus was impossible to ignore. Food deliveries couldn’t get through, and the cafeteria was running out of supplies. Parents, in their own panic, started a “Worried Mars Hill Moms” Facebook page, desperate for any update. I spent hours trapped in overthinking, my anxiety intensifying as rumors circulated about students getting sick from the water. With no clear answers, I knew I had to figure out a way out.
But how would I get home? There were stories about kids trying to leave, running out of gas, or being sent back due to road closures. I could feel my grip on normalcy slipping away, along with any chance of maintaining a healthy routine. After another rationed dinner — a meager serving of pasta in one of those plaid cardboard trays you get at a BBQ — I knew my decision was made. I was going home to Alpharetta, Georgia.
But just as I was finalizing plans to leave, something unexpected happened. During a meeting with my boyfriend and his soccer team to discuss how we’d all make it to my house, the lights flickered on. The power was back after about three3 days. Relief surged through me. It wasn’t the end of the chaos, but at least I’d have proper meals again. FEMA came through with supplies, and for the first time in days, it felt like things were stabilizing. Although the caf wasn’t completely back to normal, food portions were bearable. This time, our food rations filled at least half the plate, a noticeable improvement. For those still feeling hungry, there were also options like salad kits, fruit cups, chips, and mini cereal boxes available.
Yet, with local grocery stores unable to restock, student mental health plummeting, and professors still without water and power, classes remained canceled for two more weeks. I couldn’t sit still — I wanted to help. Volunteer work had always made me feel whole, and during this time of crisis, it gave me purpose. My own situation, compared to neighboring communities, was far better, and helping those around me became my way of finding balance in the chaos. Sports teams remaining on campus traveled throughout the community, pitching in with efforts like removing mud from streets and delivering food. My cross-country team and I traveled a few exits down the road to help a neighboring town. Outside a thrift store, about 20 volunteers had gathered. Together, we cleared out furniture and clothing that had been damaged by mud and mold. We also organized supplies for helicopters to deliver essential items to communities that were otherwise cut off. It was laborious work but rewarding.
To help those struggling with Hurricane Helene, please visit this website.