The basement apartment in East Asheville flooded when Hurricane Helene hit in late September. Water destroyed herbalism supplies—tinctures, dried plants, tools accumulated over years. The landlord didn't address the water damage. By late October, Clark and three roommates needed to find a new place before their lease ended in late November.
They were hoping for three bedrooms for less than $2,000 a month in a city where the rental market was already brutal before the storm knocked out 126,000 homes across the region.
"It's only really affordable if you have roommates."
This is what individual navigation looks like when the system is broken and you're running out of time.
The Constraints That Shape the Search
Before Helene, Asheville's average one-bedroom rent was $1,624. Average home price: $515,000. Buying wasn't an option. Leaving meant starting over somewhere else with no job, no community, no knowledge of which neighborhoods flood or which landlords make repairs.
Clark's work as a farmer ties to this specific landscape. Herbalism requires knowing local plants, understanding how they grow here, building relationships with the land over years. That knowledge doesn't transfer to Phoenix or Houston or wherever else might theoretically be safer.
So: Can we find something livable that we can afford? Can we stay in the place we've built our lives?
Post-Helene made that harder. Hundreds of residential buildings damaged or destroyed. Hotel rooms filled with evacuees. Short-term rentals snatched up by people with FEMA assistance—which Clark didn't qualify for because they weren't displaced from existing housing, just choosing to leave an unsafe apartment.
Twelve thousand people filed for unemployment as businesses stayed closed for weeks without water. Maximum weekly benefit in North Carolina: $600. That doesn't go far when you're competing for apartments with people who have jobs, with climate migrants moving from more expensive cities, with anyone who has more financial cushion.
What the Math Actually Looks Like
By late November, when the lease ended, the options were clear: a rental market where almost half of renters were already "cost burdened" before the storm, spending at least a third of their income on housing.
Landlords could refuse rent assistance with no consequences. Tenants had no right to withhold rent even from apartments made unlivable by flooding. The rental stock that was already insufficient shrank further while demand stayed high.
Finding three bedrooms under $2,000 meant accepting tradeoffs. Farther from work. Neighborhoods that also flood. Landlords with reputations for not making repairs. Signing leases before you can see the place because competition is fierce.
Leaving Asheville entirely meant different tradeoffs. Losing the work that sustains you. Starting over where you don't know which neighborhoods are safe or which communities will welcome you. Abandoning knowledge you've built about how to live and work in this specific landscape.
The Vulnerability You Accept
Staying in Asheville means accepting that the next storm will come. The city sits in a bowl-shaped valley where rain funnels down fast. Climate scientists determined that fossil fuel pollution made Helene's rainfall 20 times more likely.
Parts of the region could experience a once-in-100-year flood every 11 to 25 years now.
Staying means betting you can navigate the next disaster better than this one. That you'll have savings. That you'll know which neighborhoods to avoid. That you'll have secured a lease in a building that won't flood, with a landlord who'll actually make repairs.
It means accepting vulnerability in exchange for continuity. Keeping your work, your community, your knowledge of how to live in this specific place.
Asheville has been marketed as a "climate haven" for years. Reports project that Appalachia will see an influx of climate migrants fleeing worse conditions elsewhere. Real estate agents confirm people moving here from California, Arizona, coastal areas—places with worse wildfires, droughts, hurricanes.
But that narrative is about people with options. People who can choose between cities, who can afford moving costs and security deposits, who have financial buffer to take a chance on a new place.
For renters already living in the supposed climate haven, staying or leaving isn't about whether Asheville is safer than Phoenix. It's about whether they can afford to stay in the place they already are.
The Calculation of Persistence
Individual navigation is faster than organizing. You search apartments, negotiate with landlords, make decisions on your own timeline. You don't need to coordinate with others or wait for collective action to build power. You work within the market as it exists.
The tradeoff is accepting the system's constraints. You can't change that landlords have all the power. You can't fix the shortage of affordable housing. You can't prevent the next round of climate-driven rent increases. You can only try to find your place within those realities.
For someone whose work ties them to this specific landscape, whose knowledge and community are rooted here, whose alternatives are worse or nonexistent, individual persistence makes sense. You keep searching. You accept the tradeoffs. You bet that you can secure housing within the system as it exists.
The next storm will come. Will there be three bedrooms for under $2,000 when it does?