The Storm ... from My Perspective

My emergency station

We here in Vermont were told to have five days of non-perishable food on hand in the event of power outages from mega-storm Sandy--or what blogger James Howard Kunstler called Apocalyptoween.  We were also told to be prepared for flood and wind damage.  (Having experienced Tropical Storm Irene just a year ago, everyone was playing it safe.)  At least it seemed we wouldn't be in the direct path this time, but since the storm covered such a wide territory, was moving so slowly, and had such a low barometric pressure, we knew we'd be impacted.

So I did the responsible thing and made preparations.  I filled my gas tank and even organized a small evacuation bag.  (Might a tree fall on the house?  Or something go awry at our local nuclear plant?)  I bought extra non-perishable food and started eating the perishable (including what was in my freezer).  I set up a little "emergency station" with candles, matches, large and small flashlights, a battery-operated radio, and my newly-charged cell phone.  Though I'm on town water, I set aside drinking water in case the tap supply became contaminated.  (Glad not to have an electric stove, I knew I could cook by lighting my gas burners with a match.  And I figured that since it was a tropical storm, the temperature would stay warm enough that my pipes wouldn't freeze in the event of no heat.  I have an oil furnace but it's triggered by an electric spark.)   

With trees, trees, trees up and down the East Coast, power outages were a sure thing.  Okay, what then?  What does one do during a prolonged power outage, especially after dark?  My eyes wouldn't thank me for reading by candlelight.  There would be no television, no computer, no catching up on emails or sending queries out to friends in harm's way.  With Mozart-like candlelight, I could conceivably sit at the piano and play something.  Call friends on my cell phone if my land line went out and the cell phone towers stayed put.   Wonder how long we'd have this archaic system of above-ground power lines.  Worry about coastal nuclear reactors.  Wonder about such possibly extensive damage that it would impact people's ability to vote.  Wonder, as well, about New Yorkers particularly--conceivably trapped in high rises with no egress if the elevators weren't working.  (One Manhattan friend's elderly mother died in the 1965 Great Northeast Blackout because she had to climb the stairs to reach her high-up apartment.) 

But ... as it turned out, I needn't have done any prep work at all.  Our area did get high winds and bursts of heavy rain plus a bit of tree damage and some power outages, but right here, all was well.  No downed trees, no live wires littering the road, no broken windows or roof damage.  Power still on, what I ended up doing was watching the devastation on television (though since the storm's landfall and nightfall pretty well coincided, much wasn't apparent until next day).

Even as I watched, I wondered about the storm's ripple effect--the changes it would make in an enormous number of lives.  There would be the initial misery as a result of the destruction, but there would also be a new appreciation of what was truly important.  There would be new people in one's life as a result of the storm ... plus new resolve to put aside weary old ways, weary old attitudes and begin to work in new directions whether in hydrology, cinema, politics, banking, energy, food supply.  Along with those hints of roads to now travel (and roads to give up), there could even be great epiphanies including some that might help lead this country's power-mongers out of their hubris, greed, manipulation, and obstructionism.  As a result of the storm, someone might decide to leave the East Coast and go solar in Colorado.  Or finish up that degree at UCLA.  Or figure how to finally bury East Coast power lines.  Or go down the block and help a new neighbor.  So, yes, I was thinking about all this as I watched ... and as I listened to the wind pummel my tall trees, making a great whooshing sound, and the rain spatter the windows as if someone were tossing gravel against the glass.