When the Power Goes Out

One of the unique things about living on Orcas Island is that the power can go out unexpectedly. It happens a few times each year, which is why we all have back-up wood and dozens of candles for light. When it happens, it’s an immediate halt to whatever we may have been doing at that moment. And there’s no telling how long it will last. What I love about it is that no device can threaten to interfere with our family life. Not even a stove or oven!

Upon hearing that we might not have power again until the following day, we built a fire, lit every candle we had, and got cozy with each other and some books. Not all that different from normal days in our house, actually, but knowing we don’t have the option of light, heat, showers, or food-warming capabilities changes the psyche a bit. In a good way. I made up a dinner of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, pretzels, apple slices, and nuts. My husband cuddled by the fire in the rocking chair to read to our little guy. And our older son dove into a book at the table.

No lights could be seen across the Sound on the other side of the island except for a few due to personal generators. In fact, if you had walked downtown from our house, you would’ve seen complete darkness except for The Island Market, our grocery store. I know because I had been on a walk around dusk and stopped at the store for a few things to tide us over. All the refrigerated aisles had been blocked off with carts and “do not enter” signs. All the produce areas had silver curtains pulled over them. Half the store was lit thanks to the store generator, but the chip aisle on the end was eerily dark. Not a place I’d like to meet a big, hooded stranger.

Walking home from the store, I thought it was odd to come up our black road and see the juxtaposition of our house compared with our neighbor’s. From the outside, you could barely tell we had candles lit; for all intents and purposes, our house looked dark and completely inactive. Across the street, generator roaring, lights were beaming out of every window and a football game played on the huge flat-screen TV. Our side of the street was in the 1800s; the other, the 21st century.

As I walked close to our windows and looked in, knowing my family couldn’t see me, I loved what I observed. I just stood and watched for a little while as my husband and son rocked together by the roaring fire. The candles flickered on the pages of our other son’s book and everything looked deeply calm.

One never knows exactly when it will end, but I always wish the power would stay out just a little bit longer.