My Blue Ridge Mountains Series-Capturing Beauty in the Midst of Climate Change (Author: Linda Fisler)

Why did I start painting my Blue Ridge Mountain series?  In short, about three years ago I decided while hiking that in a few fifty to a hundred years the Blue Ridge Mountains may not look like it did then because of climate change (Notice the past tense).  Tom, my husband, and I moved here for the beauty of the mountains and we thought we would never have to worry about hurricanes. I even remarked to my good friend, Julie Lott Gallo, that if a hurricane hit this area, it would have to be a very big one, considering we were over five hundred miles from the coast.  Boy, was I wrong!  I live in Asheville, NC and Hurricane Helene brought her fury and climate change to our front door in a pretty big way.  We were lucky--without power (7 days), internet (14 days) and potable water (30+ days and counting). The water running through our taps today is non-potable--but we can flush our toilets and take a shower now from water from our own faucets. Creativity takes a different form when you are in a crisis. I got creative cooking, cleaning, searching for flushable water.  I thankfully had bottled water that lasted for a week before we had to travel out to stand in line for a couple gallons. 

We are about five weeks out from our new adventure. We have survivor's guilt. We were only inconvenienced. Our home is not compromised and we didn't experience the loss of family or friends. We didn't watch our house be taken down by flood waters. But we did witness over 20 inches of rain (30 inches in some areas) fall and endured countless flash flood alerts on our phones. My studio is high and dry, while the River Arts District is decimated. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the devastation. Yesterday was a beautiful day, so it was time to get back to work, capturing what has happened to some of my favorite places that I painted or wanted to paint. Little did I know I had less time than I thought to capture what this area looked and looks like now.  

This spot, the beginning of the Shut In Trail outside the NC Arboretum, was my go to place. I could sit there and listen to the babbling Bent Creek, taking deep breaths of all the smells of a forest. I visited often whenever my soul needed nourishing.

Images of the Shut In Trail Head

I was fortunate to have painted my favorite area twice--Early and late Fall. The late Fall painting was published in the Artistonish Magazine. 

All that has happened this year, from preparing for the total knee replacement, the actual surgery and 14 days of one hell of post op roller coaster, the rehab, Helene hitting, 7 days without power, 14 without cell and internet, 20 days without running water to flush toilets or shower, and to top all of that off, the election. The election alone brought back memories of running the gauntlet into Planned Parenthood for basic female medical needs. But that is a whole different story that I might share someday when the memory scab isn't so fresh.

I anxiously walked from the Blue Ridge Parkway overlook to the start of the Shut In Trail only to realize my worst nightmare had come true. There were 3 huge tree trunks blocking my way to my solitude. If I hadn't just had a total knee replacement I might have struggled over the trunks to get to my favorite spot. Oh, how my heart wanted to scale those trunks! Common sense took over--there was no way I was going to get past those downed trees without having to call a rescue squad!

We walked down a bit further. The realization hit that getting past that first group of downed trees only led to more downed trees and maybe even a small landslide. As my eyes traced the creek, my heart hoping to catch a glimpse of my favorite one-with-nature spot, it became apparent that Bent Creek re-routed itself. I couldn't see deep enough into the mess of downed trees to recognize anything familiar. Heartbreaking doesn't adequately describe my feeling of loss.

We hiked down to the French Broad River and the park there. A river otter spotted me, its head peering over a log caught by the shore, possibly by rocks under the water. The otter dove back down into the murky, brown, water, also still recovering from the flooding. I was thankful for the opportunity Mother Nature gave me with that quick glimpse of the playful otter.

We drove through the arboretum where all trails are still closed. The debris pile was huge and the Army Corp of Engineers was busy loading dump trucks with the brush and tree trunk debris.

We decided that we wanted to drive through the Biltmore Estate, as if we weren't hurting enough from all the devastation we had already seen. The entrance, once beautifully landscaped with flowers of the season and trees--tall, majestic, old trees, was now nothing but river silt and a view of the railyard just on the other side of the Swannanoa River. The entrance arch, now decorated with Christmas lights and perhaps a quick clean, that tried to wipe away just how many feet up the river had been. Big Terracotta flowerpots line the drive where the landscape islands used to be. The wrath of the flooding (from Swannanoa River and French Broad River) is evident along the drive to the entrance where our season passes were scanned.

The red line is how high the water from the Swannanoa and French Broad Rivers flooding got. 

This area was once covered in azaleas and Rhododendrons. 

The roads to the house and Antler Village were open. The roads that led you to the front of the house, to the gardens and lily ponds were off limits. You can't drive over the bridge by the Bass Pond that appeared in the Last of the Mohicans movie. The road by the lagoon (the lagoon where Being There was filmed in which Peter Sellers walks into the lagoon with the estate house in the distance) was closed.

Noted by the local media was the loss of some animals. We spotted some sheep on a hill, goats and cows by Antler Village. We saw a couple horses by Deer Park. On our way out we spotted five wild turkeys. Far outnumbering the amount of animals we saw was the amount of downed trees and washed out areas from the various creeks around the estate. I noted how high the rivers rose, up to the second set of steps as we climbed up them to Antler Village. We turned to survey the land that laid between us and the French Broad River. The field of sunflowers was barren. The goat shelter in that field was gone, so was the white wooden fence. A crew was working along the river clearing fallen trees and debris, working to restore the walking path by the river.

A once bustling Antler Village in past years had about 20 people wandering around. In the five years we have been here, I have never seen it so deserted. We walked up and ordered some ice cream at the creamery. Where there is usually a wait, we walk straight to the counter to order. Seconds later, we had our treat and went out the door to select our seats. Usually you would grab a table just as someone was leaving. Today, there were many empty tables and only 6 of us enjoying some ice cream.

It was a sad afternoon. Just more heartbreak on top of already heavy hearts. However, if you ever wanted to see Christmas at the Biltmore, this would be the year. The inns are open, which is supported by Biltmore's own water plant (well water) and power plant (some of which comes from solar farms on the estate grounds, cleverly hidden from the tourists views). I wonder how their vineyards fared. Access to the Biltmore Village (just outside the Biltmore Estate) shopping area is still blocked off and the shoppes and restaurants are closed.

What an afternoon of exploring some of our favorite places. I can only hope I can get to my soul nurturing spots in the Spring.