Note: Originally published on Substack with the subtitle, "Men need dragons and other lessons learned from hurricane Helene's aftermath."
I live in the foothills of the Appalachians just south of the disaster area that Helene made of western North Carolina. The eye of the storm miraculously skirted us, and while some of our neighbors are still without power, I know of only one person who was killed, a good family friend who is believed to have had a heart attack the day after the storm.
The people living in south Georgia and in the area between Newport, Tennessee, and Asheville, North Carolina, were not so lucky. By now, we’ve all seen the videos of towns washing away, of mud-coated streets and rivers where roads used to be. We’ve heard the rumors of looting and murder, of bloated bodies hanging in trees, of desperate people trapped in the backwoods and hollers; and we’ve seen firsthand accounts of the help pouring into the area and the bureaucratic nonsense preventing the effective rescue and aid by volunteers.
I was born in this area and have lived here most of my life, save for brief forays into the wider world during college and as an Army wife. We’re rural here and still, in some places, cling to the old ways. My nephew helped can beans this past summer. Some of my cousins tend gardens and put up soup for the winter. I think some still keep hogs for slaughter, and many sell eggs from their chickens.
As a child, my sister and I, along with many of our cousins, helped do all of this. My childhood was spent in briar patches picking blackberries for jellies and pies, at orchards searching for good drying apples, or chasing cousins through pastures and creeks and up the old logging road. My family never had a garden or livestock (Dad swears he had enough of that as a kid), but we certainly helped my grandmother when we visited on the weekends and during the hot, dusty days of summer. At canning time, Mom would draw a chair up to the sink, and we girls, with our tiny hands, scrubbed jars and pots alike. After-meal cleanup was our responsibility, and later, my grandmother allowed me to take over making rolls and other treats for holiday feasts.
We learned by doing, from a very young age. Everyone contributed. No one slacked. That’s just the way it was.
That contribution did not end at the edge of our property. When someone dies, neighbors bring food. My father always marvels at how the women in his church, especially the older ones, are the first to arrive with a hot casserole in a time of need. I almost hated to share their secret: they make and freeze casseroles ahead of time, for just such occasions.
Likewise, when someone’s home burns down, neighbors organize fundraisers. So and so had an accident? Oh, we’ve got a spare set of crutches they can use until they’re on their feet again. Your son lost his job? That’s a shame. Has he tried that new place down the valley? My cousin’s wife works there, and she told me they’re hiring right now.
If I make small mountain communities sound like a libertarian idyll, where people universally care for their own and lend a helping hand whenever it’s needed, I certainly don’t mean to. Rural communities, however close knit, come with their own set of problems, not least of which are poverty, nosey neighbors, and infighting. They’re certainly not a utopian paradise of any political flavor.
But they are, on some levels, a good example of how society should function. For proof, we need look no farther than Helene. As soon as the storm passed, everyone jumped into action. While power companies worked to restore downed lines, every redneck with a chainsaw started clearing trees from roads and houses. Neighbors with power and running water opened their homes so that those doing without could get showers, cook meals, and charge phones. I don’t know what the local churches are doing, but you can bet they’re organizing donations of food, clothing, and water as well as volunteer efforts.
Volunteers haven’t been limited to neighbors either. People have come from far and away to help, from Elon Musk sending Starlink terminals into affected areas, to Governor DeSantis deploying Florida’s resources and personnel, to NASCAR drivers using their personal helicopters to rescue people trapped by floodwaters and storm damage. Watching these rescue and aid efforts gives me hope that we will, as a country, overcome our differences and survive. It’s a relief to know we can still come together during a crisis.
Helene’s aftermath also reminded me of something we seem to have forgotten: men in particular need to help. They need to feel useful. In a time when a certain vocal minority screams about “toxic masculinity” and conflict from the so-called gender wars is at an all-time high, it’s hard for men to be, well, men.
Not the weak-kneed, spineless “masculinity” loudly proclaimed acceptable by mainstream media (Oh, please, spare us.), but real men.
Men who own a chainsaw and an axe, and know how to use them.
Men who load the bed of their pickups with cases of water and a Gator and travel ten hours to a disaster, only to work all night driving into the backwoods along barely there trails locating people in need.
Men who fill the dangerous jobs necessary to a functioning society, the oil workers and coal miners, the police officers and bomb squad workers, the rocket makers and deep sea divers, and yes, soldiers and sailors and airmen who stand up and answer the call to service, wherever that call may take them.
Yes, women can and do perform some of these functions. That’s not the point. The point is that somewhere along the way, while learning that women can indeed be effective in “a man’s world,” we’ve forgotten that men need to feel useful, too, that serving and protecting are integral components of masculinity.
In other words, we’ve forgotten that men need to be men. They need to be on the front lines, protecting their families and communities. They need to have healthy outlets for aggression, like gaming and sports and rescuing victims from harm. They need to be leaders and to answer the call to serve, and to face the great challenges of their times head on.
These needs take nothing away from women. In fact, women, as wives, mothers, and daughters, often serve as a channel for masculinity. Women can be more than the reason a man fights, it’s true. They can be just about anything they set their mind to being.
But men are St. George battling the dragon, Samwise carrying Frodo up Mount Doom, Tyler Vernon building a Death Star to save Earth. They’re all the Jacks rolled into one, Jack Ryan and Jack Reacher and Jack Traven, with a little Jack Sparrow thrown in for good measure. They’re Leonidas at Thermopylae and David in the Valley of Elah.
Men want to protect and provide for the women in their lives. That’s what they’re supposed to do. Affording them that leeway allows women to flourish in their wake.
And no, I am not reducing women to a subservient role, merely noting the symbiotic nature of the relationship between men and women. Only by working together can we move forward.
Since the storm hit, I’ve witnessed many instances of people doing what they do best, both within my community and outside of it. Vehicles heading toward the disaster area laden with tools and supplies. Folks organizing charities and aid. Neighbors spreading the word on what needs doing and pitching in where they can.
And yes, men being men. It turns out that when we encourage men to do what comes naturally, they become the heroes we need them to be. Isn’t it time we stopped forcing men to be politically correct feminized caricatures and let them be men?