March 2010

URBAN SMALLHOLDING

By Amy Woodruff

Surviving Snowmageddon: Plight and Practical Pioneering

Growing up in Northern Indiana, I've seen plenty my share of the frozen white stuff. I remember it well... three feet of snow overnight and we STILL went to school the next day. Yes, the winter's up there were long and lustrous, the snow days few and far between.  And I admit, I find the widespread local panic at the prediction of one or two inches of snow quite amusing. Bread and milk flying off grocery store shelves, sled sales up 2000%.

But after the blizzard we had in December, humor has been replaced by irony: this is not a place that is prepared for snowfall of this volume.

So when “Snowmageddon” was in the forecast, I took extra measures of preparation. Ray and I knew, from our experience with the December 20^th blizzard, that we would not be able to get our vehicles up our tiny, gravel road. The incline was too steep and the turn too sharp. So we made our plans to park at the end of the road, about 1/5-mile from the house, and hike up the road (good thing we both have Doc Martins.)  I purchased several bottles of wine (hey, you gotta have your priorities) and sent Ray off to buy extra TP.

We also prepared for, what we knew would be, the inevitable power outage. We charged our cell phones and power charger. Surveying the house, I found that the office (i.e. “the bog”, as Ray painted it a lovely shade of bog-green) was the warmest room, with windows facing southeast and southwest. This was the room we would set up in for both living and sleeping, when the need came. I gathered candles (I have an obscene number of candles) and placed them on the kitchen table, along with an assortment of holders, lighters and flashlights. Ray purchased bundles of firewood, should we need to fire up the old wood stove in the basement. Laptops tuned in to the latest weather, we watched and waited.

The power went out early Saturday. We spent the next several hours working on things that could be done more easily in daylight hours – hauling wood, staging clothing and battery-powered alarm clocks, herding poultry into the coop. As darkness fell, I assembled our picnic-style meal of charcuterie, cheeses, hummus, tortilla, grapes and raw carrots.

As we settled down on the futon to read by candlelight, I was impressed by the amount of heat given off by the candles themselves. The air was a bit smoky and heady with wax-laced fragrances, but the 25-30 or so candles were keeping the bog at a cozy 68-72 degrees – a stark contrast to the rest of the house, which had dropped to just above 50.

The next evening, we decided to fire up the wood stove. Ray built a fantastic fire and we boiled water in a kettle and had hot tea!  I brought my cast iron skillet down and set it on top, cooking delicious sausages from Olde Towne Butcher, and roasted potatoes.  We also needed to bathe (at least take a washcloth to the important tidbits), so we took a large canning pot, filled it with snow, and melted and heated the water on the stove.  I felt like Laura from Little House on the Prairie.

Looking back, it was actually kind of fun. We fared well enough, and I was impressed with our ingenuity, particularly being born and raised city-folk.  But I've had enough fun this year... I need some balance to all of this – Feng Shui weather, if you will.  Preferably in the form of daffodils and lilacs.

Amy is considering a pilgrimage to Puxatawney, PA.  With a shotgun.  “Phil”ey steak sandwiches, anyone?  Ray is pacing the floor, watching, waiting for his seeds to sprout.  If spring isn't coming soon, he will FORCE IT TO COME.