TODD, North Carolina — From the outset, the tiny mountain village of Todd, tucked alongside the south fork of the New River in the deeply rural, far northwest corner of North Carolina, presents a scene of devastation. Livelihoods have been swept away, and much of the town — home to about  2,400 persons in the woods surrounding the village — is without running water or electricity. Last Friday, Hurricane Helene unleashed the worst flash flooding in a century across parts of North Carolina and neighboring states. In Todd, rainfall exceeded two feet and the usually placid New River surged, turning roads into streams and leaving many residents isolated for days as debris choked the few narrow routes that connect the village to the outside world.

Even in better days, there was not much to see of “downtown” Todd other than two churches, a bakery known as the Mercantile and a small park by a creek, with a modest bandstand used for performances of the bluegrass music native to the region. The Todd General Store, a century old building that was the town’s major tourist attraction, burned down three years ago in a devastating fire and has yet to be rebuilt. Now that Helene has caused epic devastation, residents of the surrounding communities are wondering if Todd can ever recover.   

But pay a visit to Todd and you’ll see a very different picture: one filled with sweating yet smiling faces. Dozens of volunteers work tirelessly at the Todd Volunteer Fire Department, just up the road from the town center, sifting through donated supplies before distributing them to the community’s two churches down the hill. Further along the road, residents and strangers labor side by side, clearing debris and remnants of the historic village in an effort that will likely continue for weeks. 

At the heart of this ad-hoc, community-driven cleanup operation is Rivergirl Fishing Company.

“We are just taking it one day at a time, but we are also trying to take care of the rest of the community and mobilizing everyone every day,” Rivergirl co-partner Renata Dos Santos told the Sun. “We have crews meeting here at 9:30 each morning, and we assign tasks to do.”

Brought to life almost two decades ago by Alabama native, marine biologist, and now Todd’s Emergency Medical Services Captain at the Volunteer Fire Department, Kelly McCoy, Rivergirl serves as an educational ecotourism sanctuary for locals and far-flung visitors to enjoy the New River with fly fishing, tubing or kayaking. There is even a tiny petting zoo with a goat, chickens and a star attraction: Pepper the Pig. As water levels rose and Ms. McCoy and Ms. Dos Santos were confined to their off-grid mountain home last Friday, the nearby pastor and neighbors rushed down to open the gate so the animals could reach higher land. 

Helene destroyed the rest of Rivergirl’s small business. Just down the road, the treasured Riverside Restaurant, an area fixture for decades, was lifted off its foundation and dumped 15 feet away. The remnants of a shed once brimming with music supplies for the Todd Community Preservation Organization – whose summer music festival attracts bluegrass fans from around the world -– are pinned beneath a small bridge. 

Despite the searing loss, Ms. McCoy is upbeat, brimming with energy and seeking out the silver linings amid the heartache. 

“I wish we could have just a little bit of disaster every now and then,” Ms. McCoy tells the Sun. “Everyone is so nice to each other and comes together.”

Before the hurricane, the unincorporated community of Todd — straddling the county lines of Ashe and Watauga in North Carolina’s High Country — was a secluded yet beloved destination for water sports and cycling enthusiasts. Rich with history, Todd once thrived as a 19th-century timber town, and is now cherished for its natural beauty and outdoor opportunities. In recent decades, cattle farmers in Ashe County — known as the Lost Province for its remoteness and seclusion — have transitioned much of their lush farmland to cultivating Christmas trees, becoming the largest supplier in the Eastern United States. Ashe County’s evergreens are frequently selected as the official White House Christmas Tree, a testament to their quality and good breeding.

The future of Todd and the surrounding areas is uncertain, but their grit is not. The support from neighbor to neighbor in Todd is a sight to behold. 

One resident’s daily task is making runs to a grocery store in the nearby city of Boone — a bustling college town that, though only 12 miles away, seems a world apart from Todd — to fill up coolers of ice, given the lack of refrigeration. Others trudge in and out with shovels and buckets. Four families have volunteered to wash and return the clothes of anyone in need, and the fire department is open for those seeking a warm shower. The owners of the local Todd Mercantile Bakery, Sarah Zurhellen and Will Johnson, offer free cookies and bagels as their ovens are gas, and Anna Sherlock from Boone’s Farm Café arrives with hundreds of barbecue sandwiches to spread across the many devastated communities. 

“People donate food, and our chefs just come up with amazing means depending on whatever we have,” Ms. Sherlock tells the Sun, emphasizing that they have had so many donations that their fridges are overflowing. “We have so many volunteers; we don’t have any more room in our kitchen!”

A small wooden shed sits above the main riverside road, consisting of neatly labeled shelves teeming with donated canned beans, protein bars, batteries, feminine hygiene products and infant formula.

“This is open 24/7, so people can come at night and get whatever they need when the other places are closed,” says owner and organizer Christine Haynes. 

As Ms. McCoy frames it, “When you live in Todd, you usually wear a few different hats.”

“When you first come, you’re a Toddler, then a Toddite and then finally you become a Hot Toddy,” she continues with a smile. 

The community of volunteers is diverse—from farmers and artists to professors, pharmacists and even small children whose schools are shuttered for the foreseeable future. On Thursday morning, a dumpster finally arrived. Locals pitched in to cover the cost of the container and the service fees to take it back and forth from the mountain, as nearby landfills have reached capacity. 

Most of the time, however, Todd residents have no idea who is behind the acts of generosity. Earlier this week, a donor delivered 750 sandwiches to the local church, and so much pizza was donated to the nearby town of Fleetwood that they sent boxes down to Todd. 

“Even the fire departments are bonding together like neighbors,” Ms. McCoy says. “Everyone is talking to and checking on each other now.”

It’s not just locals doing the heavy lifting; donations are streaming in from all directions. A chainsaw crew from Oregon is hard at work in the Todd foothills, while cleanup volunteers have arrived from as far as Pennsylvania, Virginia, Tennessee, and beyond. Nearby cities have also rallied, sending a flood of supplies to the area. 

“We had folks in Atlanta (on Wednesday) who flew a plane into West Jefferson with eight pickup truckloads of stuff just for us,” chief of the Todd Volunteer Fire Department, Bryan Bouboulis, tells the Sun. 

“We came fly fishing here with Rivergirl years ago and kept up with Kelly on Facebook. When we saw this disaster, we immediately wanted to come and help. The members of my bowling team all pitched in to donate money to help (the people of Todd) with gas,” notes Shelley Bard, who drove four hours with her son Chris, a middle school teacher in Raleigh, 230 miles away. 

Less than 24 hours after putting the word out for student donations, Chris, with the help of the football team, loaded a truck entirely filled with everything from perishable goods to paper towels to give to Todd and made the trek with his mother. 

Another truck arrived this week with donated ATVs, and somebody showed up at the Fire Station with diesel for those with tractors clearing driveways for people. On Thursday afternoon, a donation of 40 generators arrived – priority goes to families with children and those requiring medical devices, including a resident with a sister on oxygen. Hours earlier, 25 blue five-gallon duct-taped buckets of gas were left. The most coveted commodity right now is gasoline, with temperatures expected to plummet next week. 

“I have a friend in Georgia sending a check for a bunch of money to donate to Todd,” exclaims resident Pam Graham, who rushes over to Ms. McCoy to share the news. “He wants to remain anonymous, but I’m going to spread the word for anyone who needs it.”

For Mr. Bouboulis, who moved to Todd nearly 25 years ago after falling in love with his now-wife, the overwhelming support from locals and outsiders embodies the spirit of small-town America.

“It’s part of just living in the country,” he asserts. “Everybody knows that you’ve got to look out for each other, and everybody has different skills, and (we all) work together and make it happen.”

Mr. Bouboulis, who was trapped for two days after Helene’s landfall, expressed his gratitude at how quickly neighbors rallied together to check on one another. Notably, community members immediately traversed ridges, downed power lines, and gushing creeks to reach the riverside home of an 84-year-old resident, John Ashburn, whose children could not contact him by phone. Locals found him alone and unscathed. Mr. Ashburn survived the region’s last major flood as a baby in 1940 (a flood which almost completely destroyed Todd) and pronounced his certainty he would endure this one, too.  

Celebrating small victories becomes essential for those picking up the pieces in the wake of this tragedy. In the distance, farmers gather uprooted Christmas trees, carefully washing away the debris before replanting them in the earth. Fire Department volunteer Channa Ring recounts how a small girl came with her family to collect supplies and squealed in delight to take home a princess-themed toothbrush. 

Pastor David Cooper of South Fork Baptist Church in Todd invites everyone he meets to join them for three hot meals over the weekend.

“It is going to be a good time for us all to get together and share stories,” he tells the Sun. “It has been amazing to see the outpouring of people helping us from all over the United States – outpouring is the only way you can say it.” 

The flooding destroyed the church’s basement. Teams of young people from congregations miles away and students from Appalachian State University, in Boone, are working around the clock on the cleanup. 

“They (young people) did more in two days than we could have done in months. It has really changed my view on the younger generation,” Mr. Cooper says. “They never complained; they just got in there and did the grunt work.”

He acknowledges that part of the reason the folks of Todd can find the light in the dark situation is that, to the knowledge of local leadership, no lives have been lost in their community. Nearby townships and counties were far less fortunate. 

As recovery efforts gain momentum, so too does Helene’s death toll, which has risen to more than 215 – half of those in North Carolina, with the hope of finding survivors fast falling as emergency workers reach isolated areas severed by ruined roads and decimated infrastructure. 800 soldiers in the state’s national guard joined the relief efforts earlier this week, with many pressing into the more remote pockets – including Todd. On Tuesday, soldiers were greeted with high-fives when they came to re-fuel everyone’s trucks.

Still, Mr. Bouboulis emphasizes that the people of Todd are not the type to languish and wait for government entities to come to the rescue. 

“One of my neighbor’s driveways was washed out, and other neighbors were there filling it in with asphalt laying around from damage up the road. Another took the gravel and patched up my driveway,” he recalls. “You can sit around and wait for the government all you want, but the person responsible for your safety and your recovery is in the mirror. We are not going to wait.”

The people of  western North Carolina, as with much of Appalachia, are famously resilient, self-sufficient and proud not to depend on government handouts. Tat is especially true of the people of the Lost Province. Nevertheless, it could take Todd and its neighboring communities years to recover. Necessities like electricity could remain unavailable for months. Preliminary estimates predict the national economic loss from Helene to reach a dizzying $110 billion. 

Ms. Dos Santos’s eyes well up as she stares out at the mangled, barren shed that was, just last week, the crux of their beloved business. 

“It is not the devastation that hits us – those are just things. I’m just overwhelmed by the love and support, all these people we know and don’t know who have shown up,” she explains. “It blows my mind, people coming together like this.”

Ms. McCoy takes a can of black spray paint and scrawls a heart on one of their red kayaks, wedged into trees several miles up the river. 

“When people drive past and see that,” she adds. “They won’t think of the devastation; they will think of the hope and the resilience.”