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Going offline feels more ‘real’ after storm By Annette McGee Rasch | for the Mail Tribune Jan 08, 2023 12:15 AM A A The other night the winds roared, and the rains poured. With dozens of huge trees within striking distance of the house, the storm was terrifying. Huddled together under the largest beam in the center of the house, all of us critters hunched down, peering about in the dark. We jumped in unison as branches hit the roof. Life turns on a dime in the weather’s hands: the holidays, work, relationships, food, bills, politics, climate change, all of it, nada, nothing matters anymore — nothing except the wind. A few times — just to torture myself — I ventured out with my strongest light, probing up into the canopy to witness the mad dance of slashing, straining branches, until driven back inside when something landed too close. Somewhere near first light, I passed out. Waking hours later, I ventured outdoors to find a new landscape littered with branches, leaves and lichen. A lawn chair, blown from the garage, tumbled halfway down the driveway, and a piece of plywood found its way into the trees. Many random things happened, but surprisingly, only one smaller tree toppled over. Chickadees, jays and towhees hopped about with heightened urgency, so I scattered seeds and bits of fruit. With the idea of something warm to drink taking hold, I wandered back inside the damp house, lit candles and pulled out the propane stove. As the water warmed, I mused how in the absence of electrical power, random stacks of books, some cobwebs, dusty corners and a few dirty spots on the floor managed to scream volumes. Hmm. Not lingering on this, I got on with feeding everybody. We had a quiet day. Later, when it started to get dark again outside, the power flicked back on. Light flooded the house. In an instant, it was over. Out of nowhere, “normal” thought it could just waltz right back in through the front door. But no, it was now too bright. It felt queer, alien. Raising my hand to shield my eyes, I moved through the house, turning off the emergency radio, blowing out candles. Attempting to readjust to the delusion of electrical power, I faltered. Because after all, when it all goes offline, isn’t that more real? Heading outside to turn the pump back on, I thought of the thousands of folks who shared this experience and how many of them were now joyfully — and seamlessly — hopping back onto their modern hamster wheels, thrilled this episode was over. And I shared their relief. That wind was intense. Still, back in the house, it was a matter of reflex with which I turned all the lights back off. Sitting in this dark, slow and quiet space awhile longer seemed more the thing to do. Annette McGee Rasch lives in the Illinois Valley.