About Blackouts

Wind storm black out, day three

No, not the self-induced kind, the wind-induced kind.

Meteorologists said on Wednesday that a big storm was coming and that we would lose our power. I'd never heard such an ominous weather prediction. Considering that the island loses power at the virtual drop of a hat, I was pretty well prepared. I could have done better on the firewood, but, oh well.

The lights went out Thursday afternoon around 5. I was standing in the kitchen, watching the weather on the news. They were showing Doppler radar of the storm and had remote reporters getting blown around at the coast. I had previously powered down my computer because it was already windy around my house. There was a flicker, then another that kept the light on but tripped the TV off. I turned it back on and watched more weather. Then everything was off and I was in total darkness.

I lose power about three times a year. It's not a big deal, but it is a major inconvenience. No power means no furnace and no running water. I've got a fireplace for warmth and bottled water for drinking. I've got candles, flash lights, canned food, and a battery powered radio.

The winds were very heavy this time, heavier than I had ever seen. My house is surrounded by trees more than 50 feet tall, and they thrash and groan in the wind. That's what is so spooky...the groaning. The tops sway in 15-foot arcs and the wood makes a creaking sound as it moves under the weight. Self-preservation drew me away from the windows and into the basement.

Cinder and I huddled together in the dark, and I listened to Herman Melville's Typee on my iPod until I feel asleep. The basement is well insulated and quiet. With my headphones on, I couldn't hear that unnerving groan.

The next morning I found no damage, only a few large and several small branches shed, and no downed trees. The blackouts, however, were widespread, and what goes off in an instant usually takes hours and sometimes days to come back.

Cinder curled in the cold.

Black outs are a mixed blessing. It's something Wendy used to call a "forced chill out," an involuntary break from your routine. You're more likely to talk to your neighbors (or rather I'm more likely to talk to them), it requires a certain amount of manual labor to keep things running (hauling of wood and water, for example), it makes you appreciate your conveniences, and, if nothing else, it tends to put you to sleep sooner in the evening.

But they are also frightening. I feel exposed and vulnerable during a black out, as well as completely dependent on electricity and technology. The minor hardships that I've heard myself and others complain about in the last few days are nothing compared to what's being faced on a daily basis in Iraq and other struggling, bleak places. I think more about those poor people during black outs and I worry about our future.

The power came back on tonight, so I was without for about 48 hours. Not too bad. Why, then, did it seem like a whole week?