In the aftermath of the blizzard that swept up the east coast we were able to see the damage reports yesterday evening. After a minimal period of power loss and 18 hours of cable/internet access on Saturday/Sunday, we’re operating pretty much at normal capacity.
We lost cable/internet about midnight last night and again about 1000 this morning. I don’t know how long it was off in the early morning, and the two hour slot this morning was just long enough to get some of my less pleasant chores completed.
We’re exceedingly lucky. The amount and weight of snow that fell in our region has left hundreds of trees and branches broken, power, phone, and cable lines broken or otherwise inoperable. Thousands, tens of thousands of our regional neighbors in TN and VA are still without power and my not have power service restored before tomorrow, according to last night’s local news.
I don’t listen to network/local news in the morning. CNN is barely tolerable. The amount of fluff and “cute” on the major morning shows long ago displaced any chance of actually hearing or seeing anything more relevant than local school closings. I had no interest in listening to children sing Christmas songs when my kids were in school and attendance was socially mandatory. I certainly have no desire to see anyone else’s offspring perform. In addition to lack of interest, lack of hearing in the frequency ranges that includes most young children’s singing voices makes me even less likely to tune into morning network news. There’s also resistance on my part to using “news” programming to pimp some new pop music video by having the performer lip-synch in the street outside a studio. So our next casualty and recovery information will be delivered at 1800 in that portion of the local evening news not committed to athletic events.
At noon, on the year’s shortest day, the outside temperature is 33°F. Astronomical winter arrives in 49 minutes.
In some ways, the loss of cable/internet is more frustrating than the loss of power. Power loss defines the limits very sharply. If it requires voltage, it won’t work. Feed the stove, read by the window, stay warm and dry. With power but no cable/internet the equipment sits willing but unable to take us beyond our home. We know it can function, we know it will function again unless it has been damaged by power fluctuations; we just don’t know when.
Our cable and internet access are important factors in our social and cultural lives. We live near the end of the road, near the point where the terrain is too steep and forested to be habitable by anyone not willing to be alone for 3-6 months at a time. In the other direction, down the valley toward the small cities and towns that make up this region, it is 15 -27 miles by road to a library, grocery store, restaurant or health care.
The churches are centers of social and cultural life here. I’ve never been able to develop an accurate count totaling the actual number of churches as announced by road-side sign between here and Johnson City. Suffice it to say there are a lot. As Jews, we don’t really qualify for inclusion in valley social life. Initial questions about “What church do you all go to?” generally ended that angle for social inclusion. We’ve never refused to answer that but initially offered, “We’re still looking.” That’s true, we are, we keep telling ourselves we’ll get it together to attend Congregation B’nai Sholom. But 75 miles or so is a long way there and back in bad weather on bad roads. We’re willing to “keep looking.”
The degree of consanguinity in the local area may be a bit higher than we are used to. Not being “family” leads to some degree of exclusion as well. Still, most of our older neighbors have adjusted to having us here and know who we are when they see us. It takes a long time to become anything more than a “new person living where so-and-so used to live.” That’s OK. We have time and we’re reasonably patient.
When our access to the world beyond our valley is cut the remoteness becomes more apparent. We keep in contact with old friends and family, with friends from fishing groups, on-line store groups, friends who share musical interests, and all sorts of people who make up our personal social networks. We’re not in constant contact as the generations following us. We can make a decision without involving ten other friends. We don’t tweet, don’t live with our cell phones glued to our heads, don’t drive while using cell phones, don’t send text messages or instant messages. In fact, after having pulled call for long numbers of years, a bit of time out of contact is welcome. But we do notice the lack of access when Comcast goes off-line.
For all our background abilities that allow us to enjoy living here, both of us have always lived in much more urban areas. We notice the separation from urban facilities in the best of times and even more so when the lines go down. We knew, sort of, what we were leaving behind by moving into this rural a location. It amuses me when we talk to others who have neither lived in such an area nor paid close attention to such areas when passing through them. The questions we get are amusing; the assumptions they apply to our locale worth a separate post. Perhaps tomorrow!
Yesterday afternoon we had a rather large visitor. I shot 114 digital images through a screened window. The turkey was about 50 feet from the house. I made no effort to go outside for a better photo. The last time I tried to open the sliding doors while she fed, that slight noise spooked her and she left for the day.
For some reason, this turkey has turned up here since spring. She always comes alone. Wonder who cut her social network ties?
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