The important stuff is not stuff
"Life is precious. Life is sacred. And it ought so to be observed." Gordon B. Hinckley
My first experience with a hurricane was the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans, Louisiana in 2005. I was a U.S. Army Major serving in the famed 82nd Airborne Division and part of a response force to rescue people, restore order, and assist in recovery. I’ll never forget entering the city for the first time, days after the storm in a military vehicle near midnight. New Orleans, a city of nearly 500,000 people with skyscrapers, parking decks, and a giant football stadium was eerily lifeless - dark and vacant. Sunrise the following morning would expose a city landscape of despair and destruction. I was humbled by the power of nature and saddened by the loss of life.
Following my retirement from the Army in 2016, my family and I bought a beach house in Topsail Island, North Carolina where we experienced Hurricanes Matthew and Florence. Given its size, power, and trajectory, we were forced to evacuate Topsail before Florence struck. Almost three weeks later we snaked our way around flooded highways through back roads to return to our home which was, thankfully, unscathed.
In spring of 2021, we left the coast for the Southern Appalachian Highlands landing in Flag Pond, Tennessee where we live today and Johnson City where we own few businesses. Our belief that our hurricane days were behind us evaporated the day Helene was born. Even still, learning of the storm, like many, we believed that while the danger was real, the hurricane would likely weaken by the time it reached us well inland from the warm Gulf of Mexico waters. Once again, I found myself humbled by the power of nature.
The local response to Helene continues to be impressive. Long before first responders could arrive, local citizens equipped with four wheelers, small boats, and chain saws began to rescue their neighbors and clear roads for emergency services. Neighbors took in neighbors. Friends dropped off water and phoned loved ones for those who could not. Churches and schools mobilized and became centers of hope and refuge for those who lost everything. Indeed, our local emergency service professionals, National Guard, and eventually federal agents rushed to the scene to save us and get us back on our feet.
I drive through the wreckage each day in Erwin, Tennessee where over 50 people were rescued from the roof of a hospital, several perished or are still missing in the flooding, and a major highway was severed. It is my daily dose of humility – mother nature looking down upon me reminding me of her awesome power. I and my family, and our home have come through another hurricane unscathed, and we thank God for that. We (and countless others) are doing all we can to help those affected. Through all this experience I’m reminded of something a dear friend said to me following our evacuation from Hurricane Florence in 2018. “The important stuff is not stuff.”
“The important stuff is not stuff,” read the text message from John Fickel or “Fish” as he is called, a retired Army Lieutenant Colonel and long-time family friend. I’ve had time to really ponder this simple, common sense, yet profound statement. My heart does indeed pour out to numerous people in the Southeast who felt the true fury of this intense storm, one to be remembered for decades. Helene washed away homes, businesses, and even small mountain towns. But, most importantly, she took precious lives. Let the names of the fallen live on as the story and impact of this storm surely will. It is people after all, which are the most important stuff, not buildings and their contents – not even our beloved small towns.
Fish was always the leader in the group to offer a commonsense statement like this to refocus us on the true importance of the moment. Amidst the chaos of a complex training event, one which would replicate the rigors of combat, he was the calm leader in the storm to help others see through the fog and friction – to remind us of that which was truly important.
My wife and I have never lost sight of what is important through each storm. During Florence, wrestling with what to bring from a home filled with decades of treasured possessions, in our haste to depart the area to safety, we knew it was just stuff. We were returning from a trip to Europe when Helene hit so we remained in Raleigh, North Carolina during the storm thinking about our house and its contents. We had said goodbye to each other and our possessions in a career moving frequently and being separated by training events and three combat tours often wondering if we would see our household goods or each other again. Through all this and again on the cusp of another life crucible, what mattered most was life. Fish’s message to me, indeed to all of us, among several from concerned friends and family, is the one which stuck.
Helene has altered our Appalachian landscape. She has changed our towns and our people forever. She took lives and livelihoods and our road to recovery will be long and arduous. But she did give us something. A lesson in humanity. While we cherish our possessions, the comfort of our surroundings and the beauty of our land, it is people which matter most. My wife and I are thankful for so much. We embraced in our home once we learned it survived the storm, happy, knowing that it prevailed, relieved to be reunited with our possessions. But the true meaning behind that embrace was that we were alive. We had survived once again. So too had our neighbors and friends. That’s the important stuff.
May God bless the responders who will search for the missing, rescue the stranded, and care for those truly impacted by this storm. May God bless the families who have lost homes, possessions, jobs, and loved ones. Through this darkness I see a light of brotherhood and sisterhood, of an Appalachian community, of people helping people. Through this darkness I’m reminded that the important stuff is not stuff.
Colonel Rob Campbell
Rob Campbell