The storm

Illumination in Paul's kitchen

The snow started Saturday afternoon. As I watched the sky turn silver and sharp, it occurred that I still had three heads of celery, a half dozen leeks, and plenty of kale in my garden. Ten minutes later, I was standing in the snow, pulling up leeks with my mittens on.

Who knew there would be a storm before Halloween?

"There's a reason why snow doesn't fall until after the leaves do."

Saturday night we spent curled up in the windows, watching the snow fall heavy and dense on our town. The magnolia tree in the front yard bent until its branches touched the ground. We shook it off as best we could, but still woke to see splintered wood.

It is strange to have no power, no cell phones, no internet.

Strange and lovely.

The beginning

On Sunday, Hungry Ghost Bread, a wood-fired bakery, was open. They make the most wholesome yet decadent bread I've ever head. Thick round loves dusted in flour, crackling with fresh steam. They seemed to be the only place in town where you could get hot food. People milled around outside in clusters of two dozen at a time waiting for the next batch to come out. A few built a snowman while they waited. Everyone chatted, laughed, waited patiently. A front yard full of gratitude for the bakers working without power to feed the town.

Paul's homemade english muffins

Emily brought the red wine

That evening, we convened at the house with a gas stove. We drank lemon ginger tea and dry red wine. My friend made homemade english muffins on the stovetop griddle. They were fluffy and crispy at once, golden brown on the outside, dripping with salted butter on their split halves. We had minestrone with the fall harvest potatoes and carrots, spinach, and beans. We wrapped ourselves up in blankets, pulled on two layers of wool socks, and then ate olives by candlelight. What else was there to do?

Even the dishes looked beautiful in candlelight

Later, we went for a walk after dark. The stars cut the sky like silver thread in a deep indigo cloth. We don't get skies like this here; too much light from surrounding towns and cities. It was such a joy to see the Milky Way spill across the sky. The air smelled like woodsmoke. Not a single light was on in the neighborhood. At best, we could see the faint warm glow of candlelight through the upper windows.

A lone candle in a glass jar

Yes, there is terrible damage. Trees shattered, powerlines hanging through the streets. It is unlikely power will be fully restored for several days. And yet... this day was beautiful. Going to bed by candlelight. The silence. Driving through downtown to see it alomst entirely dark, except the flicker of candlelight. The way neighbors help neighbors, the sharing of bread and soup. I feel blessed.