Last week, breaking a trend that my daughter Shannon did not like, I gave bread to her and her husband, Mike. I must say, they certainly earned it.

Last Friday we had something few Mainers enjoy—a blizzard with over a foot of wet snow, perfect for toppling trees and branches onto power lines and knocking out the power. As it turned out, my husband, Clif, had gone to New York City to attend classes, so I was home alone. Well, not quite alone—the dog and the two cats were here, but much as I love them, they are not a help when it comes to shoveling snow and the attendant folderol that comes from having no power. (We have a well, so no power means no water.)  

But midweek, Shannon—bless her—called and suggested that she and Mike should come stay with me Thursday night to help with shoveling on Friday. Since radiation treatment for breast cancer, I have not been my usual perky self, and I tire easily. By late afternoon, I start fading, and by night I’m very tired indeed.  

So Mike and Shannon came over. They shoveled the driveway. When the power inevitably went out, they helped bring water and the gas camp stove up from the basement. Mike put new batteries in the radio. They tended the animals—especially the dog—so that I could take a nap. 

We made grilled cheese sandwiches on the camp stove, and after lunch, we played “The Settlers of Catan.” We set up in the dining room, where the light is brightest, and actually had a pleasant albeit chilly afternoon. (We have a wood furnace, but without power, the fire must be small as the fan won’t run to disperse the heat. We don’t want an overheated stove pipe.) 

But the best part, when we were three-quarters into the game, was Mike’s quick observation: “A power truck just went by!” 

Oh, happy sign! Our road is a low priority when there is a widespread power outage, which there was last Friday. I had visions of no power for two or three days, of hauling water to flush the toilets, of heating water on the camp stove to wash dishes, of gas lamps at night. (This last item sounds more glowing and romantic than it actually is. The light is maddeningly dim, and I am slightly allergic to the lamp oil.) We are prepared for power outages, but I do not enjoy them. Pioneer woman, I am not. 

But where there is a power truck, there is usually electricity a short time later. We were even more heartened when we saw a tree-removal truck go up the road not long after the power truck passed. This meant a tree or a large branch had fallen onto the power lines, thus lifting Narrows Pond Road from low priority to high priority. 

An hour or so later, the power was back on. Among other things, we could flush the toilets, cook dinner on the kitchen stove, and go into the basement without having to use a flashlight.  

Shannon and Mike stayed with me until Saturday, just to be sure the power wouldn’t go out again. It didn’t, and along with the loaf of bread, I treated them to lunch at The Liberal Cup in Hallowell.  

A tasty ending to a messy, disruptive couple of days.