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As I began writing this week’s column, it was Sunday morning and a roaring fire was burning in the fireplace while my cup of joe sat on the side table surrounded by candles. Four long tapers were burning bright enough for me to put pen to paper and I realized we’d been living this way since early Friday morning – three days without electricity. (The snapshot this week was taken in our living room early Saturday evening, just as the sun was beginning to set.) The home phone, which also runs on electricity, was dead. (I sure do miss rotary telephones). No television reports, Internet or radio programs (unless I wanted to listen to repeats of Rush Limbaugh or hear San Francisco weather updates) were available to keep me informed. Luckily, Depoe Bay – as well as most of the rest of Downtown and Old Town Auburn – had power so I was able to run out and get coffee. Our next door neighbors finally gave up and headed to a hotel on Saturday when PG&E couldn’t give them an estimate for power restoration. Living in Downtown Auburn has its share of challenges (rowdy high school students, litter and parking problems), but we live in town so these sorts of things – such as extended power outages – won’t happen. Neighbors across the street and to the right of us had power, but for about a dozen homes and a few businesses in our neighborhood (such as Taco Tree), that wasn’t the case.
Always optimistic, my wife was certain the power would return “at any moment.”
Heck, we may as well be living in a shack in the remote wilderness as far as repair crews were concerned. The first evening without power, we rifled through junk drawers and
found some candles and our flashlight. I ate cold leftovers and we
played a board game by candlelight, confident we would have power soon. On the second day in the dark, I went to three stores seeking candles
and firewood. Unless I wanted scented candles, I was out of luck.
Defeated, I called Rachel on the cell phone and told her that we would
have to make do with what we had. She asked me to stop by Pete’s Liquor
Outlet to pick up some “warming” beverages. As I rounded a corner at the store, I spotted candles and lots of them.
At only 69 cents each, I snapped up 10 tapers, some long-burning oil
candles and a six-pack of Fox Barrel Cider (one must have the
essentials, of course). Eddie, the friendly cashier, also helped me
carry some wood to my car. I kicked myself for wasting an hour at those
other stores. “I’m planning to fire up the grill when I get home,” I tell Eddie. “I have fish and steaks that need to be cooked.” It was about that time the rain started again. “Good luck,” he said,
placing the wood in my trunk. “It’s supposed to be really cold tonight.” As the rain grew heavier, my grilling hopes were dashed. It was Saturday and we called our friend Peggy Seitzinger to let her know of our plight. A few hours later, she arrived with large ice chests and a load of
wood. It bought us time to salvage what we could out of our
refrigerators. Again, we were certain Saturday would be our last day
without power. After carrying and stacking wood in the heavy downpour, we all decided
that we needed something hot to eat at a kid-friendly establishment. Hungry, wet and cold, we sought refuge in Old Town Pizza. Mike, our server, was generous with the coffee and hot chocolate. Over the piping hot pizza, we made plans to meet at Peggy’s house for dinner that night. Heck, we’d supply the meat. Rachel, my wife, was certain the power would return soon. I was less optimistic. The surf and turf dinner that evening brought a sense of normalcy (thanks to Tom Seitzinger’s expert cooking). “Just wait,” Tom said, “you’ll get home tonight and the power will be back on.” Pulling in to our driveway around midnight, we were greeted by a cold, dark house. Once inside, we lit candles and I cracked open the Tony Hillerman
mystery novel I’d been reading, appropriately titled “People of
Darkness.” Hopeful, but not confident, that the power would be restored by morning, I blew out the candles at 1 a.m. Six hours later, I was downstairs building a fire to help warm the main
room of the house. I wanted to make sure Rachel was warm when she
awoke. I toasted bagels over the fire, poured two glasses of orange
juice, and brought her breakfast in bed. The call to PG&E that morning, day three of our power outage, did
not bring good news, so I wanted to gently break it to Rachel. “Due to severe weather conditions and massive power outages statewide,
we are unable to give an estimated time of restoration,” the automated
voice informed me. After getting through more of the phone maze, I found a nugget of
information – our power outage could take as long as Wednesday to
restore. It was time to hunker down and get serious. We went to the Sentinel
office to get information around noon (as well as use the microwave to
heat up some soup) and make some calls. We had heard that Bob and
Jennifer Richardson’s home had been hit by a tree during the storm, so
Rachel called to check up on them. They were fine, but were worried
about us with no power. Generously, they loaned us a camping stove and
lantern (which, unfortunately, can’t be used indoors). Later, Harvey and Brenda Roper, who heard we were in the dark, called to invite us to their place for a warm meal. After
a plate full of great food and nice conversation in their toasty warm
house, we made our way back home, ready to face another night in the
cold. “I’m exhausted,” Rachel said. Her
spirits were down as we prepared ourselves for what could have been
three more days in a cold, dark house. As
we turned the corner onto our street, the porch light was like a
beacon, welcoming us home. After 60 hours, power had finally been
restored. It’s nice to know that when
things get rough in our area, our neighbors and friends are ready to
help. Mia, our other neighbor with power, offered to let us use her
home on Sunday if we needed to do laundry or wanted to cook. Many
county residents experienced extended outages, including a senior
mobilehome park in Rocklin, which was still in the dark when I curled
up in bed Sunday evening. Before the
storm hit, I had been barraged with press releases from state, city and
county and officials all proclaiming they were ready, and I guess they
were. Other than being inconvenienced, I can’t really complain. More
than 500 miles of power lines were taken out by the storms, leaving 2
million California residents without power, according to the Associated
Press. In Auburn, traffic signals, street signs, trees and a power pole
were knocked down. Lincoln took preventative measures and closed down
parks and trails due to localized flooding. In the end, “hurricane
force” winds and rain slammed the state, and while power was out and
some cities faced floods, the damage could have been a lot worse. Also, I’ve never been so grateful for a working light switch. Don Chaddock is the executive editor of the Sentinel. He may be reached at
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