JACK STALLARD

Regular readers of this column know I have never been shy about claiming two hometowns as my own.

I looked it up, and that’s legal.

One definition of a hometown said it was “the town or city a person is from, especially the one in which they were born and lived while they were young.”

That gets a little confusing since I was born in Fort Worth, but only lived there a short time — and most of that was spent in Foster care at the Lena Pope Home.

The other definition is “the town of one’s birth or early life or of one’s present fixed residence.”

That’s the one I’m claiming since it covers the fact I’ve lived in East Texas for nearly 40 years — 33 of them in my adopted hometown of Kilgore — but also allows me to recognize Erwin, Tennessee, since that’s where I grew up.

Erwin is in East Tennessee, about an hour from Asheville, North Carolina.

The area, aptly called “The Valley Beautiful” is situated in a valley at the confluence of North Indian Creek, which approaches from the northeast and the Nolichucky River, which enters the valley from the mountains to the southeast.

Erwin is surrounded by the Cherokee National Forest, Buffalo Mountain to the north, Rich Mountain to the west and the Unaka Mountains to the south and east.

(Note: I borrowed that part from Wikipedia, which you probably figured out when you saw the use of the word “confluence.”)

I was baptized, along with my brothers Gary and Randy, in North Indian Creek. It was December and snow was on the ground. I’m not sure why we didn’t wait until it warmed up some, but my dad said something about us being Stallards and not wanting to take any chances by waiting until the spring thaw.

I climbed those mountains and loved them, but never really appreciated their incredible beauty until I left them.

My family spent so much time camping and fishing on the Nolichucky, I’m surprised we didn’t start getting our mail there.

I visited Erwin back in June to catch up with family and friends and attend my 40th high school reunion. I soaked in the beauty of those mountains, and spent part of one day taking pictures down on the banks of the Nolichucky.

I made a solemn vow while standing beside that river that it would not be six more years before I came back, but I’m worried now just what I’ll see when I return.

You’ve probably seen photos and video from the damage done by Hurricane Helene to that part of the country. A lot of what I visited back in June is simply gone, and what’s not gone is buried in mud and debris.

People died, and others are still missing. Homes and businesses are either completely gone or damaged beyond repair.

I’m still trying to find out the status of the radio station that broadcast my Little League baseball games almost 50 years ago. In a box somewhere in my house I have a coupon given to me by the station’s founder for hitting a home run during one of those games.

During the early parts of the flooding, someone at the station posted on social media that the tower was gone and the building was taking on water. I’ve scanned photos from that area for the last week, and I don’t see the building in any of them.

This weekend would have been the 47th year of the annual Apple Festival in downtown Erwin, an event that draws more than 120,000 folks each year. It’s been called off, of course, which is absolutely the right thing to do, but that will take a huge bite out of the area’s economy.

I feel helpless sitting here almost 900 miles away from friends and family who are going through so much turmoil right now, and I know mere words won’t do much to soothe that pain.

But I know this.

The folks in my other hometown will rise like those beautiful mountains. They are stronger than that river, and they’ll put so much love back into that town and their neighbors, others around the nation will forever use them as an example of how to deal with tragic situations.

I believe that from the bottom of my broken heart.