Bruised, Not Broken

The week before I moved to Asheville, it rained for four days. It rained so much my friends in Brevard worried another disaster was coming. 

Yes, it was August, and rainy afternoons are the norm. But we all remembered the previous September, when the ground was saturated before Hurricane Helene hit. Would it happen again?

Then the rain stopped, and I discovered something. Although Asheville is only about 30 miles from Brevard, it rains less in the big city. I drove there one Saturday to show my son our new home, and the clouds parted. We saw the sun.

In the midst of a divorce, I was looking for an affordable place to rent, which is nearly impossible in Brevard. I was thrilled to find a townhouse in a coveted northern part of Asheville—near the Botanical Garden, my son’s new preschool, and Trader Joe’s (the holy grail of Asheville real estate). 

I wondered if my good fortune came at someone else’s expense.

Median home prices in Asheville reached a five-year high this spring, as the number of available houses fell. The supply of homes for sale has dropped by 35 percent since 2019, according to a report from the real estate analysis firm Bowen National Research and commissioned by the city of Asheville and the Land of Sky Regional Council.

For renters, the picture is slightly less bleak. Although Zillow says average rents fell slightly from the time Helene hit last September to this fall, Bowen found the median rent for a two-bedroom home is still $1,950—unaffordable to 70 percent of the city’s renters. 

“For our clients, things have never been tougher,” said David Bartholomew, director of the homelessness prevention program at Pisgah Legal Services. There are still long wait lists and no vacancies for subsidized housing, he added. Even if rental prices sag, “the economic activity and the income has also suffered.”

There’s a lingering sadness that accompanies these statistics. Forty-three people in Buncombe County died during the storm. Survivors struggled to earn a living as businesses shuttered and tourism slowed. The county lost nearly 13,000 jobs in the month after Helene hit, according to the state Department of Commerce.

As an outsider, it feels like moving to New York City after the pandemic. The scenery is gorgeous and vibrant; restaurants are full. Traffic chokes I-26. It’s only when I drive along the Swannanoa River and see the buildings that still appear bombed out and gutted that I remember: This is a city in mourning.

Never Again

My new neighbor, Josefa Briant, is an Israeli woman with purple highlights in her gray hair. She wears flowing tunics and always stops to chat with my 4-year-old. Shortly after I moved in this summer, we had the conversation two strangers from this part of the state still have about Helene. 

“Did you get a lot of damage?” she asked.

No, I explained, we were so lucky in Brevard. We only lost Internet and phone service.

“How was it for you?” 

So many neighbors fled after the storm hit, she said, it felt like living on an island. Helene damaged one of the main water plants for the area, and the city of Asheville lost drinking water for 53 days. Even after water was partially restored for bathing, people with open sores were advised not to shower, and kids were warned against opening their mouths in the bath. 

The weeks without access to basic hygiene left Briant with rashes and other uncomfortable health problems. She told herself, “Never again.” 

Sarai Morgan, marketing director for the real estate firm Century 21 Connected, left her rental home on Swannanoa River Road the night before the storm with a bag of clothes, two pairs of shoes, and her computer. She stayed with her brother in Candler, southwest of downtown, for a couple of days until the water receded enough to drive back into Asheville. 

When they arrived, they had to leave their car on the road and trek down a hill to reach her house. It was engulfed in brown mud, and the waterline reached above the windows. Cabinets had fallen out of walls, and the fridge was upside down. “It was like a washing machine came in there and swirled everything around,” Morgan said.

She was in shock. Her brother began to cry.

Days later, she evacuated to Florida to stay with family. In the following weeks, Morgan started to feel like she wanted to go home. Then she’d realize, “You don’t have a home.”

According to the Bowen report, 12,931 homes in Buncombe County were damaged by the storm. The city was already facing an affordable housing shortage. The report estimates that over the next five years, Asheville will have 11,658 fewer housing units than it needs, with the greatest need for lower-income rental units and homes selling for $248,000 or more.

Chris Smith, a broker and owner of Century 21 Connected, said Asheville’s housing market is in the midst of a correction. Prices jumped dramatically during the pandemic as remote work allowed more people to relocate, vacation rentals became more popular, and low interest rates meant “money was so damn cheap,” he said. This led to “elevated home prices and rapid escalation in perceived value.”

Now that interest rates on mortgages have risen and wages haven’t kept up with the cost of living, owners can’t sell for the profits they think they deserve. So houses are sitting on the market longer, and some sellers have to reduce their prices. In the city of Asheville, the number of days homes stayed on the market before selling was up 80 percent this July compared with July 2024, according to Canopy MLS, a real estate listing service that covers major markets in the state. 

“There’s a disconnect in the market between what sellers want and what buyers are willing to pay,” Smith said. 

Meanwhile, housing prices in the surrounding rural areas have spiked. I bought a home in Brevard in 2018 in part because the small town was more affordable than Asheville. That equation is no longer true. Since 2021, the median sales price for a home in Transylvania County has ballooned from roughly $350,000 to $570,000, according to Canopy. Asheville’s median sales price in July was $520,000. 

Smith said buyers are attracted to the quality of life in the smaller towns. Retirees enjoy outdoor activities and clean downtowns and don’t want to be bothered by the panhandling and drug issues Asheville is struggling to address. The city’s “got an image problem, and it’s got to clean it up,” Smith said.

Still, Asheville has a larger supply of housing, particularly for renters. It was easier for me to find a place to rent in Asheville than Brevard because, according to the Bowen report, Transylvania’s apartment vacancy rate is zero.

Beer City

A few months before I moved to the city, I joined the Asheville Beer Choir. Yes, “Beer City, USA” has a beer choir. We meet every Thursday in breweries around town. There’s no audition process; everyone is welcome. The talent is fierce.

Before Helene, the choir rehearsed at Cursus Keme, a beloved brewery on the banks of the Swannanoa River. It was completely destroyed in the storm, reduced to piles of wooden planks and wires. Now the choir rotates locations every week.

This spring, we rehearsed a set of songs about Asheville and the Blue Ridge Mountains. We performed a few at a community concert in Pack Square Park, as a tribute to the area’s resilience after Helene. Weeks later, while practicing at a warehouse in the Shiloh neighborhood, one of my fellow sopranos broke down. She was watching a small group perform “The Road Home,” composed by Stephen Paulus.

“After wind, after rain/When the dark is done,” they sang. “There’s a voice I can hear/That will lead me home.” 

We Will Rebuild

One evening in late August, I drove to meet Morgan in the River Arts District. High weeds lined the walking path by the French Broad River. The iconic Cotton Mill Studios were still fenced off, with a pile of debris out front and a banner that said “Asheville Strong.” 

At the nearby 7 River Arts Place, a sign on the door declared its “restricted use” due to electrical and mechanical damage. The sign was dated October 2024. 

Graffiti scrawled on a nearby vacant lot promised, “We will rebuild.”

The parking lot at Hi-Wire Brewing was full. After closing for eight months, it reopened in May. The brewery’s bright pink and blue headquarters are here, along with a beer garden composed of recycled metal shipping containers.

Morgan hadn’t been here since the storm hit. Surveying the scene, she kept trying to highlight the positive. She felt fortunate to have her job and to be living in a friend’s Airbnb since November. 

But she’s still mourning the Asheville that existed before—the music venues that disappeared, the friends who moved away, the home she can never go back to. “I don’t think about it every day,” she said. “But there are constant reminders.”

“I lost everything,” she added, tears streaming down her face. “But I feel very, very lucky.”

Lisa Rab is a journalist based in Asheville. Her work has appeared in Politico Magazine and The Washington Post Magazine, among many other outlets. Reach her at lisarab.substack.com.