One of our neighboring communities went without power the other day. It was in the paper. The power was out for twenty minutes in some areas, the article reported; other areas went without power for almost an hour.
Well.
This past August, a storm left us without power for four days. I suppose that outage made headlines, too. I guess I must have missed it. I was too busy feeling my way around in the dark.
Kidding aside, the outage offered me a respite from the busyness that all too easily takes command of my day. It also gave me renewed appreciation for how our ancestors lived. Simply. By the cycle of the sun.
For four days while the clocks stood still, sunrise signaled the start of the day and sunset signaled its end. Evening entertainment hinged on conversation skills or the limits of imagination. If you don't take into account the chainsaw, which is powered by gasoline, the days were quiet ones; the nights, serene. By day four, I'd adjusted to living unplugged and the news that power would soon return arrived with disappointment.
This lifeline we call electric service, which we depend on so greatly that its disappearance radically alters our existence, soon would be restored. By day four, I didn't really want it back.
I had enjoyed my days given over to mother nature, who'd so unexpectedly flipped the switch on us. Frankly, I wouldn't mind if she did it again next summer.
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