On Being Powerless

For five days, we were off the grid. I always wanted to try that, but I'd hoped for a little more preparation. Indeed, we had no idea what was in store for us last Sunday. The wind picked up a bit. Then, suddenly, it slammed us. Ike had arrived and he was not happy.

I went outside to put the chickens up. Finding most of them in their coops cowering already, one red one seemed to be missing. As large oak trees thrashed above me, I decided that she must have blown away, but I was not going to risk being killed by a falling limb for a blown away chicken. The wind gusted and then quieted. The lights flickered and finally, went out.

We peered out windows and watched shingles fly from our rooftop. After a bit, the windstorm blew by and we went outside to aprise the damage. We'll likely have to replace all our shingles. Still, we thought that a few hours in the dark and we'd be back to normal. Little did we know.

Five days later, we finally got our electricity back. We lost most of our food. Still, we found a togetherness in the "adventure". I enjoyed the quiet, I enjoyed having no TV. One night, we sat by the fire with dh listening to the ballgame. Isn't this nice, I said? With electricity he'd not have been there. Mumbling words inserted about oh yes he would. Oh, well, if this game is on TV, you wouldn't be in there watching it? Welllll, maybe.

I missed blogging, my quick way of interacting with people I'd likely not keep up with if I didn't have email, hearing from family daily. I missed hot showers. I think that is the one thing that if going back into time I would miss. That and other people wearing deodorant.

Farm Notes:
Both bantam chickens are broody. One has been caged with three eggs as William is hoping for some chicks to hold. I bring the dog crate in at night, not sure that it will withstand a raccoon assault. One night, the girls were watching a movie, and Whitney, our eight pound dog, sat across Lauren's lap. The most horrific odor, green in color, permeated the air and after a loud disgusted exclamation, Whitney was blamed and brushed to the floor. Poor dog. Have you ever smelled a caged, broody chicken? Phew. Everyone is always blaming it on the dog.

Tell me, it was a man, wasn't it, that came up with the "and on the seventh day HE rested". It doesn't say anything about SHE rested anywhere does it? No. On the seventh day, one must get up early to do chickens, dress the boy (lest he wear his red T-rex shirt with his green shorts), go to teach Sunday school (before you think I am pious, I am just an aide and only because William won't let me leave the room), go to Church, come home make lunch, get the washer going while one makes lunch, help the husband build fences, drain the hot tub for cleaning....Day of rest. What a novel idea.