North gardens at Wild East Farm. Photo by Lyric East
Five hours of Helene hell turned their fields into flood plains, mangled steel tunnels into modern art sculptures and, sadly, drowned 40 chickens and turkeys.
Driving the back roads to Wild East Farm in Marion, I passed landslides, shattered trees and grey boulders holding rivers and cliffs in place like fragile stitches. Nature certainly reminded us who’s in charge. But what I found at the farm, with Lyric East as my guide, was not destruction but devotion.
In 2022, their five-year farming dream began with a blank canvas. Where horse paddocks once stood now grows nourishing food, each decision made with care and tracked to learn what truly makes a difference.
Lyric East. Photo by Rachel Veale
But what makes Wild East Farm special isn’t just the soil—it’s the soul behind it. It’s about two people, Lyric and her husband Noah, who turned their homesteading practice into a living, breathing partnership with the land. They grow food, yes—some of the best garlic I’ve ever tasted—but they also grow community. Fifty percent of their harvest supports places like Mother Earth Food and Equal Plates Project. Helene cut them off from Asheville and their partners, but Noah drove two hours each way to deliver hurricane relief: over 600 pasture-raised chickens, several hundred pounds of pork and nearly 1,000 pounds of vegetables. Lyric, in her role as director, relocated the entire RAD Farmers Market—twice—without cell service or power, driving 30 minutes to turn a parking lot into her mobile office. That’s love in action.
Even in sharing tragedy, the sparkle never fully leaves her eye. As we meander around the farm, one moment she’s grieving the drowned turkeys, the next she’s laughing about being “snack mom,” keeping Warren Wilson College volunteers fueled with mid-field munchies. While she’s deeply invested in making their farm stable and sustainable, she’s also someone whose creativity bubbles up daily to show what living in relationship with the land looks like.
Lyric East, artist
That creativity lives through her photographs of the land, paintings on the barn walls and the hand-painted dresses she wears while nurturing life between tomato rows and thunderclouds. Her philosophy of sharing online is like planting seeds—not scattered and daily for attention, rather seasonal and monthly with intention.
And yet, what stings most is that when stores were closed, people lined up. One person paid $50 for a cabbage out of sheer gratitude. But just as the floodwaters receded back to the river, so too did the farmers market crowds to the grocery stores.
Still, the farm endures; the land flourishes. The food is nourishing, but the deeper harvest is in their data. Every year brings more tests, tracked metrics, all part of a greater intention: to show other farmers what’s possible. Not lip service, hard facts. This isn’t just about their success. It’s about sharing the blueprint for regeneration, so more hands can return to the land with hope, skill and proof that it works for the benefit of everyone’s health.
As Lyric walked me to my car, the sky split in two—dark clouds on one side, golden sunlight on the other. It felt like a painting. Her smile, weathered and wide, said everything: “It’s a good life.”
Find the Easts every Wednesday at the RAD Farmers Market (now at New Belgium Brewery) or on Instagram @wildeastfarm. Andrew Patterson is an experience curator and published author. His latest book, My Journey Beyond the Summit, is available on Amazon. To share a story, connect or nominate somebody that Andrew should feature, email ap@andrew365.com.
