This was shared by several of my friends... it says a lot!!!

Lord willing and the creek don’t rise,” and “come hell or high water”

I don’t know about you, but myself I was raised in the head of a holler in eastern Kentucky. And I can’t count the times I’ve heard these two sayings growing up. It’s two of my favorite Appalachian sayings. The first acknowledges that we can hope for the best but that even our best plans may be washed away. It embodies that particular Appalachian mindset that accepts the way things are, is deeply aware that ultimately so many things are beyond our control, but that we wake up always looking for a better tomorrow.
Of course, I never thought of it that way growing up. It was just a useful saying that everyone understood. It’s how we made plans, how we said goodbye, how we expressed fears and uncertainties.
The second. It’s a testament to our willingness to show up. We show up for our neighbors. An action or obligation must be performed no matter what happens and in spite of all difficulties. When someone dies you show up with a casserole dish or a shovel in hand. You show up no matter what. I have seen first hand someone giving the shirt off their back and even so if that was all they had. This saying fortifies the enduring spirit of the Appalachian people. My people!

The creek did rise… here came hell and high water…

I’ve set behind a screen today and watched hopelessly as the devastation unfolded as the sun rose today over my little small town. I’ve also set behind this same screen and watched as the rest of the United States ridiculed us. I may not be the smartest thats came out of these mountains but I do know mother nature is color blind. She has no boundaries. She has no plans. She takes and takes no matter who you are or who you voted for. She does not see blue or red. My heart hurt for both. But my hope came with the later. I know my Appalachian people would gladly accept outside help but I know they are already showing up for each other no matter the politics, the weather or anything else that may stop them. Through hell and high water Appalachian people will show up. Because we are Appalachian strong.

As I’ve set back and felt hopeless, I’ve wondered how do I ethically write about the devastating flooding in the county where I was raised though my home/pets/belongings/garden/farm/car/life/family members were not lost in those churning caramel-colored waters? How do i adequately put into the words the horror and the fear my little hometown felt as sirens echoed between the mountains and angry water ricocheted off the valleys. The people must have been able to see, feel, and smell the water all around. The ground was insufferably wet, as if the soil was as saturated as an un-wrung wash rag. I can not fathom what they have endured. I know my people are tired. In my lifetime, we have seen the “1000 year flood, “100 year flood” and now apparently the 3 year flood. Three years ago; the similarity and hopeless isn’t far from our minds. We can still vividly remember the last time Mother Nature hurled at us. Appalachians are no strangers to floods. It’s one of the risks of living in this beautiful place. It’s in our dialect and deep in our cultural memory. After all, come hell or high water.

And all of that aside, how do I even write coherently about something that has wreaked havoc upon roads and towns, economies and bodies and psyches of generations of people in these hills – many of whom were already grasping at thin straws of hope? How too, do I write about a flood a day after – when the true amount of devastation is still hidden under dark waters or blanketed with layers of mud?

To the People of Appalachia,(my people)
I know you are tired.

But we see you. We see the grit in your hands, the resilience in your hearts, and the unyielding strength that has carried you through generations of challenges. You are the backbone of this land, the people who weather the storms, rebuild after hardship, and hold fast to your communities with an unwavering loyalty that is the envy of many.

We acknowledge the struggles you face, the hardships of having to start over again and again, but we also celebrate your spirit, your unwavering commitment to family and place, and your ability to rise above adversity. You are the embodiment of strength, not just in your physical labor, but in the way you care for one another, the stories you share, and the deep connection you maintain with your land.
We will always be Appalachian strong!

Appalachian strong. It’s just not another hashtag for a T-shirt or for a caption on social media. Appalachian strong means we will persevere.
Appalachian strong means to show up for your neighbors even when you have nothing.
Appalachian strong means finding comfort that you aren’t alone.
Appalachian strong means being a volunteer firefighter and risking your life to save a stranger.
It means churches opening their doors with a warm meal to greet you.
Appalachian strong means we show up come hell or high water.

The past 24 hours has horrified me, devastated me, stupefied me.

As I still sit here behind a screen tonight, I write all of this to remind my people:
There is something remarkably special about these mountains. More than their beauty, their sublimity, there is the spirit of resilience – not only of the mountains themselves, but the people within them.
The grief that I and all of my fellow Appalachians feel right now is real. It is tangible; it is evidenced in the light of the devastation.

Appalachia you are strong, you are resislent. You will rise back up. We do not have a town, but we have our people.

Know this: if there is a group that can make it through a disaster that’s being called “biblical” and “catastrophic,” it is the people of Appalachia.

It is my home, the place where I have learned so much strength and belonging. To see my river sweep away my town, hurt and take away the people I know, ravage the people I love is something I was never prepared for.

But let me tell you this: there is no group of people stronger, more capable, more determined, and more loving than the folks who make up my home. I have full and complete confidence in that. I can look at the way my friends in Pikeville and Hazard have kept each other alive in a situation that was nearly impossible. I can look at the rescue efforts being waged nonstop in communities that are completely isolated.

I can tell you that I saw pictures of people kayaking down streets to check on their neighbors. People on side by sides following railroad tracks to reach people. We have suffered great loss and will suffer great grief, but I can tell you I have already seen great miracles. I can tell you I have seen the hearts of my people, and they are good. They are strong. They are resilient. I have seen people show up come hell or high water.
Please don’t forget you are Appalachian strong!

Come hell or high water”

I’ve been telling my friends for years what it means to be from the Appalachian Mountains. I think the rest of the world is finally seeing that too.

*Sending love, warmth and hope to everyone affected by the flood.