Help Spring's Family Recover from Devastating Helene Flood

This GoFundMe is to help Spring Pearson and her family (Theo Crouse-Mann, Amy Solveigh, and Willborn Erasmus) recover from Hurricane Helene. I am Spring's father, John E. Pearson of Los Alamos, NM. Spring and her family live in Del Rio, Tennessee, about 10 miles from Newport. On September 27 2024 they spent the scariest night of their lives hunkered down on the second floor with their two young children as they watched houses float down the French Broad. Today (Monday Nov 18 2024) while I was out on my run it occurred to me how frightening it must have been when their two out buildings collapsed. Like "will the house be next?" I can't imagine it but it brings tears to my eyes.

They own the Sly Grog bar and music venue in Asheville, NC, which fortunately was not damaged. Some of their workers are now staying in the bar as their homes in Asheville were destroyed. All moneys collected go from GO FUND ME directly to Spring and her husband, Theo.

While their house survived, it suffered major water damage, with water inundating the basement and coming up 3' in the living room. They had two substantial outbuildings (one, a two-story garage) which were both destroyed. They moved their cars to higher ground, but unfortunately, it wasn't high enough. Both cars were ruined.

The house was flooded before in 1916. At that time, the house was raised above the waterline of the 1916 flood. It was believed no flood would ever surpass the 1916 flood. They have flood insurance, but it is nowhere near enough to repair the water damage, provide generators, replace the cars, raise the house another 6', and clear away the outbuildings so that the yard is safe for the children. We are seeking anything up to $30k. I've never done anything like this before, but I'm guessing that $30K will get them out of the hole they're in. If more is collected than needed, we will donate it to people in Asheville who need it. I will do the best I can to provide updates on how the money is spent.

Here is Spring's description of the experience.

I want to get this down while it's fresh in my head.

Friday morning:

Jamey texts and asks how the river is at our house. I tell him it's in the back yard, but I'm being dramatic. It's only spilling out a tiny bit, there's a puddle maybe a couple inches deep.

An hour later, Theo’s grandfather's boat floats away, and we wade through knee deep water to chase it down. He ties it to the front of the house and we laugh about our big flood adventure.

Friday noon:

The porch could be an Italian gondola, or a fancy yacht or something. The sun is out, the sky is blue, water gently laps at the third or fourth stair. I'm still having fun with all of this. The kids do school, we make French Toast because Moose is working on F's this week and on Friday's we have kitchen classroom.

Friday afternoon:

The water is still coming. We carry food and water upstairs. Still more water, we carry up my grandmother's sheet music and metronome, the kid's artwork, the drawer with all of our important documents, my books, the stuffed animals... The power goes out at 3:30. I take a last video from the roof before turning off the phone to conserve power. Around 3:45, water seeps through the a/c vents, pooling in every room. I had imagined it would come from upstream, but instead it came from below.

Friday evening:

I work on painting in Peach's room, and the river gets louder and louder. The garage breaks open. It sounds like a thousand shattering clay pots. I stop painting and look downstairs. My dining table is under water. There's no more playing it cool. I am full on panicked. I tell Theo I am afraid we may have killed the kids by staying.

Friday night/Saturday morning:

I shine the flashlight into the dining room and look for visual aids to mark where the water is, checking every twenty minutes or so. An inches below the table top now, you can see the knobs on the bathroom drawers, the bottom of the pattern on the drawers, the door latch... at 2am, I am finally satisfied that the water is receding. I sleep.

Saturday:

At 5am, there are less than 2 inches of water inside. The river is still loud. I sit on the roof. When Theo and the kids get up at 7, the last of it is gone from inside, and everything is mud. I check the piano- unplayable, but appears in tact. Outside, it is level with the front porch, so six feet above ground level.

Our narrow sliver of reality starts to set in-- house is a disaster, cars are ruined, no power, no water, no communications, and the road is impassable. I get restless, and Theo points out the water has dropped below the train tracks. I paddle his grandfather's boat across the road and start walking towards Newport to secure a rental car so we can get to Asheville. I save a trout stranded in a puddle on the wrong side of the tracks, and there are bear prints in the mud. Around Bobarosas (5ish miles from the house?), I run into rail service guys evaluating the tracks and the let me ride with them to Bridgeport on the back of their high rail truck. I can't wait to tell Jamey and Chad. When I have signal again my phone is flooded with notifications. I didn't think people were paying such close attention to Del Rio! I should make grown up calls, but I start with Chad, curious and worried about how he's faring in Florida.

Instead of laughing about my adventure, he explains that Asheville is ruined, that hundreds of people are dead, that the world as we know it is over. I didn't know. I didn't know at all.

Tela picks me up at the Get Right With God barn and lends me her car. I try to go back for Theo and the kids, but the road is still impassable, so I go to Hot Springs. Devastation. I try Theo and the kids again. Still impassable, but getting better, so I go buy car seats and a sandwich. On the third pass, I finally get to them. I tell Theo we have to find a hotel in Knoxville, Asheville's gone. Chris is staying at the Grog. Brendan and Eric and Mike and Tony and Andrew are OK, we don't know about anyone else. By the time we make it to Newport, Amber has messaged and offered us a place to stay. We stagger into her vacation cabin and rest, safe and warm and grateful.

Since then:

We work, people help. Strangers help. Friends help. Monday I blithely go into Asheville to go to the bank (idiot). Instead I hug friends and cry and that's worth it. Every day gets a little better. I am hugging Mr. Gregory's dogs when the news people start talking to me. They're in the way but it's fine. Mostly, people help. Someone donates a dumpster. Tony Moseley helps me rip out the dining room floor. People bring things we knew we needed and things we hadn't thought of. Friends make time to come help with the muck. We hear update after update that our friends in Asheville are OK. We swim in gratitude.