In the years I got to call Asheville my home, I went through a journey with my Art and the very being of who I am. I lost myself to the mountains only to be picked back up by the people, who are as deeply rooted into the fabric of the landscape as any of the foliage.

As breath taking a mountain range as those hills are, it’s the tiny, hidden hamlets of community that run like veins between the valley’s that hold my fondest memories. In all the places I’ve ever lived none has ever been so touched by artists of all kinds.

Asheville was where I first thought that maybe I was good at this creating thing. I spent every weekend vending along side other makers and crafters in the River Arts, in Marshal, in Brevard, in any market that would have me truly. Learning from other artists so willing to share their knowledge and extend a helping hand. It’s a place I knew my neighbors, even the ones several streets over.

Watching all those cherished places being washed away, places I secretly promised myself I’d return to one day, was devastating. And my lost is only a tiny drop in the collective grief of an entire community.

I can’t be there physically to shovel mud and monetarily I barley get by. But I can return the gift the Mountains gave me, and make art.

- Heather

Appalachian Woven