Roughing It

Well, kind of roughing it. We're fairly well prepared to deal with power outages such as we've just had -- from a good supply of kerosene lamps to a gas range top and gas grill as well as three wood stoves -- one for cooking. Our supply of wood, however, was not unlimited and we weren't able to keep the house as warm as I, for one, would have liked.

Water was another problem. We used to have gravity feed water from a small but constant spring. When we put in a well, the water of which was just as good-tasting as that of the spring, we let the gravity feed system go.

Therefore, during this late unpleasantness, John was hauling buckets of water from the branch for washing and flushing. (The old outhouse was another thing we let go.) Justin supplied us with drinking water from his spring.

Note to The Department of Redundancy Department -- time to make a new outhouse and reconnect the gravity water system.

Yet another worry was the two large freezers full of beef and veggies from the garden. It was cold enough in the basement that they kept things frozen during the outage but by the fifth day, we were beginning to see signs of defrosting.

So John went out and bought a generator -- he and Justin muscled it to the house and soon the freezers were running, I had charged my camera's battery, and the refrigerator (which really had been losing its cool) was chilling again.

When that was done, John and Justin hoisted the generator back into the Kubota to take it down to Justin's house to run his freezer and refrigerator for a while.

And there, down at Justin's house, was the glorious sight of a repair crew, putting the finishing touches on the line.

"Be back on in five minutes," said the weary, improbable angel, a cigarette flipping in the corner of his mouth.

And there was much rejoicing.

Times like this are good for us -- to put us in mind of how fragile our existence is, how much everything and everyone depends on a whole chain of other things.

The one really anxious time was the morning I saw Eddie plowing through the snow (on his way back from the bird feeder) and assumed that he would show up at the door. Some hours later, I realized that I still hadn't seen him come in and I became convinced that he'd been buried in one of the snow slides off the roof.

What joy when he came sauntering downstairs, having gotten in somehow without anyone noticing him! (He has his ways . . .)

Here's a slide show of our pre-Christmas excitement. You can click on it to make it full screen and slow it down or speed it up . . .