(This was written yesterday, power was finally restored today.)
Without electricity for the sixth day, I am starting to truly appreciate how much work it takes to live without modern conveniences. Upon waking, I become a Sherpa or well-fed Gunga Din as I gather water from the cisterns to flush toilets, fill wash bowls and buckets to start the day. Drinking water is measured out and placed in a saucepan to heat over the morning’s warming charcoal so coffee can be prepared. Perishable foods are removed from a cooler that must be refreshed with ice each day. Solar shower bags are filled so Juana and I can enjoy a warm shower later in the day.
I am used to this as I was conditioned over 8 years ago by a 14-month trifecta of major storms (Hurricanes Irene and Sandy as well as Snowtober (a freak 18 inches of snow in 10 hours)) that caused us to lose power for a week every time. Juana and I hunkered down during each event spending our days cleaning up the debris and the evenings at my daughter’s house getting a hot meal and shower.
But this time is different: My daughter has moved so we can no longer take advantage of the prior apparent immunity to natural disasters and there is nothing to clean up on my property after Tropical Storm Isaias.
Typically, for many weeks after such a storm, I clean up the yard, repair the roof, cut up dead limbs, repair the fence, etc. But the day after this storm, Juana and I took all of 30 minutes to pick up a few clusters of oak (Quercus) leaves as well as some other bits that fell on the lawn. The only part of the garden that have any signs of damage is my trellis of pole beans (Phaseolus coccineus); one of the supports snapped but is easily propped up back into place. From the vantage of my yard with bushes, trees and flowers intact, it appears that nothing extreme has happened except we are powerless.
Our neighbors, on the other hand, have no such luck. Large black locust (Robinia pseudoacacia) branches balance themselves on power lines and across the street, cherry (Prunus avium), maple (Acer) and oak trees are uprooted with their tops sheared off along the lines of major leaders. Some quirk of fate or topography has spared our property.
So it felt strange and inappropriate yesterday to deadhead hosta (Hosta) seed heads as well as cut down yellowing bleeding hearts (Lamprocapnos spectabilis) to place in the compost pile.There were no disaster gardening chores. Just the ones that I normally do this time of year. As I tidy up a neat yard, the common background song of chirping birds, scampering rodents and buzzing insects is replaced by a cacophony of generators, chainsaws and chippers. Large trees and branches are being hauled away all around me while I fill a tote with coleus (Plectranthus scutellarioides) and basil (Ocimum basilicum) flower heads and diseased tomato (Solanum lycopersicum) branches.
The lowbush blueberry (Vaccinium angustifolium) bushes that are caged have finished offering fruit so I take time to remove the structure, put its fittings into a zip-lock bag and tape together the PVC pipes that comprise the frame. I then mow the lawn and get out the weed whacker to remove the high growth around where the netting used to sit.
Still waiting for power, it is time to start the Fall greens. To avoid slug predation, I start two flats in my greenhouse to transplant outdoors after Labor Day. Even without power, gardening chores continue on.
