A Momentary Touch of the Past
Yesterday afternoon a cold front came raging through. Rain was thrown against the windows, and the wind drove it in under the front door. It was one of the most miserable days yet this winter. Nor could we stay home. There were things to be done outside; life had to continue, even though wet. Toward evening, though, clouds broke up and the wind died down. The calm was upon us.
Not for the electric cables supplying us with light. Some hours after the storm, the lights went out. We were given enough time to find candles with flashlights waving beams of light into darkened, suddenly unfamiliar rooms. As soon as we lit the first candle, the lights came back on. Fine, put the candles away. A few minutes later, it happened again. This time we got to light a candle and a parrafin lamp before the blessed light returned. Just in case, though, we left the candles out this time. Good, because the third time was the definitive.
With five candles and two parrafin lamps we could see what we were doing. But I understood why people would go to bed at nightfall before electric lights became generalized. Even after the electrification of many villages, the quality was not exactly better. My husband explained that when he was a little boy the lightbulb in his parents' kitchen gave little more light than what we had at that moment in our kitchen. I also remember the summer I was nine when we were here on vacation, the feeble light we got from the single lightbulb in what was then the kitchen. I remember finding it strange that there was so little light.
We're luckier than some when the lights disappear. We have a gas stove we can cook on, and a wood stove for heat. However, our water, which comes from our well, is pulled up by an electric motor. The last time we were without electricity for a day, when a transformer nearby was hit by lightning a few years ago, we could at least warm ourselves and eat warm meals. But we had to pull up water from the well in pails. At least it's one of those old-fashioned, waist-high wells with a good opening, and not one of the newer ones with no well-head, just a tube down to the ground water.
It's quite easy for blackouts to happen here. Wires criss-cross through the woods, and meander down roads and through lanes overgrown with trees and bushes. In some places the wires are still supported by wooden poles, just like when they were first introduced to the pristine fields and woods. The company in charge of maintenance simply prunes brush and branches away from time to time. In areas where the wires could be put underground, they're still out in the open, sometimes clinging to the wall of a building or house, other times dangling from greyed wooden posts that lean at an unnormal angle. Yet our electric bills are among the highest in Europe. Go figure.
The blackout last night lasted little more than a half hour. Our evening wasn't very much affected, though. Our daughter still went out with friends. My husband and I still talked and played with the cats. The only thing we didn't have was good light from the ceiling fixture nor the background of the television talking. The computer hadn't been touched since earlier in the evening, and the phones were charged, so we could still call around to ask if family down in the village had light. My father next door had already gone to bed, and the night was tranquil. When the lights came back on, the first inkling was the motor of the refrigerator, the blinking of the overhead light as it came on, and the sudden sound of a person talking from the television. The cats blinked, stretched, and curled up again next to the stove as we blew out candles and turned down the lamps. The twenty-first century had returned.
Not for the electric cables supplying us with light. Some hours after the storm, the lights went out. We were given enough time to find candles with flashlights waving beams of light into darkened, suddenly unfamiliar rooms. As soon as we lit the first candle, the lights came back on. Fine, put the candles away. A few minutes later, it happened again. This time we got to light a candle and a parrafin lamp before the blessed light returned. Just in case, though, we left the candles out this time. Good, because the third time was the definitive.
With five candles and two parrafin lamps we could see what we were doing. But I understood why people would go to bed at nightfall before electric lights became generalized. Even after the electrification of many villages, the quality was not exactly better. My husband explained that when he was a little boy the lightbulb in his parents' kitchen gave little more light than what we had at that moment in our kitchen. I also remember the summer I was nine when we were here on vacation, the feeble light we got from the single lightbulb in what was then the kitchen. I remember finding it strange that there was so little light.
We're luckier than some when the lights disappear. We have a gas stove we can cook on, and a wood stove for heat. However, our water, which comes from our well, is pulled up by an electric motor. The last time we were without electricity for a day, when a transformer nearby was hit by lightning a few years ago, we could at least warm ourselves and eat warm meals. But we had to pull up water from the well in pails. At least it's one of those old-fashioned, waist-high wells with a good opening, and not one of the newer ones with no well-head, just a tube down to the ground water.
It's quite easy for blackouts to happen here. Wires criss-cross through the woods, and meander down roads and through lanes overgrown with trees and bushes. In some places the wires are still supported by wooden poles, just like when they were first introduced to the pristine fields and woods. The company in charge of maintenance simply prunes brush and branches away from time to time. In areas where the wires could be put underground, they're still out in the open, sometimes clinging to the wall of a building or house, other times dangling from greyed wooden posts that lean at an unnormal angle. Yet our electric bills are among the highest in Europe. Go figure.
The blackout last night lasted little more than a half hour. Our evening wasn't very much affected, though. Our daughter still went out with friends. My husband and I still talked and played with the cats. The only thing we didn't have was good light from the ceiling fixture nor the background of the television talking. The computer hadn't been touched since earlier in the evening, and the phones were charged, so we could still call around to ask if family down in the village had light. My father next door had already gone to bed, and the night was tranquil. When the lights came back on, the first inkling was the motor of the refrigerator, the blinking of the overhead light as it came on, and the sudden sound of a person talking from the television. The cats blinked, stretched, and curled up again next to the stove as we blew out candles and turned down the lamps. The twenty-first century had returned.
Comments
Post a Comment