It’s a sparkling, sunny, forty-five degree day and hard to believe that just a week ago we were digging out from thirty-four inches of wet snow after a late winter storm. As it accumulated, it snapped trees and power lines. By Tuesday morning, we were without electricity, along with over 72,000 others in Vermont.
Our Tesla batteries in the basement kicked in, providing backup power to the house. Our lives were uninterrupted until, thirty-six hours later, the batteries ran out. It was the first time the power had been on long enough to deplete the batteries’ stored power. And honestly, it was our own fault.
The batteries ran out late Wednesday. When the sun set, the outage felt like an adventure we hadn’t been on for a long time. We fed the wood stove, filled the kerosene lantern, and read, both deep into thick novels.
We were snug. With the motors of all the machines in the house off, complete silence descended. Without the internet or phone, we weren’t distracted. Without the usual constellation of LED indicators illuminating the rooms, we were truly in the dark.
Now, just a week later, the sun has condensed what snow hasn’t melted entirely. The power is back, the batteries recharged, and the internet reconnected. I’ve started my leek and onion seeds indoors. The earth turns. Spring approaches. The storm is now another story we tell about living in place.
