In the days after the storm, everything felt quiet, but not in a peaceful way. The familiar sounds of Chimney Rock were gone, replaced by the rush of an unrecognizable river and the hum of emergency crews and generators. The air was heavy with the scent of wet earth and debris, and everywhere we looked was a scene of loss. Foundations stood where buildings had once been, twisted metal marked the spots where bridges had crossed, and the river no longer followed its old path. It was surreal to stand where we had once welcomed guests and see only destruction. Still, even in the silence and shock, neighbors showed up, hands got dirty, and a sense of hope slowly began to take root.

We were told it wasn’t an “if” the Broad River Inn was going to fall into the river, it was a “when.” We refused to let this happen.