“I stepped into the woodshed a little after dawn, to sample the air & examine the snowfall. Nothing scientific; just a gut measure. A hit of cold, not bracing, but brisk. A sodden scene of wet lumpiness, possibly a dumping of up to 12 inches. What a mess. I heard the thrumming of some motor, and I thought it might be an early tractor.I turned back towards my coffee, to my fire tending, pulling shut the kitchen door, satisfied that there was no disaster. Pouring boiling water over the grind, I paused, thinking, as the drip made its way into my cup. Wait a minute. I returned to the door, yanking it open again, shuffling past the wood pile, for another listen. That sound, that familiar, comforting, too loud noise, now ranged into a deeper level of recognition. That was no tractor. That was my new, backup generator. The power was out, and I had hardly noticed. I suddenly remembered being woken in the middle of the night, by my printer firing up, engaging for duty, when I had not asked it to perform any function. The fluctuations of electricity will do that, browning, out, surprising circuits, arousing machines in odd ways ... yes that had happened. And now, as light was building a day, I was not suffering cold, or dead ignitions, or facing a gruesome trip out to an old, broken down Kohler well past its miles, in sub-zero. This struck me as monumental, in its own, small way. I had moved up in the world. I was not sick with worry, nor anticipating having to call someone for help. I was experiencing my hands down first, automatic power recovery. Damn. No corroded remote switches, no stubborn, cold start cranking, no oil changes in the dark. This is how the other half lives, I thought, returning to my steaming brew, and a roaring blaze of lumber scraps, tucked under fairly dry firewood. I wanted to text someone. So I texted my neighbor, because I could, because my power was on, and I was in a kind of dumbfounded bliss. “Did the power go out?” I wrote, disingenuously. “My new backup generator automatically kicked on in the night!” This is all I could think of to say. Not “How are you doing?” or “Is your camper warm and cozy this morning?”. No. It was all about me at the moment. I stared at the phone, waiting, a little ashamed of myself. Well, as I thought she would, she reported from her outpost with the utmost graciousness, and calm. “Nice!” she exclaimed. Then a soft pedaled version of her own situation. “I’m stranded over at Adrianne’s without my truck,” she texted. “I’m a little worried about Ballou. Do you think he’ll be warm enough?” I’ve felt this guilt about disturbing a pet’s routines. A cat, left overnight in a camper? “I’m sure she’s fine”, I replied. She has fur, I felt like saying, but that would be hypocritical. I was the worst pet pamperer, in my day. “I’ll pick you up,” I continued. “If you see me go by its because I can’t pull into Danny’s driveway. But I’ll head up to the dump and turn around. Just wait for me”. As it turned out, I found her walking along the side of the road, amidst bent over birches, in tidal waves of slush, and smiling, when she saw me, like nothing was amiss. Nothing was. We doubled back to York Hill on the way home to catch the views of the mysterious snow mist, & shrouded peaks of the mountain. Not many cars were out, so we stopped in the road when we felt like it. At one point the town plow almost barreled into us. I dunno what he was thinking, there really wasn’t any room to pull over. I feel beholden to those working a storm however would never, willingly, miss out on the miraculous.”
