JULY 5, 2020 – When your dwelling loses power, you’re reminded of the basics of modernity: running water, storing perishable foods, and most important of all—phone chargers.
After a lazy, tropical day at the Red Cabin, my wife and I were about to sit down for our Fourth of July “barbeque” supper. Preparations had involved her grilling two little steaks sold under the slyly ironic brand name, “No Name,” and me making the mother of all salads. I’d had my hands—I mean island counter—full . . . of (refrigerated) salad supplies harvested via our weekly subscription at a local growers’ coop. My wife had told me to “go crazy,” kindly overlooking my normal condition. The hardest task was cramming multiple bags of produce back into a refrigerator crowded with fare for the week ahead.
My wife had already grabbed two bottles of dressing and placed them between our settings on the porch picnic table. Before sitting down, I checked the fridge for a bottle of Italian. At the instant I admitted defeat, two phenomena occurred: 1. A Fourth of July firecracker went off; and 2. The refrigerator—motor and light—shut off. Though our nearest neighbors aren’t very near, evidence of their Independence Day exuberance can sound quite close. I glanced at the stove. Darkness appeared where the digital clock usually does. The porch fan was still. My wife said the loud “pop” had emanated from the backwoods, not the direction of any holiday celebration.
I phoned the emergency number of the local power co-op. A recording said there were widespread power outages in the region and that the co-op was “experiencing unusually high call volume at this time.”
First thought: all of the perishables in the fridge. Second thought: flushing toilets, washing hands and dishes—all dependent on an electric-powered water-pump.
My wife made calls, first to her brother’s family at their cabin on the west side of the lake, around the bend from our place. Power there. She called our neighbors down the way. Same. I then trekked the opposite direction to our family’s old cabin. Its usual occupants, my sister and brother-in-law, weren’t up for the weekend. I entered and flipped a switch. Power! Despite “widespread outages” and the “unusually high call volume,” our own power outage was an isolated condition in our neck of the woods.
We considered “camping out” at the old cabin—powered for fans, pump, and fridge, but too far down the shore for easy transport of all our perishables.
We wound up staying put—after fetching a load of ice from a (powered) commercial establishment a 15-minute drive away. We transferred our most perishable of perishables in coolers. Buckets of lake water worked as “toilet-flushers.” Hand washing? See hand-sanitizer. Internet, schminternet.
Fifteen hours later, a utility truck squeezed down the twisting, woodland lane into our place. On his way, the linesman had discovered the problem: a blown fuse atop a pole for the line running to our property. Power and modernity were soon restored.
Including, doggone it . . . the internet.
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© 2020 by Eric Nilsson
