At first, we might have thought: what interesting weather! Wet snows pounded down on early autumn trees robust with yet to turn leaves. The snows built up and thunder cracked the skies; and then:
Blackout.
Snows kept coming.
A bunch of us stood outside Elmwood and Summer at three in the morning, neighbors and wandering strangers meeting each other on the street, wondering every other half minute if the crackle in the air was a thunder or a branch. It was both, ongoing, with silence and heavy, wet flakes inbetween. New friends took the late night watch of Lake Erie’s pounding wrath.
Half a dozen 3 a.m. fellow "insnowmniacs" came off the street into my living room and joined by the fireplace for cocktails and conversation.
Then came Day One:
Folks are walking quietly and assessing the damage. Trees everywhere. I started the bar-b-que out front on Elmwood, alerted neighbors to the offer, and welcomed on-goers to stop as well. “Hi. Wanna coffee?” We all greeted and shared and helped where we could.Got no electric, no heat, only a few batteries—no phones or computer. Got beer though—“Cheers, have one. What’s your name? Welcome.”
“Need some gloves? Got an extra pair. Here, help me stock this fire pit.” Music flairing, snow surrounding, wind still blowing, people coming and going, and a stun-gunned expression on so willing faces wanting to know what the outcome and timing of it all was to be. We kept our spirits and neighborliness up and waited, wondered, and wandered for over a week. It was the same effect on thousands.
Scattered among the dark quiet city lay pockets of the electrically blessed. We sought them out.
Invitations to visit friends who had electric was fun at first, but after a few days it felt odd and displaced—fun is fun, but where’s my own work tools—where’s the electric…knock-knock…hate to bother you, but can I check my email on your computer? Can I plug in my cell for an hour?
A few of us walked down Elmwood at ten at night, from Summer to Bidwell; limbs strewn in the middle of the street, darkness around, everything closed, it all seemed a bit of a twilight zone. The enduring days’ cabin fever was for many an obstinate drain of patience, dealt with it by day and mood-suffocating day. We did everything to put a smile on it, but we all wanted to get back the modus in our operandi.
Day Seven:
This is starting to not be much fun. Got work to do, but no tools. Wired cafes were filled. Innovate for the durate.
Day Nine:
Aha! Lights! That is, for me there were. Many got services back a day or two earlier, and many never lost services to begin with. And others still went without services for more days to come. There was an interesting aura about—an almost immediate world-mending relief came to those whose lights suddenly popped on, successively throughout the days.
And when it was over, it was over, and autumn carried on, and saw eventually to a springtime that saw a city gain an arboral conscience to re-tree.
And overall, we were a city of unbelieveably great neighbors.
Happy Anniversay.
News from Lake Snowbegone.