The tops of dried, bent cornstalks crunch underfoot. Jill Holtz’s gaze is fixed on the ground ahead.
She wanders into the nearby woods and weaves between twisted branches. Then, Holtz spots something and starts to riffle through the withered twigs. To the untrained eye, it’s easy to overlook. But for Holtz, it’s instantaneous recognition.
Scraggly, white lines give the appearance of shattered glass, but a name can still be made out at the top. It is a sonogram strip—crinkled, abused by the elements, but intact.
In early February, Holtz combed through parts of a flattened cornfield in Swannanoa, North Carolina—a rural area razed by fierce floodwaters from Hurricane Helene a few months earlier. The deluge swept away entire homes, and with it, people’s beloved photos, keepsakes and family heirlooms. Many have accepted that they are gone forever.
But lost items remain scattered across the region—tangled in gnarled trees, washed up in deep ravines and buried under mud. That’s why Holtz is on a mission: find and reunite those cherished possessions with storm victims who don’t have the time or energy to look themselves.
“It’s not just trash, and it’s not just trees and pieces of metal,” Holtz says. “It’s their lives. This is their hearts, their homes, the generations of history.”
Searching the cornfield
Over the past few months, Holtz has spent much of her free time making the nearly four-hour drive from Raleigh to Swannanoa to search for lost items. She balances her job as a North Carolina National Guard captain and being a mom to two sons—a 10-year-old and a 24-year-old. It’s difficult being away, Holtz says, but her kids support her efforts.
Holtz first visited western North Carolina after the storm on duty delivering aid. Then, while helping retrieve lost objects in Swannanoa for Violet Vardiman—a woman Holtz fondly calls “Miss Violet”—Holtz realized how many other missing belongings were out there. So she kept coming back. Holtz posts her finds to Facebook in hopes of finding their owners.
At first, searching for lost belongings was overwhelming because of the sheer volume of objects strewn about, Holtz says. Now, she looks a few feet ahead of her at a time to stay focused.
She’s learned other tips and tricks too. Use larger pieces of debris to store missing keepsakes while walking. Put on a hat or your hair will get caught in tree branches. Wear gloves and sturdy boots. And if you see a Dallas Cowboys mat, stomp on it first before picking it up—Holtz, after all, is a Buffalo Bills fan.
After exploring the cornfield and adjacent woods for about 20 minutes, Holtz already has a handful to bring back—an 8-track tape, a teddy bear with golden wings and plenty of photos. Despite some scratches and their sun-bleached tone, the photos are in decent shape for what they’ve been through.
As Holtz walks back to her truck, she squints and scours the cornstalks for anything she missed. Holtz views each valuable she finds as an opportunity for joy, and if it’s left behind, there’s no guarantee it will be there next time.
Holding onto belongings until the time is right
What Holtz found in the cornfield will join the collection of other lost possessions in her trailer as she tries to find their owners. The spread inside resembles a garage sale.
Photos make up a large chunk of Holtz’s collection. Pictures captured from weddings, school and simple slices of life. Just from collecting photos, Holtz says she feels like she knows some people’s entire life story without ever meeting them.
To restore photos, she’s developed her own cleaning routine: Use cool water and rubbing alcohol, then carefully scrub with a soft toothbrush. It’s time-consuming, yet therapeutic.
Holtz sets down a large mud-spattered canvas—a piece that will require the toothbrush treatment—and slowly pours water over it. The gentle stream crackles against the crisp canvas. Faces emerge from the splotchy, brown haze. It’s a family portrait, Holtz says.
“I hope I find the owner of that,” she says softly.
Since Holtz started posting pictures of the lost possessions on Facebook, she’s consistently in contact with about 15 families. She has returned belongings to some and is waiting to connect in-person with others. Some of the families have evacuated the state and haven’t returned—but Holtz doesn’t mind holding onto their things.
“I’m in no hurry, and I don’t expect them to be in a hurry,” she says. “They’re still getting their lives back together.”
“Getting back history”
The next day, Holtz sets up her trailer by the cornfield. She had posted her location to social media and patiently waits to see if anyone comes. About a half hour later, a silver SUV pulls over. A woman from Swannanoa, Angie McGee, steps out.
McGee is looking for lost photos. The 42-year-old searched for her family’s belongings after Helene washed away her home, but she wasn’t successful. Wearing black latex gloves, she rubs caked dirt from the photos and notices familiar faces: her brother, her father, and her son.
She even spots her ultrasound photos—the same scroll that Jill had picked up the day before.
She is stunned. McGee can’t believe the photos traveled nearly 2 miles downriver from her home—much less that Holtz had somehow found them. After months of anguish over what she had lost, McGee says she is finally “getting history back.”
“She done brought back a smile to me, she done brought back life to me. Not just me, my family,” McGee says. “Because, you know, there were things we lost that we thought maybe we never get back.”
At one point, McGee’s gaze settles on football shoulder pads with silver marker writing. The sight brings her to tears. They belong to her 12-year-old son, Link.
Holtz tries to not to cry. Later, the two women embrace before McGee leaves with her things. Giving people back their lost hope is why Holtz says she continues this work. But in these reunifying moments, it gives Holtz a little of her own hope, too.
—By Makiya Seminera, Associated Press
AP National Writer Allen G. Breed contributed to this report
