The sun is pouring in through our living room windows as I write, the best part of having it low in the sky all winter. Nelson is purring on my lap, Abby asleep beside us, a pot of soup bubbling away in the kitchen sending its fragrance through the house.
After two weeks at home coping with the respiratory virus that’s going around the Island, I finally was able to get out a bit. Nice to get back to work at the Center for Living and to see everyone, then to stop at Cronig’s and Ghost Island on the way home. I needed a pistachio chocolate croissant for strength.
Everyone I met had a story to tell about the virus. It’s everywhere, so be careful. I mean to remember to wear a mask everywhere again and have seen lots of people who have the same idea. Neither Mike nor I had anything during the first Covid winter, when everyone wore masks in public. It was an easy precaution.
We lost our power for a few hours on Thursday afternoon. I had gone into the kitchen to do some baking and found there was no electricity. After checking around the house, I realized it was the power out, not a burned-out lightbulb.
Mike was home fixing a leak in our bathroom sink, a drain that needed to be replaced. Things always happen all at once. After one of his trips for parts to New England Supply, he came home with news of places that still had power and which ones didn’t.
Losing our power always feels like an unexpected gift. I suppose there were chores that wouldn’t require extra light in the middle of a sunny afternoon, but my choice was to work on the pile of unread New York Times, and a pleasant afternoon was spent in that pursuit. Surely it could be considered a legitimate chore, don’t you think?
As it started to get dark, I went into the bathroom to ask Mike to bring in kerosene lamps the next time he went out to his workshop. I began gathering up candles and candlesticks and thinking about my mother. I learned my preparedness skills from her and have nothing but happy memories of her bringing up the sterno stove from the cellar, lighting a fire in the fireplace, setting candles out around the living room. She would make tuna fish sandwiches on Wonder Bread and heat Campbell’s tomato soup on the sterno stove. We all sat around on blankets in front of the fireplace, reading, playing games, eating our soup and sandwiches. She called them snow picnics. They were such jolly times. I still love it when the power goes out or a storm comes through, when everything slows down, and quiets down.
Please note that the library will be closed the week beginning on March 3 for final work on the new HVAC system. You may request books be left for you out on the porch by email: apratt@clamsnet.org.
Hilary Wallcox’s column in the Gazette last week was about woodlots, a standard requirement for Islanders who heat their houses with wood. I could hear Mike splitting wood outside my window, a familiar sound, as we still heat our house with wood. Handy to live in the woods, as there is always something needing trimming or cutting down. We have been lucky to be able to mostly supply our woodstove over the years. And still live in our house surrounded by woods.
If you have any West Tisbury Town Column suggestions, email Hermine Hull, hermine.hull@gmail.com.
