And this trench was several feet down, which looked even deeper with the dirt piled on either side.
The electrical guys showed up around 9am, and they used their bucket truck to put down our buried electric box: a big green box like you may have seen in suburban areas with buried electric—we have one now next to our driveway. After they hooked us up at our box, they went up to the top of our driveway and unloaded ANOTHER green electrical box. Now we have two next to our driveway.
Phil and Randy stood around watching, talking, asking questions. I stood fairly near and finished a garden bed, then planted lettuces, chard, and spinach. It sounded like all the electrical guys were in good spirits, making jokes, laughing, chatting. It seems to me that the grunt workers in Virginia are more cheery than those in Colorado. Or maybe this is a rural/suburban thing, and rural guys are happy to be out in the country on an October day.
The electrical guys finished up and left. Then Randy went to work with his trencher. He noticed my herb beds and asked how I felt about them being covered. Phil, rightly, pointed out that I would rather have electricity than a few herbs. And it wasn’t like the beds were doing well—I think the lack of regular watering in their infancy was more detrimental than I would have wished. I have seen a few sprouts of cilantro, and the milk thistle came up so that its leaves were recognizable (milk thistle is neat! Its standard thistle-shaped leaves have white splotches, like spilled milk!), but other than these two little signs of life, the herb beds have been almost a total bust.
Anyway, the trencher worked its way along the driveway, the 200 feet from the trailer to the well on the south side of the driveway, after doing the 200 feet on the north side of the driveway in the morning. Phil worked to unwind the heavy electrical wire, and then to get the wire hooked in properly in the different boxes. I suppose most people would hire an electrician, but Phil did fine work.
He also didn’t really eat. All day. At about 5pm, the boys and I were eating some hash browns and apple crisp and omelets in the gloomy overcast light in the trailer. Jadon was reading to us from Dr. Seuss’s ABC and had just read the words “Little Lola Lopp” when Phil stepped in and flipped the light switch.
LIGHT!
I have pondered how to explain what that moment was like. It’s bringing tears to my eyes as I think about it now, even though the natural light we had was sufficient at the moment. And the light that turned on is just the old style, humming electrical lights like you’d find in a school or other industrial setting. It’s not “good” light.
But it was brightness and, in a way, warmth. We have lived here for two and a half months without electricity. This box we call home has worked without light. But as the nights get dark earlier and the days get light later (and, sometimes, when overcast, the days get light not much at all, it seems), it is hard to find the emotional reserves or the physical fortitude to stay awake or get up.
Light—brightness (albeit artificial). Vivid colors where there had been only muted. Clear visibility into all corners. It was a little, poignant glimpse of what a stunning experience it must have been when God said, “Let there be light!” (A similar little glimpse you might experience on your own from The Creation by Haydn. In German, the singers softly say, “there was …” And in fortissimo, “LIGHT!”—quite dramatic. Listen on YouTube here, with the pertinent moment coming from 6:55 to 7:20.)
On a totally different note, it turned chilly today. Phil said, “It almost feels as if it might snow this week.” Then we checked the temperature in the car—53 degrees. We’re going to freeze. Humid cold is, well, cold!
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