Some Things we can Control Part I

Sometimes things come along in life that make us question our choices.

Last weekend, snow was predicted for our area, but it wasn’t supposed to be much. Still, when you live in the country, you go to the store, prepare to be in for at least a few days. They were predicting maybe three inches.

I can handle that. Although I have a generator, I haven’t had to use it since Dale died. My arthritic hands have an issue slinging heavy gas cans around while simultaneously holding down that very annoying lever that are on newer gas cans. The last time I tried putting gas into my 4-wheeler, I ended up spilling it all over the garage floor.

When it started on Saturday, it was rain at first, but then developed into a very heavy, wet snow. Pretty and then it started worrying me mid-morning when the lights began flickering. They flickered so often I finally unplugged my electronics.

About 9 p.m. the electricity blinked for good. Thank heavens for the woodstove.

It was nearly 48 hours later when the electric company came out, found a fuse that also affected my aunt’s house and several other homes on our end of the road. It took them about 10 minutes to diagnose the problem and get us turned back on.

In the meantime, I’d had a major meltdown in those days worrying about the food in my freshly stocked freezer and wondering why I chose to stay here.

While I’d worked diligently stacking wood on my covered front porch, I didn’t further prepare for the worst by preparing my generator for stand-by, which includes getting gasoline. I hadn’t even filled jugs with water for flushing the toilet, sponge baths, etc.

My life in the past few years has been a lesson in realizing I cannot control everything (haven’t we all with the pandemic?) Life (and loss) is going to happen.

But this was something I could have controlled.

One of my friends told me during my meltdown, “This is the part of living in the country that isn’t so much fun, huh? It will be OK. This will soon just be a memory.”

Like the ice storm of 13 years ago, it is just a memory now, but it’s also a lesson in realizing there are some things I can control.

I am not going through that again.

I’m not moving. I’ve made my decision for my life, at least for now, so I will just have to be better prepared. Put on my “Big Girl Panties,” as they say, and figure out a way to become a “real country girl,” as my friend Sue, describes women who actually “work” their property to make it work for their lives.

One of my friends is helping me investigate whole house generators, an option that seems unlikely, given the cost and trouble of also getting a propane tank set to run one. I’m also researching solar generators.

In the meantime, I’m also planning on making do with what I already have. Another friend is investigating gas cans, trying to find a solution to remedy my ability to wield one and not have to deal with the hard button the EPA seems to think helps with spillage (it doesn’t).

As for the food I stocked last weekend, much of it thawed. I kept what I could eat with my aunt and uncle and what could be cooked and re-frozen and took the rest up the mountain to neighbors.

On my way back down the road, the song “Tiny Dancer,” by Elton John came on. Before we moved to Our Little House full time, I’d blast the song on our drive down from Kansas City.

In my book, I wrote about listening to that song, literally “counting the headlights on the highway” on those pre-dawn drives.

I began tapping my steering wheel as the music played while I headed back down the mountain from my neighbors. I was still giddy over getting my electricity back, but I was also happy I’ve planned.

I’m not wimping out on my life or giving up on my home. Next time I will be prepared.

As I took in the beauty of the snow-covered mountains, the lake in the distance, I said aloud, “I am home.”

Note: Several days later, another storm threatened. In Some Things we can Control, Part II,” I’ll share how better prepared I felt.