Right now as I write there are echoes of chainsaws from multiple households on the street. The Texas Snowpocalypse killed so many trees, shattering them with the weight of ice. The unprecedented weather here weighed on the wildlife and growing things just as much as it did on any of us humans.
I’d sit at the window during the worst of the weather hearing them shatter with the weight of ice and snow, ripping branches from the trunks. I would close my eyes and hear the trees whispering to one another, “Wait, wait…patience. This will pass. We simply have to outlast it.” And we did. The birds, the squirrels, the feral cats, the trees, we all waited in the cold and dreamed of sunshine.
We were lucky in my house. The electricity flickered but never stayed off, the water became iffy and we have to boil it still, but it stayed running. The only thing that really suffered was the internet, it went out and our router blew but that can be fixed as well. Thanks to my upbringing as a Jehovah’s Witness I’m a bit of a prepper, so we had a few cases of water in the garage, empty bottles to fill for boiled water, and plenty of dried beans and rice. Canned goods were stored away for such an event, so I brought them out and it was actually amusing to imagine what I could come up with to eat that wasn’t overcooked and boring. We never went hungry, and my stores are still healthy and don’t need a lot of replenishing.
The pandemic coming on made me start a habit each time I went to the grocery store. I didn’t go overboard and buy cases upon cases of toilet paper and canned goods. Didn’t need to, as it’s just my roomie and I and then my kiddo joins me on weekends. Instead, I would just make a habit of doing 4-1-1 shopping when I’d visit the store. Costs less than seven bucks each time and gives quite a lot of reassurance. Each time I visit the store to get groceries I also get 4 cans of food, be it meat or veggie or pasta; 1 bag of rice (brown or white, doesn’t matter, but brown is more nutrient dense); and 1 bag of dried beans. All together this costs no more than about $5-$10 depending on what I purchase. Easily affordable and each time I went doing this it bought me another 4-5 days worth of food to put away. I can easily live on 4 cans of veggies/meat, 1 bag of rice, and 1 bag of dried beans for that long, even longer if rationing.
By the time this natural disaster froze our neighbors’ water and killed their electricity I’d stored up enough food for 3-4 weeks and enough water for around 5-7 days, even more with rationing. We had water stored in the bathtub and in big plastic tubs in my shower for flushing. We had heat and food and water for drinking. Things were tolerable in our home the entire time thank goodness. We turned the thermostat down close to 60 degrees to reserve energy, put on extra layers of clothes and blankets, made hot tea and coffee, and settled in to wait. Internet was out, so we had sporadic service to make sure our loved ones knew we were okay.
We couldn’t get online or stream anything, so we sat and read and read away. Roomie pulled his chair in front of the fireplace for himself and his pup Sancho, and he sat there happily for days. I drank hot tea and grabbed some of the books on my to-read pile and got lost in the stories. My chair was by the frigid front windows and I had to bundle up to be comfortable, but I was warm and fed with my kitty on my lap, and happy. Contact to the outside world was limited. Cable and internet were out and cellphone signals were unreliable, so we couldn’t check websites to even see what the weather forecast was, how long we’d be stuck like this, no boil water notices, nothing. It was as if the city had abandoned us. There was no direction, nothing. We had to do what we thought might be best for our families, pets, and homes without knowing what the weather was bringing next or where to go for help. Eventually I found resources on Reddit and FaceBook, but without cell service or internet most of us were blind.
It felt like a purgatory of sorts. We went through each day the same way, making coffee and meals, going back to our huddled warm spots, then to bed, and up again the next day.
The sun has broken through finally. Trees are being trimmed and a week after our biggest recorded snow/ice storm in my life the windows are open and it’s seventy degrees outside. As if it never happened. Except for the frozen garden, the buckets of water in my shower, the boil water notice still in effect.
And so I sit and listen to the trees come down again, this time accompanied by the cacophony of chainsaws instead of the silent snowfall. I smell their sawdust on the breeze as I step outside barefoot, starved for energy from the earth after so long being frozen away from her. I go and talk to my frozen tomato seedlings and peppers, hoping their root systems survived, and hug the oak outside my window as Yuki watches and yells at me. We all want outside. We are living creatures whose ancestors knew nothing but outdoors at some point. Our very cells scream for the connection, and people mistake it for anxiety and pop a Xanax when bare skin to bare earth can calm them.
We are stuck in an uncertain time of recovery immediately following a major weather event and our normal won’t be back for a while. Before that we have been isolating for a year from the pandemic, insulating ourselves from our loved ones. Things won’t be back to comfortable or “normal” like they were before this time last year. We are exhausted and spent, and so many of us feel as if we have no direction. Acting like we are okay, when we aren’t sure if we truly are. Or ever will be again. I’ve masked “normality” my entire life, so I’m used to the uncertain feelings that come with it. Going through each day feeling stuck in a never-ending circle of “Not Knowing” is excruciating.
Stepping outside to ground myself, touch a tree, breathe fresh air, and listen to birdsong tells me all I need to know. This is just a season. One of gathering strength below the surface before exploding in growth. It’s just invisible to us right now as our roots spool below our skin, getting ready to peek through the soil. The most delicate tendrils, the softest little things, they grow into trees that dwarf everything around them.
Just hold on a little longer.
A Burd in Flight 