The power of ice

I've heard so many extraordinary stories since the ice storm arrived Monday night. I can't top them. Like so many of you, my wife and I listened in the darkness as ice-covered limbs crashed into our yard, down on our roof and onto a metal garden shed.

I knew the power was off when the silence awakened me. There are night sounds that are so familiar that you don't realize they exist until they stop. And the friendly shadows disappear too, replaced by ominous patches of strange darkness.

When I looked out the window, I could see that the yard was filled with big limbs and little limbs. I could see the neighbors across the street all had lights on, but not any of the neighbors on our side of the street had even a glimmer.

And I knew it was unlikely our power would come back on anytime soon, since ice storms cover large amounts of territory.

We managed to get ready for work in the dark, with no lights and no hot water for showers. The water left in the hot water heater was warm, but we knew it wouldn't last.

Our emergency plan was simple: Make reservations at the nearest hotel. At 7 a.m. Tuesday, all the rooms were filled. We were told that some of the guests were travelers who would likely leave. Sometime. We requested a reservation for the first available room. At 10 a.m. we were told we had a room guaranteed. It wasn't long after that we learned every hotel in town was fully booked for Tuesday night.

By 4 p.m. I had picked up my wife to go home to get essentials for a hotel stay. Ameren trucks arrived on our street. Power lines that crossed our street two doors down had been broken by a large tree limb. Soon the lines were back in place. Sixteen hours after we lost power, we had electricity.

I went back to the office after learning that power to the Southeast Missourian's press building had gone out. Department heads hastily set in motion a plan to print the paper at our sister publication, the Standard Democrat, in Sikeston. While the logistics of this were being worked out, I checked to see who might need a hotel room for the night. At first there were no takers, but soon after returning home there was. The room would be put to good use. The hotel clerk said if no one wanted the room to let her know, "because there are about a hundred people who want a room."

We settled in for the night still uncertain that our power would stay on. Limbs were still falling all around us. Shortly after 8 p.m. Tuesday, power was restored at the printing plant.

Miss Kitty, in case you're wondering, was a bit bonkers. She did not fully understand why big trees in her yard were falling apart. We took her inside for a while, and she calmed down. Then it was back to her heated bed in the garage for the night. She has not strayed far since Monday.

Neither have we.

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Being without power for a long time brought back many memories of my childhood, which included a period when our farmhouse on Killough Valley in the Ozarks over yonder had no electricity. This was the early 1950s. It was an exciting day, indeed, when we learned power lines were coming our way. We had the house wired with a ceiling light fixture and at least one electrical outlet in every room. Why would we ever need more that that?

For two years after the house was wired, we waited for the power lines to reach us. We watched as crews cleared right of way through the forested hills in a straight line, which in itself was a novelty, since few things went as the crow flies in the hilly terrain.

When the power finally came on, we used the kitchen light and the outlet for a toaster. We used a light in the living room after dark. We used lights in the bedrooms to go to bed. We never used every electrical outlet in the house, even after we got our first TV set.

Have times changed? Has our quality of life improved?

You don't really know the answers -- until the power goes off for 16 hours.

R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.