||| MIDNIGHT MUTTERINGS by JACKIE BATES |||
I don’t need to tell the three of you who regularly read this column that it’s cold. Instead, I’ll go back 33 years when I first bought this house. For a couple of years before I had lived off grid on another island and a few months after that off grid in a tiny cabin up a steep hill in the woods here on Orcas.
I bought this little house at Obstruction Pass, moved in on Halloween that year, and a few weeks later we had the big storm, with no power for two weeks. No work, no phone, no nothing. Just icy roads, icy wind, icy everything. The house was marginally furnished, had a stove, refrigerator some chairs a foam pad in the bedroom, electric heat, and magically, a small wood burning stove. I had some clothes, books, a towel, and a couple of pots, a skillet and a few dishes from the cabin. I had a couple of candles and a flashlight with batteries that lasted for a few days.
Everything else I left in the cabin, which was up a steep hill. There was a marginal driveway, which I could barely drive up in my little Corolla in the best of weather.
Then the storm started, unexpectedly. Suddenly it was freezing, snow, ice everywhere. I couldn’t even walk up the hill to the little cabin to get my stuff.
Back at Obstruction Pass, the house had a well for water. Hot water, even. Plenty of water. Then the power went out and thus the electric well pump and the pressure tank in the garage. So for two weeks there was no water of any temperature. No water to flush the toilet, no outhouse like I had at the cabin in the woods on the hill.
I had a few sticks of firewood, a sleeping bag for the foam pad left by the sellers, some food I could keep cold (frozen) outside and cook on the surface of wood stove. But I didn’t know a soul in my neighborhood. And it was cold, windy outside and there was ice and snow on the road. I thought I could go to a new neighbor and ask for a bit of water, but I had no containers to carry water. (All at the cabin in the woods.) My cooking pots were small. I don’t remember exactly how I solved my water problem but I think a neighbor lent me a bucket to go with the water I begged.
I do know that eventually the storm passed, and I surveyed my acre of broken trees and went back to work. At last I could drive to Eastsound to the market, the library, wearing clean clothes I could wash and dry in my basement garage. I came home to electricity, water, electric heat in addition to the wood stove, a fridge, electric cook stove, lights to read by, a hot shower and flush toilet. All the luxuries. Eventually, I had a phone with a long cord, met people at work and in my neighborhood, at least the ones who weren’t away for the winter.
Now, decades later, I know my wonderful neighbors (the few who are here for the winter). It’s cold, for sure, but the power is still on and doesn’t go out as often as it used to in the early days. I have a supply of wood and a backup outhouse (if the floor hasn’t rotted away. I’ll have to look at that.) The garage door is frozen shut so no washer/dryer for the time being, and the extra fridge and its goodies there are out of reach. And something is wrong with my hot water tank (also in the garage under the house) and it is just a tepid water tank for now. I have lights and electric heat, a cell phone, a laptop a radio and a couple of neighbors who are here for the winter.
And soon the cold will pass, the garage door and kitchen window will thaw and open, and it will be comfortable to walk on the beach again. And if the power stays on, I’ll have most of the comforts of home, plus longer daylight hours. There will still be the taxes to compute and pay, and trips to Eastsound and the mainland, cancelled ferries, and cats to miss.
The cats and my son were here for Christmas and I was in Bellingham for New Years and Seattle for appointments, and it’s good to be home, even for the two nights so far. And maybe I’ll get the hot water tank fixed if I can’t fix it myself. Yes, it’s good to be home. It will be even better when it gets warmer. I hope, wherever you are, you are warm and content and have a good supply of chocolate and a warm book to read. Oh, and plenty of water for your indoor plumbing. Happy New Year!
I like your story, and your prose.
O Pioneers! We have it good now (for now). Stay warm and keep on muttering, Jackie.
Jackie, hope your chocolate supply is holding out and you have a big stack of books to read. You could always write us another installment of your mutterings, so we can keep reading.
oh oh ! four frank
I’m pretty certain there are more than 3 of us who read and greatly enjoy your musings. Thank you for sharing yourself with us!
Give us more on Christmas with son and kittens .. are they cats now? Are they still shredding curtains? Do tell.
I love your midnight mutterings – they never fail to bring smiles and laughs. Talk about rugged living, though….Brrrrrrrrr! What a wild adventure – and being new and all. That was some serious situation, the lack of water and all. That storm you talk about was a doozy. Many trees knocked down; some forested swaths completely leveled. Two weeks with no power – people whine if it’s two days. (with good reason if all- electric everything is all they have) Olga and Doe Bay had it bad that time.
I remember one Halloween when a Nor-easter blew in suddenly and it went from a ridiculously warm 62 degrees down to 12 degrees farenheit -with wind chill of well below Zero F. That was closer to 40 yrs ago – I think I was living at Tom Lavender’s then… so no steep icy hill to trudge, and easy access to everything, including water and flashlight batteries. I believe they still a Halloween dance at Oddfellows anyway – but; lousy night to go trick or treating and show any skin.
But you know, it was kind of fun in a torturous way, with youth on my side – living in an un-insulated cabin – but there was a stash of wood (and chocolate) and as long as you split and carried firewood, you would be at least marginally warm – by the woodstove – and moving some of the time in splitting and carrying wood.
It was BC – before computers took over the brains and eyeballs of mankind. Candles were in the windows Food tasted better than ever, cooked on a wood stove; best chocolate cake I ever ate was cooked in a Dutch Oven on a woodstove with 6 of us huddled in a tiny cabin, staying warm and eating together. Those were the good days, when a neighbor would wake you up knocking on your door, and you peered through the 1/4 inch or more of ice covering your windows, and trudged up the hill with him to that tiny sanctuary where others whose places had frozen were gathered to ride out (only 4 days for us in ’89). And much gratitude and even good cheer – and lots of guilt-free lollygagging. I miss those days. I miss visiting each other in the snow, the town quiet, everyone walking – or cross country skiing.
I don’t love the all- electrification of Eastsound, though I’m probably the only one. What I do miss is seeing your lovely impish amused face. Thanks for writing!
There are more than three.
Thanks for the good, albeit chilly, story.
I could share something similar but not nearly as entertaining nor long-lived.
More, please!