I went back home to Canton on October 3rd. I had to. I had to check on Mamaw and Papaw’s house to see if it was still standing. I had to visit my family’s graves to make sure they were intact. But most of all, I needed to help.

So I did what any hillbilly would do: I called up my kinfolk and old family friends. We gathered what we could—money, supplies, anything that would make a difference. I packed up my car to the brim and headed back home.

It was emotional for me. I didn’t know what to expect.

The rumor mill has been churning since Hurricane Helene hit Western North Carolina. Stories of washed-out roads, destroyed homes, and devastation beyond belief. But no one really knows the full extent of any catastrophe until they see it with their own tear-filled eyes.

The roads were open, at least I-40 and 74/76 into Haywood County. I can’t speak for anything beyond that. But we made it through without being stopped, without anyone trying to take our supplies. Thank God for that. I would’ve raised hell if they had.

Canton welcomed us like I knew it would, arms wide open. Bless my hometown.

The sports complex was crawling with people. Some to drop off supplies, others to pick them up. We unloaded our vehicles, then stuck around to help where we could. Zeb Smathers, Canton’s mayor, was in his work boots. He toted water and dog food just like the rest of us. There was no hierarchy, just neighbors helping neighbors.

Downtown was still blocked off, the streets and sidewalks coated in a fine layer of silt. Over on Substation Road, folks were already hard at work, cleaning out their homes, piling debris and ruined furniture by the roadside. The sight of it was heartbreaking, but there was something powerful in the air—resilience.

People weren’t waiting around; they were rolling up their sleeves and getting it done.

Miraculously, the head of Dutch Cove was left unscathed. Mamaw and Papaw’s house still stands, solid and safe. Even the cemetery in Clyde was untouched. I finally got to hug my cousins’ necks, feeling a sense of relief I hadn’t let myself hope for.

Other areas weren’t as lucky. Cruso and Bethel were hit hard. Clyde, too. It looked like a bomb had gone off in the middle of the creek in Crabtree, and in Sandy Mush, the road was washed out every few hundred feet.

We made our deliveries to those areas, finishing up at Center Pigeon Baptist Church in Canton. Even though they’d officially stopped accepting donations for the day, church members still came out to help us unload. And afterward, they fed us. We went there to take care of them—but in true hillbilly fashion, they wound up taking care of us.

Seeing Canton like this hit me hard, but there’s a spirit in those mountains. My people are strong—hillbilly strong. We take care of our own, and we’ll pull together to rebuild, no matter what the rumor mill says.

I’ll be heading back to Canton this weekend. If y’all want to help, please consider donating to Helping Haywood County. Every little bit makes a difference.