What Does It Mean to Be a Friend?

Elena and I are close. Living on a bus will do that to you. We spend every day together, eat every meal side by side, sweat through the same heat, and scrub the same dirt from our feet. It’s been a little over a month on the bus, and we’ve now seen each other at our bests and worsts, and when one of us really needs something, the other one knows. We seem to prop each other up in all the right ways. Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about that. About friendship, and what it really means to be a friend. 

We spent last week in the hills of Black Mountain, North Carolina. Black Mountain is easy to love. Long blue-green mountain ridges envelop you on all sides, covered in dense greenery with little flower-pot laden porches poking out. It feels like something out of a storybook. As Elena mentioned in the last blog, we were there to volunteer with an organization called Appalachian Community Relief (ACR). I hardly know where to begin when it comes to describing how special this organization is, but it feels fitting to start by telling you the story of how ACR began. 

Hurricane Helene swept through the area on September 27th, 2024, leaving much of Black Mountain and nearby Swannanoa devastated. Power and water were gone, lives were lost, and entire neighborhoods were left destroyed. When the storm died down and a new day broke, town looked a lot different. People were walking and driving around checking in on anyone they encountered, offering whatever they could. Amid the commotion, a woman named Allison showed up to the Ingles parking lot with a simple offering: clean water. She began handing it out to anyone who showed up. It didn’t take long before people started joining her. Folks began donating other essentials and supplies, the effort snowballed quickly, and soon, it was a lot more than just water being handed out—it was food, diapers, toiletries, clothing, everything. People didn’t need to fill out forms, or have to prove they were in need. Everyone was in need. 1500-1700 cars a day came to receive support.

The early days post-storm, operating out of the Ingles garden center

Not long after the storm hit, Aaron and Mike also entered the picture. Aaron’s girlfriend knew Allison a little already, and they both saw what she was doing and began helping her run the supply stock at Ingles. Mike also showed up one day to help, and never left. I’m not sure how to describe Aaron and Mike other than simply that they have the biggest, kindest hearts I’ve ever met. All three of them—Allison, Aaron, and Mike—are the sort of people you feel lucky just to know. On top of that (and please excuse my language but there’s really no better word) they're all total badasses. They’re sharp, tireless, grounded, and kind.

The lack of water post-storm was serious and widespread, so to address it, water tanker trucks were deployed to distribute water to residents. They would be planted in accessible locations so that people could come with their own containers and fill up. The issue was that the water tanker cost a lot of money—and the town couldn’t afford it. At some point Allison caught wind of the fact that they were planning to just dump the water and leave. The three of them were calling around trying to find someone to fund it, even just for a few more days… no luck there. Eventually, Allison got the owner of the company on the phone. She said, “We still need water, and if you do this I will film you dumping it and send it to every news channel I know.” Now, no one knows exactly who funded it… but the tanker stayed for weeks after that. Truly, none of this would have happened if it weren’t for Allison. She’s the kind of person who walks into chaos and somehow makes calmness appear. She possesses this very special sort of authority, the kind that made even the National Guard, FEMA, and state law enforcement look to her for direction. And rightly so. She knows what she’s doing.

As the Ingles parking lot relief effort grew, Aaron encouraged Allison to formalize it, and create a nonprofit that could grow and sustain itself. She asked if he’d help. He said yes. Today, ACR runs a full, free grocery store out of a warehouse in Black Mountain. When I say “free,” I mean free—no “proving” that you need it. If you show up, you must need it, and if you need it, you deserve to get it in a way that respects your dignity. It isn’t just about food or essentials, it’s about honoring people’s experiences and giving them the freedom to receive help without shame. Watching ACR operate felt like watching humanity at its best. 

I learned a lot during our time there about disaster recovery, and how communities rebuild. Natural disasters strip everything down to the most essential layers of life. Water, food, power, shelter. It’s frightening how quickly things can fall apart, and it’s even more humbling to realize how long it takes to put them back together. There is much sadness in all of this, of course. But there is one thing that is glaringly beautiful: when things like this happen, people don’t just wait for authorities or institutions to come help—they help each other. Neighbors show up for each other, people hand out supplies from their cars. Small networks form and grow, and ACR is living proof that these acts can grow into something much larger.

One corner of the finished backstock warehouse at ACR—Elena and I did quite a bit of movin in here

Elena and I were lucky enough to spend a week working with them, and even luckier to be so welcomed into their world. One night, they invited us to Aaron’s parents’ home for dinner. We sat and ate on the most perfect porch I’ve ever seen. They did our laundry, fed us well, and we talked and laughed until the stars came out. Leaving Black Mountain was another tough goodbye.

Special dinner

Special view

Back on the road, it’s just Elena and I again. The rhythms of our bus life feel quite familiar now—the rattle of the stove, the morning routine of stretching sore legs and sharing a grapefruit. Together we’ve been through some very long, hot days, the frequent frustration of finding a place to park, many late-night conversations, and every day without fail, at some point, we laugh so hard we can’t breathe. 

When we left Black Mountain, the plan was to work with the Southern Appalachian Highlands’s Conservancy, which wasn’t far from us, just a little further west in Asheville. I’ll spare you the details here, but that plan ended up falling through. We had to change directions. It took us a few nights in the Weaverville Walmart parking lot to figure it out, but eventually we did. On Tuesday morning we rolled out, and drove into Asheville to work with an organization called Bountiful Cities. We had no clue what to expect, per usual, but immediately upon our arrival we realized that we had wound up in another incredibly special place. 

Bountiful Cities is a nonprofit that was founded 25 years ago, and has remained firmly devoted to teaching sustainable agriculture skills and promoting sustainability—an equal balance between environmental health, social equity, and economic viability. They envision abundant, fully food-sovereign communities. The organization takes the form of a collaborative urban agriculture resource, so, picture, essentially, the best place ever. The garden they have on Pearson Street is a lush, fertile plot of land that is cradled on one side by a deep, green ravine (Elena and I LOVED that ravine.) 

Blessed with a double rainbow

Many beautiful things happen at the Pearson street garden every day. They start thousands of plants and give them away to community members free of charge, as well as fresh produce from their own garden, and resources to guide people as they learn to grow their own food. Events are held there often, and there are even weekly yoga classes under the pavilion—Elena and I attended one day after work—it was lovely.

Tree pose

We were there to assist with the reconstruction of their hoop house, where they start a large portion of the plants that they give to the community. Again, I found myself learning a lot, which feels good. I had never worked on a project like this, so I never really knew what we were going to do next, but I loved watching that unfamiliar process unfold whilst actively being a part of it, and getting to interact with tools and techniques that I had never had before. 

And another joyful thing—interacting with new people! Let me tell you a bit about who we befriended in the garden. First and foremost, the master behind the whole operation, Micah. Micah reminded me of Allison in many ways; she’s a natural leader. She somehow has this ability to motivate everyone to work really hard whilst also taking excellent care of everyone, making sure we were all well-hydrated, rested, and comfortable (it was blisteringly hot every single day of hoop-house reconstruction.) The second character of the garden who we also came to know and love is a man named Fred…who is sometimes called Kevin… but mostly called Fred. Fred was a joy to work with. He reminded me of my dad and made Elena and I laugh, and guided us through a lot of the work. 

The third and final garden character we met and got to know well is Mike. Mike is the one who calls Fred Kevin. He lives right across the street from the garden and has been helping out there for years. Now—let me rewind a bit—when we got to Asheville on Tuesday, we had to leave the bus at the Community Center’s parking lot and hitch a ride to the garden, as the streets of that neighborhood are not exactly school bus friendly. When we asked the group for advice on what they thought we could do about parking, since we really wanted to stay and work on the hoop house project, Mike was quick to offer up his guest room. We tracked down a spot to leave the bus for a few days, gave her an extra big kiss, and stayed with Mike for the rest of the week. We loved hanging out with Mike, and even though I met him only 5 days ago, I can confidently say that he is one of the best people I know. Elena and I both felt profoundly inspired by Mike; he has led a remarkable life.

Mike at his favorite restaurant—our last evening in Asheville:’) Another tough goodbye

Self timer photo of the whole Hoop House crew! (From left to right it goes Micah, Fred, Juliet, Elena, Mike.)

Thank you Mike, and thank you to the whole hoop house crew. You welcomed us in with such ease. That’s honestly been the theme of this trip—people welcoming us, caring for us, becoming friends.

Which brings me back to Elena. 

I don’t know how to explain the kind of friendship that forms when you live on a bus with someone, but I’m going to give it a try. Living like this strips away all the fluff. You see each other not just in moments of joy and adventure, but in boredom, hunger, heat exhaustion, logistical chaos… bathroom emergencies… there’s really no hiding. Every emotion, every need, every reaction is shared within a small space. Therefore, I’d say that bus friendship requires a special kind of trust, because it also demands so much honesty. You have to be able to say, “I’m overwhelmed,” or “Can we talk later?” or “I need to cry,” and trust that the other person will hear you without judgment. You have to get pretty good at naming your own limits and respecting someone else’s. It’s constant collaboration, and that’s part of what makes it difficult. There’s no room to check out. If something’s bugging you, it will come up.

But I find that this is also what makes it more fruitful. When it works—when two people are willing to be that tuned-in to each other—it creates a kind of magic. You begin to move like a team. You notice the subtle ways the other person is feeling, and adjust without needing to say anything. You develop little rituals: who makes the breakfast, who checks the weather, who drives when it's raining. You protect each other and hold each other through hard things. You celebrate small wins together, like finding a place to do laundry or a beautiful parking spot.

Elena and I are good at living on a bus together because we share some essential qualities: we’re both emotionally attuned, observant, and quick to laugh at the absurdity of life. We’re both pretty slow to anger and fast to forgive. I feel such a profound respect for her, and am so grateful for our shared sense of wonder about the experience we’re passing through.

What does it mean to be a friend? I still don’t think I can answer that question fully. But I do know this: friendship is not a passive state. It’s a choice, or a practice. It’s like a muscle. It gets stronger through use, fatigue, and repair. It takes work, trust, forgiveness, and willingness to show up.

Friendship is the reason ACR exists. It’s the reason the hoop house got rebuilt. And it’s definitely the reason Elena and I are still out here. At its core, perhaps being a friend just means loving people enough to believe they’re worth the effort—and then making the effort.

Again, and again, and again!

Thanks for reading, friends. We love you all :)