The aforementioned is all about infrastructure and recovery and sad optics—as well as literal relief and reassurance. But there’s another kind of relief. You can call it #TogetherWNC. Or just Ashevillian folks, “weird” in so many pink-haired, tattooed, nose-ringed, artsy ways, helping each other out—including “free hugs” at the local CVS.
There were staging areas for food, water and empathy. Accompanying signage included: “You Are Loved: Glad You’re Here,” We Rise By Lifting Others” and “Unite With Love.” Not unusual to see a large apartment building at a major intersection with a prominent, ad hoc cardboard sign saying “Thank you: grocery workers, nurses, first responders & truck drivers.” A nearby restaurant was giving away free vegan food, and Sam’s Club, Fresh Market and Whole Foods were providing free meal kits. A YMCA was offering showers, the American Red Cross set up a 150-bed shelter at what used to be a Gold’s Gym and a community garden harvest was well timed. Local residents continued a tradition of putting out extra food curbside, and those with power shared a “free charge” extension cord with powerless neighbors. The Register of Deeds developed a web-based form to assist people in finding and connecting with friends and relatives. There were free stays for the displaced at Airbnbs.
Around downtown, it looked tourist-challenged as various open businesses catered to locals. A prime example: The Mellow Mushroom offered free pizza and someone waiting in line even shared free “dabs,” which are puffs of an illegal herb. Celebrity chef Jose Andres and his acclaimed World Central Kitchen opened a free food-distribution center. Nearby was one of several laundry relief zones.
None of which surprised Alice Helms, 72, who has experienced the neighborly vibe since moving here from Connecticut 19 years ago. “My feeling is that everyone is always going to help–be nice, stop and chat,” says Helms. “Now we’re turning it up a few notches. It’s an amazing, caring community. The first day, my eight neighbors knocked on my door to see what I needed. I live alone, but I’m not lonely.
“What’s really special is the camaraderie,” added Helms, a past president of her neighborhood association, a volunteer with Asheville City Schools pre-K, a quilting community member and a self-described “busybody around town.”
“I’ve had some incredible conversations with people just standing in lines,” she said. “It’s an oddly intimate thing to be talking to strangers about toilet flushing.”
That’s Asheville.