Into the Fire

Those of you who visit here regularly know there's a good reason when I'm not posting. So this time it's because at 8:30 Thursday (19th) morning the power went off. The weight of ice encased branches and temperatures holding steady between 30 and 32 degress kept the effects of the freezing rain from producing a quick fix to the ensuing downed power lines. Here are a few impressions from what turned out to be three days without electricity . . .

Thursday, Day One

Seeing the trees, shrubs, and previous fallen snow on the ground encased in frozen crystal resembled looking at gaudy shoulder-tickler earrings or ornaments hanging from a fancy chandelier. Even the young trees bent in geriatric poses strained to hold themselves up. Branches crashed from 100 foot heights in roaring spectacles as the Cottonwoods let go of their old limbs on a bi-hourly schedule. Whooshes heard from every direction as branches flew to earth from alders, maples, and evergreens. Small and huge debris litter the yards and pasture.

Ice pelted the air in tiny wet drops continuing to add weight to overburdened structures.

Fear gripped the horses as they stood out in the weather away from trees when their shelter would've been safer. When they came in to an early dinner with extra portions, they shivered with icicles dangling from their tales like forgotten Christmas decorations. The dog shuddered at every sound of breaking branches and grew clingy as a wet T-shirt.

Quick to get the fire started, I didn't anticipate more than a few hours without power but I knew this two-story home would chill quickly without heat. With one fireplace and no insert, this would be our warmth for the next few days.

(More snow followed the freezing rain and added more difficulty to the various crews who'd been prepared for snow but not for ice. Power continued to go out all over the Greater Seattle area and there are still some small pockets who have yet to get the blessings of electricity back in their homes.)

I drive my husband to work because I'm the one with the 4 X 4 Explorer, and he's the one with the hot rod pickup. I pick him up after he's returned from driving in similar conditions for his previous trip across the state and back plus now this here.

Friday, Day Two

We've hauled the mattress out to the family room in front of the fireplace, and I'd wake every couple of hours to feed the flames, making sleep sketchy and incomplete.

I send my husband off to work with my rig to remain at home in front of the fire, making sure it gets fed. It becomes a greedy beast.

It's quieter this day, and finally the dog allows us some space. The horses seem less fearful since the branches aren't flying from the air and trees aren't toppling over. They routinely go inside their shed to eat and are content to take their time there before going back into the elements.

The temperature isn't climbing.

I'm grateful for our home, our vehicles, the minimal damage which could've been so much worse. Mostly we have downed fence and some trees damaged. Nothing serious. I'm also grateful for another novel to read, one I'm enjoying in spite of the uptight protagonist. I'm starting to relate . . .

Walking out to feed the horses, I step into the almost knee-deep mud, snow, ice remnants, the sucking substance nearly pulling my rubber boot off and leaving me precariously tipped forward with three flakes of alfalfa in my hand and my balance threatening to abandon me. I manage to stay upright and wish I could justify swearing again and quickly repent of the thought. Horses fed, I scowl back to the house where it isn't really warm except in front of the fire.

Power lights up properties not too far behind us, and I covet their electricity figuring we can't be far behind. But we are. Different grids. The power company is jammed with calls and has no estimates for when any area will be fixed. Yet the people behind us have power. Lots of it.

Teriyaki for dinner from part of the area behind us that has power.

Flashlights in service.

Earlier to bed for all of us knowing I must feed the gaping mouth of the fireplace. Sleep proceeds in fits and starts.

No shower. Sigh. I'm surprised my hair doesn't feel dirty. I'm glad I got my shower in Thursday before the hot water was gone.

Saturday, Day Three

Feed the fire. Feed the horses. Daylight brings hope somehow. I chide myself about being thankful because I truly am.

Husband and son take off to find . . . more wood and borrow a generator. And food: pizza and salad this night. Wood gathered. Generator set up. Strong enough to run the fridge and TV, the small freezer in the garage and a few lights. Feed the fire. A little normalcy.

8:30 PM: The power's on. I want to shout for joy. Generator is turned off. Slowly things are plugged in and operational. We are truly grateful as the house warms to the welcome hummm of the furnace. I stoke the fire and know I can let it go out. The washing machine chugs a full load followed by the dryer.

Confessions of a 21st century electricity, running water and indoor plumbing loving woman: my only real meltdown came Saturday afternoon when a severe attack of irritation clawed at my senses and created serious crabbiness. So unnecessary but I fell prey to it and gave into it and am not proud of it, but I overcame it.

This is my ice storm saga. And why I couldn't post . . . Thank you for listening.

Father, you were gracious to my struggle. I'm thankful that you forgive. I'm thankful for all the multiple blessings in my life and know that so many have so little. Forgive me for acting selfishly and complaining when I did. And thank you for loving me in spite of my grumbling. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.