It is January 12, 2007, and I somehow missed the transition from Christmas to the New Year. Usually it seems that Christmas drags on forever, long after the needles have fallen from the tree, the lights are sagging off the roofs of the neighbor's house, and the Santas in the neighborhood yards look a little depressed that another Christmas is gone and they fade back into obscurity for another 10-11 months. But this year in Nebraska was different. On December 30th, the hard rain we had the previous day turned into an ICE STORM within hours. Saturday night I learned that most if not all of the churches in the area had cancelled services for the next morning as ice accumulated on all surfaces. The emergency siren kept going off in town, followed by fire truck sirens and ambulance whistles, indicating that some people perhaps did not heed the warnings to stay home, or that emergencies still happened that didn't listen to the forecast. Around 5 o'clock that afternoon my friend called me to tell me that their power had gone out at their farm. Our lights kept flickering, teasing us for awhile, until about 10:30 p.m. as I was getting ready to go to bed, all the lights went out. We were to be without power for 43 hours; something, I confess, I'd never experienced. The temperature in the house got down to 40 degrees by the end of Sunday. We spent New Year's Eve, huddled around the table amid all the lit candles, bundled up in all the layers of clothes that we could fit on our bodies, and our feet in snow boots. I'd love to say that I was a really creative Mom and came up with all kinds of fun activities for us to do, treating the time as an adventure. But I am a weenie. It did not turn into a fun adventure, or a "cool" camp-in, as some families later reported, as if they never whined once or got on each other's nerves or got cranky about not being able to take a shower for 3 days. I was cold. I got bored. The cats strolled through the darkness as if nothing was wrong, and didn't shiver once, and I swear they looked down their noses at us wimpy humans.
Our fun plans to be with friends and play games and gorge ourselves on New Year's Eve, was of course cancelled. Instead we heated water on the campstove on the porch, drank a lot of coffee and hot cocoa, listened to the Country Music Countdown on a battery-operated radio (hint: always know where your batteries and matches are), as even NPR was without power. Sarah Gene really wanted to stay up to midnight, but we were too cold, and so we all went to bed at 10:00 to get under as many blankets as possible and let the Country Music Countdown play till midnight. I fell asleep long before the #1 song was announced.
We were lucky. Our hot water heater is run by gas, so we had hot water. We took hot showers, as hot as we could stand it, and then QUICKLY got dressed, while marveling at the wonder of seeing our breath in the bathroom. We got our power back by Tuesday afternoon. The sound of the furnace kicking in was never such a therapeutic sound! However, our rural friends outside of town were without power through the following Saturday or Sunday. Their water is on a well system, so they ran out of water early in the week. Many people we know went to relatives' in other parts of Nebraska, others went to already crowded hotels for several days, while lots of meat spoiled in their freezers back home. In Holdredge, Nebraska, they are still without power in the whole town, depending only on generators and making a choice between having heat or doing the dishes. Word has it that they are receiving money from the United Methodist Committee on Relief and that the state of Nebraska will get disaster relief funds from the government.
It was a strange week, heading into 2007. You go to the cafe, the church, the post office, it's all people are talking about. Parts of Kearney look like a tornado hit, with all the tree branches down everywhere. The current figure for what this storm will cost NPPD is over 100 million dollars. The other day I was having lunch with some of the ladies from my church and the waittress accidentally bumped the light switch and the lights went out. Everyone in the room collectively gasped. Lights going out still produces anxiety immediately for many people.
During the power outtage in town over New Year's, we finally got in the car and drove (slowly) around town-- partly from sheer boredom, partly for the precious heat!! The whole town was dark-- it was very bizarre. You could see dim glows from houses, where there were candles burning inside. Everything was quiet and still, illuminated only by a full moon that reflected through the ice-covered trees. You could hear the branches cracking and straining under the weight. It was hauntingly beautiful; the silence, the moonlight reflected through ice, the stillness, and the groaning of the trees.
But it was good to get out again this week and see people, share our own stories, bring water to those who were still without power, let someone come in and take a hot shower, who, frankly, were beginning to stink (we didn't say so). There's something about going through something together that makes you feel like one. Of course, when it's over, you can laugh about it, as you turn on the light switch and the light actually comes ON. I haven't lit a candle since the storm, and it may be awhile. Suddenly I really like electric light. I like not seeing my breath when I get out of the shower. I like not having to decide just how badly I have to go the bathroom in the middle of the night because it's just so warm under the covers and my husband puts out some serious body heat. And I like living in a community where people know each other and can't wait till the cafe re-opens so they can swap stories about using lake water to flush their toilets and the many ways they improvised to get through the enduring darkness. I liked how we all cried out together when the lights went out in the restaurant, like we all shared a private joke.
Life goes on. The kids finally went back to school, people put on real clothes (only 1 or 2 layers now) and went back to work. The city workers are collecting the massive piles of branches out on the curbs, while NPPD is still putting up new poles all throughout Central Nebraska, replacing the thousands that had been snapped in two like toothpicks. Folks are finally draining their bathtubs, trusting that enough water will come out of the tap. I know people are turning out more lights when they're not using them, taking shorter showers, noticing more how much energy we used to waste-- and take for granted. It was good to go back to worship last Sunday after two weeks, sucking in the warmth, the light, and the good fellowship. A little bit more grateful for the basics of life, and still praying for those who still wait.
Tomorrow the forecast calls for more snow and perhaps some more ice. I can hear the collective groan for miles.... But it could be worse. We could be in Denver.
Happy New Year from the Prairie!!
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