During the recovery, our local public schools provide a safe haven

Ryan Mitchell is a teacher in Henderson County Public Schoolssouth of Asheville. These are some of his reflections as he and his community recover from Hurricane Helene.

Friday October 4, 9:30 am am

“Daddy, when are we going back to school?”

How do you answer a question that has no real answer? We sit here, both longing equally for the familiar comforts of the schoolhouse: the friends, the routine, and the joy that fills the classrooms. As I look at the world around us, now clouded by uncertainty, it is difficult to imagine when we will regain the normalcy that school provides for so many. Even the idea that we might come back in the next few weeks is impossible as we live day to day. I can barely think about tomorrow, let alone weeks from now.

I spend my days handing out supplies, waiting for the answer to her question.

Wednesday October 8, 10:30 am

As I drive to a school, I pass house after house that has had its entire interior moved to the side of the road. These people lost everything due to floods and now it is visible for the whole world to see. I’m just like the houses: completely gutted. Everything these people have ever worked on is just in a pile. The feeling of sadness and gratitude is a train that does not stop.

Wednesday October 8, 11:00 am

Dana Elementary is hosting an event for their students and families where they can come enjoy a meal, see their teachers, and pick up water, food, clothing, and other supplies.

Each of the supplies has a story and comes to our rural community from all over the country. Every shirt, case of water and can of food comes from care and concern.

While I’m sorting through clothes, I look at a label and my former student’s name was written there in Sharpie. This connection goes deeper than just a piece of clothing. It is a symbol of what has happened since Helene arrived: people in our community help each other, even when they are hurting themselves.

From the very first minute of the event it is beautiful.

I see a student running to hug his teacher. The embrace is full of emotion that there are no words for.

Families come by to receive support items. Many different languages ​​are spoken, but it is easy to understand the language of love and the dialect of joy.

Principal Amy Cleveland, Assistant Principal Tim Fendley and their staff demonstrate that schools are the beating heart of a community, a comforting place where people can come together, be cared for and enjoy community. The school has been transformed into a place of refuge, refuge and reconstruction for all in need.

Halfway through the event, we all get the same text message: “Students are returning to school on Tuesday, October 15.”

Amy Cleveland reads this message over the microphone for everyone to hear. There are shouts and shouts of euphoria. The rhythm of normality synchronizes into place. It’s as if the volume on the radio is turned up, the windows are open and everyone around is singing along.

And my daughter finally has an answer to her question.

Friday, October 10, 10:00 PM

For the first time, I can look at the news, and the devastation in our beautiful part of our state is more extensive and widespread than I could have even imagined during our time in isolation. Feelings of guilt and sadness wash over me, a reminder of the complex and nuanced nature of human emotions.

Even though journalists are speaking, I hear nothing. It’s just quiet. Dealing with the trauma of an event like this tests your deepest personality traits. My positive and cheerful attitude struggles to stay rooted, just like the trees during the storm. The influence of the circle of friends around me keeps me grounded.

I look at the next excerpt which is about how neighbors organized their efforts to get supplies to those who can’t get out. Click. The mute button in my brain is pressed and I hear the melody of our community.

Helene taught us so many lessons. The ones who will stay with us for the rest of our lives. Which will be seen throughout our region in the coming century.

Tuesday, October 15, 8:00 am am

Students come back.

Today you have that first day of school feeling. Everyone has butterflies and feels the excitement.

When children enter the building, the feeling of relief and happiness is infectious, a harmony of resilience that connects us all.

When a kindergarten teacher walks past me, she says, “I am blessed. It didn’t flood. I am blessed. It hasn’t flooded.”

This chord of gratitude is the bridge that connects us. We have all weathered the same storm, albeit in different ways. Yet there we stand, not fallen and broken like the trees around us, but full of life and purpose, moved forward by the unwavering support of our network of caring people.

One of the first grade classes is portraying their experiences through art. They say art makes you feel, and this art moves my soul. Seeing these drawings of trees fallen on houses, water in houses and the faces of six-year-olds in tears is so raw and emotionally charged that you can feel the honesty and pain bursting from the page.

It’s one thing to ride out the storm as an adult and see the devastation firsthand, but seeing a hurricane through the lens of a child is humbling. As a teacher, I want to ensure that they never have to feel this kind of pain again. To create an environment where they can escape from the pain that currently surrounds them. Helene has changed entire worlds, but she hasn’t changed the kinds of spaces teachers want to create for their students.

I walk into a second grade classroom and greet a student. The seven-year-old looks at me and says, “I’ve been in a helicopter. The soldier came to pick us up. I had to wear yellow earplugs and they dropped us off at a shelter. The shelter was actually a school and they gave us food and water.”

The school was a hiding place, wasn’t it always?

Local public schools are a safe haven. A source of consistency for the community. Whether it is a distribution center, a shelter or an educational institution, local public schools will meet the needs of all students everywhere. Forever and ever.

Just because we go back to school doesn’t mean we’re cured. Our road to recovery has only just begun.