Finding comfort from the storm: Two Shelter Islanders and Hurricane Helene

Shelter Islanders Adam Bundy and James Marshall found themselves part of a moment of hope amidst the devastating aftermath of Hurricane Helene’s path through western North Carolina in late September. It’s estimated that more than 300 people perished in the storm, and damage was estimated as high as $200 billion. Here’s one story told by Ashley Becker to James, of a simple, but meaningful, act of kindness.

My three children and I caught the last flight out of Fort Lauderdale to Asheville, N.C. It was the Thursday of Hurricane Helene. We were headed to Lake Lure, N.C., for the wedding of friends, Becky Fruehling and Ben Lathrop. My husband would drive up to meet us.

It was dark and pouring when we landed, and the power was starting to go out everywhere. At that time, we thought nothing of it. These are just the outer bands taking down power lines. The storm is headed west. No big deal. We’re from Florida. We’re used to this.

Looking back, we were obviously very wrong.

We woke up the next morning at our Airbnb in Lake Lure’s Rumbling Bald resort community to no power, no cell service, no information, and absolutely no idea of what had happened in the night. We had just weathered a direct hit from Hurricane Helene. The flood waters from over 20 inches of cumulative rain were rising rapidly, soon to spill over the wall of Lake Lure’s dam.

It’s now Saturday morning. Twenty-four hours in a state of disarray. The anxiety of not knowing. Everything is cash now. ATMs on generators still need signals. We got word that they were serving complimentary breakfast at one of the resort’s restaurants that had a generator.

Maybe we’d find some cell service. Everyone back home has got to be beside themselves with worry. I wonder if anyone knows anything. We were desperate for any information. And ice. And to conserve cash.

We walked into organized chaos and looked for a place to sit. Two men at the bar didn’t miss a beat, immediately moving down to make room, and invited us to sit. We got to talking. We exchanged what information we had.

We found common ground in where we hailed from or had adopted — Long Island. Adam Bundy and James Marshall explained they were there for a family reunion with Adam’s sons and grandkids.

That they had property in Lake Lure. We told them about our wedding plans, and I thought — poor Becky and Ben. All the heart and money put into one of life’s biggest events, washed away in the middle of a disaster.

I mentioned that the bride and groom might still attempt a version of the event. Adam chimed in, “Do you know if their photographer was able to make it? I’d be happy to shoot the wedding for them.” Again, not missing a beat.

“Are you serious?” I asked. “This is absolutely incredible.”

We quickly devised a plan on how we might make this work without cell service. If James and Adam were leaving, they’d put a note on their rental house door, the address now written on a coaster. If I found no note, I was to leave a note with the details of the wedding.

“If we see a note from you, we’ll find you,” Adam said.

We parted ways. Then news arrived by golf cart; the wedding was on. My husband and I were now on a mission, zooming in on old screenshots of maps on our phones to find that front door. We left the note.

And then, nothing. The wedding was starting, and there was no sign of Adam or James. The disappointed bride and groom appointed two wedding guests to step in as makeshift photographer and videographer.

Ben and Becky  kissed and took the obligatory walk down the rose-petal-lined aisle on the sprawling second-story porch of their Airbnb, its event-saving generator purring, when we all looked up to see a drone sweep in for a close-up.

It was Adam’s camera. He then arrived in person to photograph the wedding party.

The recovery from Helene will undoubtedly be long and harrowing. But Ben said it best: “In the midst of a tragedy, be the beacon — put the focus on the positive that can happen when a community comes together.”

I know — don’t talk politics or religion. But one month out from a heated election in a supposedly divided country, here is a simple reminder that community is all of us. Because, in times of crisis, our shared American values are to rise to the occasion for others, especially strangers; that in special moments, like a birth or a wedding, a celebration of family and togetherness, politics aren’t what matter. People are what matter. Doing for others is what matters. I’d like to thank Adam for reminding all of us of that.