Hello, dear ones.

This past Saturday, I led a generative writing workshop for Hellbender right outside of Asheville. It was the last in a series to assist others in expressing the devastation wrought by Helene, and though I'd facilitated similar sessions many times since the storm, this time was different. I arrived raw with grief and anxiety, and though I'm generally able to steady myself for class no matter what, I struggled to share our opening poems without crying.

Because, yes, even though September 27th (the day the storm hit) was a good while ago now, a full recovery—if ever that's possible—will take years. And even worse, the climate catastrophes continue.

Last October, Hellbender held our first gathering for local poets to speak about Helene. It's odd how much stronger I felt then, just three weeks after the storm. So much more has happened since that it's been challenging to hold fast.

The fact that, all too recently, Louisiana swamps were frosted white and snow fell on Florida beaches is unnerving, but the fires in Los Angeles? That level of devastation feels simply impossible to hold. And the other afternoon in nearby Burnsville, I couldn't help but notice the fine brown silt from floodwater mud that still seemed to cover everything.

Nevertheless, I pushed through. What's more, while I thought I was working to help others that afternoon, those gathered there ended up helping me. Their brave witnessing called me back to the surface, and especially poignant was when one participant, Joni Thibault, shared this:

Whatever the question is, the first answer is love.

Now, I don't know about you, but I've been overwhelmed with so much lately that it's hard to know what questions to ask, but yes, she's right. In honor of that, we invite you to our next online generative session, which will center love—how we can hold community and love one other during this time, how we can love a world greatly diminished and in peril, how we can love our fellow creatures great and small.

Here are those details:

Wednesday, February 12, 2025, 7:00-8:30 pm, ET



The First Answer Is Love: A Valentine to the Earth

with special guest Tierra Curry from the Center for Biological Diversity

(Please note: the doors will open at 6:30 pm ET for those who wish to gather beforehand

in a non-required virtual reception. . . . similarly, after the event is officially over, everyone is welcome to stay until 9:00 pm to share and reflect in casual, open conversation.)

This event will not be recorded.

As always, our virtual gatherings are free and open to the public,

but registration for the Zoom event is required—you can click here to do that.

Tierra Curry was, like me, homegrown in Kentucky. She lives, works, and gardens on the banks of the damned body of the Cumberland River in a rural part of the state.

We'll be joined by special guest Tierra Curry, a senior scientist at the Center for Biological Diversity where she co-directs the endangered species program and campaigns to end extinction.

Tierra works to gain policy protections for imperiled wildlife and wild places. She's done a tremendous amount on behalf of the monarch butterfly, but she's also put her experience as an amphibian field biologist to advocate for the protection of the Eastern Hellbender—a being that is, of course, the namesake of this organization and is also close to the hearts of many here in Western North Carolina.

These giant salamanders—so-called "last dragons"—are exquisitely strange and harmless dwellers of our waterways. They serve as an indicator species—a kind of canary in the coal mine, so to speak. They can only survive in mountain water cold and clean, and as such, their populations have been rapidly dwindling for years. To compound the problem, with floodwaters rising some 30 feet in certain areas due to Helene, countless of them have washed up on our banks. Their survival, no doubt, marks a healthy ecosystem—not just for them, but for us all.

I'm hoping Tierra will share with us how we might protect—and celebrate—biodiversity alongside her, and how we poets might give song and story to environmental science and activism, how we might do our part to save all we can.

A devastating sight after Helene when many Eastern Hellbender salamanders were displaced from their underwater homes. This image was captured by a Watauga River Keeper at the phenomenal local nonprofit, MountainTrue.

We do hope you'll join us for this third online generative session. Either way, just remember: no matter how weary, no matter how afraid or overwhelmed, there is an answer, and it begins—and ends—with love.

Welcoming you into a joyful rising,

Nickole Brown

President & Executive DirectorMiles cruising the shore in his beloved convertible. See that blue sky? This was what filled his briefcase in my dream.

Two more snapshots from Hellbender's first post-Helene gathering last October.

The first features Solace, who has been her therapy dog best at every event since the storm; here she guards our table of snacks. The other is of our current Fellow, Zoë Fay-Stindt, holding poet Luke Hankins' beloved dog, Fox. Next to them is Asheville poet Diamond Forde and ballad-singer Sarah Elizabeth Burkey (aka, Songbird, who opened and closed the event in song).

write to us at hellbenderpoetry@gmail.com