Off the grid: The 2021 Ice Storm

I'm sure you've all been hearing about the terrible power outages in Texas, which have left millions without water or power. Less reported on was the ice storm that hit the Willamette Valley here in Oregon at about the same time, which has left several dead, hundreds of thousands without power/water, and many homes destroyed or damaged. 

And just like all the history that's happened over the last year, we were front and center stage for it. I'm happy to report that after six days with no power and water, and 13 with no internet service, we are finally back online, both literally and metaphorically. Clothes and bodies are washed properly, dishes are sanitized, and online business can again be done.

Deadly beauty.

The ice storm started on February 12. We were expecting snow, but instead, sleet began falling that morning, and by 10 a.m., our power was out. Sleet is strange stuff, not rain, but not snow. It's like hail, but not really. Over the day it continued, and through the night as well.

We pride ourselves on being prepared, but we were totally under-prepared for a disaster of this magnitude. The first day wasn't too bad; we used our generator, discovered our gas fireplace has a battery back-up built in for ignition, and used a good portion of the water we'd put aside for not only drinking, but also flushing toilets, washing ourselves (fill a pot and take it into the bathtub with you) and doing dishes. We never dreamed the power would be out for so long, but in hindsight, we should have been more prepared in case it was.

One of our two generators.

That night we stood outside as the sleet continued to fall and the ice build. We heard something that sounded like firecrackers about every 30 seconds or so, some extremely loud, others not so much. It was the sound of tree limbs of all sizes splitting under the weight of the ice and then crashing to the ground, all over the neighborhood and forest that surrounds us. It was eerie, fascinating and absolutely heartbreaking, all at the same time.

Dramatic death.

The next morning (Valentine's Day), we went outside to inspect the damage. Our favorite tree in our front yard, a Box Elder with amazing fall colors, had not survived -- it split three ways down the center, a dramatic death if ever I've seen one. Other trees had large limbs on the ground or were bent over, weighed down with ice, but had survived. It was stunning, but it was deadly. So we spent most of Valentine's Day cleaning up the property, and going out to find more gas for the generator and more drinking water. We had already resorted to making a camp latrine for our other business, to save on water. We were now at Day Three

Camp Latrine: Where what you get out of it depends on what you put into it. Like life.

This went on for the next few days. We hooked up our old antenna to the television, which in turn was hooked up to the generator. Watching the news, we discovered that a half-million people  in Oregon had lost power (some of whom have still not been restored). on Day Four we finally took advantage all of the rain (the sleet stopped after Day Two) to begin harvesting rainwater off our shop roof into some waiting ice chests. We were able to flush toilets again at that point, and boil it for all other uses, too. I've never been so thankful to live somewhere with abundant rain.

MacGyver'ed water catchment system!

Fallen tree in the orchard.

On Day Six the lights came on! The heater fired up, everything with outage alarms began beeping, and we almost wept with joy. The house went from a brisk 59 degrees to a toasty 68 within a few hours. We still didn't have any internet, but did have our phones, so just continued burning our data allotment until internet was finally restored yesterday. 

Our lovely Deodar cedar suffered some damage...

as did our arbor vitae trees. 

We've learned a lot through this. First is that you can never have enough water put up. We were on a well, so with no power we had no water, but many, many thousands of residents in city limits had no water either, as the generators which run the municipal water systems could not keep up with demand using only generator power. At that point, finding water in the store was like finding gold. We'll be putting in a special surge protector which will allow us to run our well off one of our generators, and will also be purchasing two 500 gallon storage tanks to keep rainwater on hand at all times. What if this had happened in summer? Water is literally life, which means water storage is mandatory.

We also learned what we did right: We had plenty of easy to prepare food put up. We had emergency flashlights, which charge in your wall until the power goes off and you need them (they also serve as emergency lights if it happens at night). We had the gas fireplace, which can run even when power is off, and we knew how to make water catchment systems and camp latrines. All that earthquake preparedness finally paid off in some ways. And in other ways, it was a very real dress rehearsal for The Big One, when they say you would be prepared to be on your own for a minimum of two weeks. We just did half that, and found some holes in our plans. But they won't be holes for long. 

I'm not sure why it is the fates determined Oregon needed to live through a historic wildfire and a historic ice storm in the same year, but so be it. We're comforted by the fact that our normal lives are back and that spring is on the way.

We're also thankful that, as inconvenient as this ice storm was, our home was not damaged in any way, and we were put on notice to get better prepared for next time. 

Sometimes minor disasters are gifts in disguise, if you can learn from them.

Snowgaritas and a shot

We had our first snowfall of the year today. There is always something magical about snow; growing up in Southern California, the most we ever saw was an occasional thick frost, white and crisp to the touch, but never anything actually falling from the sky. Generally by morning -- about the time the 405 would start backing up and the first celebrities would be showing up at their cosmetic sugeon's offices, it would all be melted anyway. 

In Los Angeles, better to dream of monster waves or mudslides, even earthquakes. Really, anything but snow. SoCal snow is as elusive as the pink unicorn. 

But since moving here to Oregon, the snow arrives every year, usually sometime after Christmas but before Easter. That's right, no white Christmases for us for some reason, but plenty of white President's Days or St. Paddy's Days. So I always keep my snow/winter decor up through at least February. And never take my duck boots out until after Christmas.

Because of my upbringing in sunny Los Angeles, I don't think I will ever be able to treat snow as an ordinary thing. As soon as the weather experts begin talking about it, I get excited. The snow we saw today did not disappoint; it started around lunchtime and went until 3 pm or so. At 4 pm we took a walk then came home, made some tacos and I gathered some fresh snow up to make some snowgaritas, which are like margaritas but using snow instead of blender ice. That's my own idea, but I don't understand why it's not a staple in places like Wisconsin, where an abundance of snow should make these as much a tradition as Taco Tuesdays. Why not?

Before this first snowfall, we were able to squeeze in one more trip to Silver Falls State Park after some particularly heavy rains, when we figured the falls would be at their peak. It did not disappoint. The lighting was just right.

I also, happily, am now halfway on the way to being fully vaccinated; I got my first dose of the Pfeizer vaccine last week. Words can't express the relief I feel to know I'm on my way to being a lot safer as I head back to work. Oregon is vaccinating its teachers first, and so since I'll be heading back to the classroom to help in the work of getting our students back to where they need to be in 2021, I was able to get my shot. No side effects other than a sore arm, and it will be great to work alongside students knowing it's safe to do so. I know we'll be masking and social distancing for awhile still, but this is a start towards getting life back to normal again. 

In the spirit of a happier 2021, I've also decided to bring my growing skills inside, finding two growing plants that seem literally impossible to kill. The first is a live moss bowl, filled with tiny ferns, lichen, and a few other mossy plants. And the second are air plants, which according to friends only need a once-weekly dunk in a jug of water for 10 minutes or so. So far, so good!

And "so far, so good," pretty much sums up my feelings about 2021 so far.

End of the year

So where does the end of 2020 find you? If you're like me, i.e., counting yourself lucky right now, you're basically in the same place as you were for most of the year: You're staying in, limiting trips out in public, while your social life consists mainly of texts and Zoom calls with friends and family and the occasional brief chat with the checker at the grocery store.

I've started thinking of how 2020 has changed me, and while much of the year was a bit of a rough ride, I've actually found a new-found acceptance of the way things are and the limits life is currently demanding of us all. That's the last stage in the Kubler-Ross cycle of grief, right? As Americans, we're taught from birth to fight, to hold off acquiescing, or accepting anything other than total victory. Fighting and rebelling seems a part of our national culture, our DNA, and has been from the get-go. But as life teaches us, often the only escape is ultimately through surrender and acceptance. And so it is with 2020.

I've lowered my expectations for every day, and it's been very freeing, honestly. What I don't get to today gets put off until tomorrow -- or whatever day I feel like doing it (within reason). I think one of the biggest changes is that I don't beat myself up over things not getting done. Things like the kitchen taking seven months (and counting) to complete, or the times I've turned the car around in a store parking lot and left when I realized it meant the store was more crowded than I was comfortable with, have all trained me to not get too wrapped around the axle when something I'l planned on doesn't happen whenI thought it would. 

Health cooperating, there's always tomorrow. Or the day after. I guess sometimes learning to live with less even means less expectations of oneself, which is kind of a surprise bonus gift bestowed during a difficult time.

Big Ag and I have also settled into a lovely little routine of him going upstairs to his new home office to work during the day, and me staying downstairs and doing chores. We often take a walk at lunch now. And after adjusting to being around each other almost 24/7, we have hit a groove where that no longer feels like too much. It took awhile-- we both value our independent time spent doing our own thing -- but 2020 changed us and made us better able to spend large chunks of time together.  Probably good practice for retirement.

As the year passed we saw more and more friends become ill, and more and more friends' parents went into hospital and actually died from COVID. That's the generation that's been hit the hardest -- the one right above ours. But you know, even with that, we've also seen life go on in positive ways, too. Babies being born. Zoom weddings and baby showers. 

2021 will be a year of shifting back to "normal," assuming we don't face any COVID or other health challenges. With our baskets now largely empty of the things we did before -- concerts, brunches, vacations and events -- all of us will start putting things back into those baskets as the year progresses. I don't know about you, but I'm going to be a lot more circumspect as far as what goes back in. Maybe not in terms of types of activities, but in terms of their amounts. Less may be more from now on. I've come to enjoy the weeks when I have nothing whatsoever scheduled except whatever I choose to creatively do around our property. I hope I don't relinquish that time too quickly or easily in favor of just being busy and occupied.

So wherever you are, I hope you are healthy, happy and prepared to finish the crazy ride 2020 has been, as we move towards brighter days. Stay well, and I hope whatever ends up in your basket for 2021 is both meaningful and nourishing, both physically and emotionally. 

Happy New Year!

Hoping 2021 is less of an odd duck than 2020 was. 

Bend there, done that

While my sinuses are not equipped to live there full time, I do love the high desert. Even in California, I often found myself torn if offered the choice between a day at the ocean or the desert. It's no different in Oregon, where beauty resides on both sides of the Cascades.

We spent the day in Bend last week and enjoyed the gorgeous fall colors. I think my favorite thing about Oregon is the autumn season. It starts in late August and is still going strong at the end of October. And despite getting a lot less rainfall than we in the Willamette Valley do, Bend still has plenty of colorful autumn trees!

The Three Sisters as seen from the east.

Black Butte, made famous by Bend's own Deschutes Brewery's Black Butte Porter

And just some lovely fall color in the park near Mirror Pond

Requiem for a forest

 Last week we decided we needed a mental health day and drove to Bend for the day. I'll post some photos we took in Bend in a few days, but I wanted to first post some photos of the areas we drove through which were burned by the Beachie Creek Fire from last month (the one which had us on evacuation notice). It has been described as a "once-in-a-century" fire, burning about 200,000 acres. As we drove through, we saw tree stumps and areas of forest still smoldering, even after four inches of rain and six weeks of time. 

I'm glad I got to see this beautiful forest before it burned, because my guess is that it's going to be many years before it looks even close to what it did before, if ever. I heard a news report the other night that said a fire like this takes the forest it burns about 150 years to recover. So I won't be seeing it, obviously.

The strangest thing was the way the fire checkerboarded across the landscape -- taking this house, this tree, and sparing that one, so randomly. At the higher elevations near the peak of the Cascade range, the destruction was much more complete -- not a fern, a pine cone or a tree remaining.

Here are a few shots of the destruction:

You can see the destruction, all the way to the top of the mountains.

Here you see more of a checkerboard pattern, with some trees left alive.

Still smoldering, six weeks later.

Miles and miles of it. So sad. 

Safe at home

 

Well, our fire evacuation orders are lifted, we are unpacked and settling in to Part Two of 2020's "Apocalypse: September Edition."  Part One was fire, and Part Two consists of air you can taste, smell and even grab handfuls of should you be brave enough to venture outside. It's thicker than Labor Day barbecue sauce, with the same smoky flavor. 

But of course I'm just grateful to have a house to come home to, after these fires. And really, saying we've come home is misleading, because we never left. Not even for milk or gluten-free crackers. We were that afraid that the fire might start moving again and we'd be locked out of our neighborhood, and we have pets and livestock to think of. So we stayed put and prayed. We were lucky this time; everything that belongs to us or is loved by us was spared. Many were not so lucky.

This year ... am I right? Just when you think you've gotten a handle on things, it throws you a wicked curveball in the shape of a conflagration fire, a hurricane, or a sharknado or two. We're just missing an earthquake to really wrap up the year properly, but we still have three months to go so don't lose hope yet. 

In the next century, anthropologists, historians and other scholars will spend entire careers studying this year's history and its impacts. There will probably be entire university departments of 2020 Studies. Professors will ask each other upon meeting, "So, which quarter do you specialize in?"

Really, I wonder how most of us will look back on this year.  For those of us 50 and above, it will hold little storytelling value, as almost everyone we know will have lived through it. But for those young people, say 30 and under, they will be the ones who tell the story of 2020 to their kids and grandkids, all of whom will have the good fortune of being too young to remember it. They will also (if they're old enough) be able to tell the story of 9/11, the Great Recession, Hurricane Katrina, and the tsunami that devastated the areas around Indonesia. That's a lot of disaster to have witnessed in to just 20 years. No wonder Millennials are a different sort, who value entrepreneurship above all. Gotta rely on yourself, because who knows what will happen with the rest of the world tomorrow. I get it.

Anyway, life marches on -- for us personally as well. My stepson got married on Saturday, so there was a Zoom occasion to celebrate. We came off evacuation status that same afternoon, so there was good news all around that day. And despite the smoke, I've still been able to can eight quarts of tomatoes. So life goes on, just in it's own weird 2020 way. Thanksgiving and Christmas should be interesting, filled with colorful holiday face masks and offbeat, roundabout travel itineraries, as people roadtrip it to grandma's house via car or maybe train. No holiday concerts or performances of The Nutcracker, but still plenty of eggnog to be spiked and prime rib to be roasted. 

Pretty soon our blue skies should return, too, hopefully not too late to silhouette all the autumn leaves on the trees. And until then, just remember we are almost 3/4ths of the way through this long, strange year. Hoping 2020 ends with a whimper instead of a bang but let's face it, we'd better not count on anything at this point. Stay sharp and be on the watch for sharknadoes on the horizon.

Fire

 Labor Day was a holiday that was unusual in the typical ways all 2020 holidays have been so far. We didn't have friends over, but did some barbecuing for ourselves, and stayed home. In the evening the winds came up, which was bad news because there was a fire in the wilderness east of us, but we went to bed without too much worrying.

By morning, everything had changed. Big Ag and I both slept in, thinking it was still night, but at 8:30 we realized the clocks were right but....it had never gotten light.

We awoke to this apocalyptic scene:

Basically the sun never came up because the wildfires to the east of us exploded overnight, heading in our direction. We checked with Emergency Services for our county, who told us we were already at a Level Two evacuation request, meaning we needed to be packed and ready to go at any time. Level Three means GO NOW. So we spent the day packing our vehicles, making everything ready inside not only for our valuables and sentimentals, but also for our livestock. 

We had two things working in our favor. First and foremost was our background as Californians. Long ago, we'd put together three emergency checklists in case of fire -- what to take if we were given 5 minutes to evacuate, one hour to leave, or several hours to pack up. So we worked off the several hours list and got everything packed.

The second thing that helped was that we'd moved all the livestock from California to Oregon with us, so we knew how to configure the car to fit everyone in comfortably. It was just a matter of putting it all back together like we were moving again. 

As of right now, we are still sitting at a Level Two emergency, so we're waiting to see what happens and if/when we'll have to go. We actually plan on leaving once the town next to us goes to Level Three. We won't wait until we are. Until then, I'm trying to keep busy by grocery shopping, canning tomatoes, washing the smoke taint out of my hair, and praying.

If you are the praying sort, we could certainly use yours right now, as we wait to find out what we'll be asked to do.