her able hands

The ice still clings to everything it touched and the stories of damage are starting to pile up. At the old house, the neighbor called to let us know that the whole hood and much of that entire region has been without power for almost 24 hours, and that the transformer and most of the power lines are on the ground by our house. I’m sure the basement is taking on water, but we don’t have anything stored down there anymore, so we’re just going to hope for the best and stay away until the weekend if they have the lines cleared up.

Also, one of our big oak trees lost a limb and it landed on our out-back neighbor’s brand new glass top patio table, shattering the glass and spraying it all over the back yard, and bending the table into a 4-legged V. So we’ll be buying a new table and chairs set, as well as paying to have some more tree-trimming done this spring. Thank goodness it didn’t hit their house, and it happened in the winter while everyone was safe and warm inside, not gathered around that table for a summer meal. Phew.

The potential better news is that we may have a buyer for the house—a land contract deal, but they have money to put down and good jobs. We’ll know more next week, but hey, if you’re feeling like you have some extra mojo to spare (I know, I keep begging your mojo, but I know all of those good vibrations have been building up into a wave and the wave is about to hit the shore, and my horoscope this month says this is it…this is the month the house will sell) thanks a bunch for sending some our way.

::sucks in air then apologizes for the really long sentence::

The also good news is that the storm didn’t discourage voters from turning out in record numbers for a primary in Ohio. While standing in line (for an hour) I overheard a vast majority of voters say that they are registered republicans but wanted to cast a democratic ballot. Several asked if they would be able to still vote republican in the general election. Spoilers abound, but that’s the game, right. So many lines get crossed, so many layers to so many issues, it’s all so hard to keep straight on top of the daily to-and-fro. But honestly, this is the first time in my adult life that I’ve felt anything other than deep cynicism. Don’t get me wrong, that’s still there too, but there’s also a vibration of encouragement, of dare I say hope? Well. I don’t know if I hope. Maybe I dream. But I played my part and cast my vote for Barack Obama, then slipped my way up the walk to the house and stayed put and warm for the rest of the night. Went to bed way before the results were in, with higher hopes than perhaps I should have had, but then, I’m seldom in the majority with anything I think or do. Especially in Ohio.

When I got home tonight, after a very long, very busy day at work, I grabbed the camera and skated around the yard to capture a few impressions of the storm.

I sure do look forward to having that barn up so we can get all of our tools and supplies under a roof. It’s a bummer to buy straw, then have the tarp blow away and have it ruined by the rain and ice, no matter how pretty it looks all bedazzled like this. As I walked around I counted more than 20 little piles of crap that need storage, and getting them under cover will certainly get rid of the hillbilly feel our property has taken on since we moved here. Things like chairs, rolls of fencing, extra windows, garden tools, bamboo poles, t-poles, stacks of empty cat litter buckets, hose reels, sleds, a seed spreader (ancient)—just to name a few. Cleaning it up and replacing those piles with plants will make me endlessly happy.

I can almost remember the feeling of this railing on the deck with the hot sun beating down on it, the warm smell of wood and grass and pollen in the air. Walking up from the garden with a warm colander full of beans and cherry tomatoes, maybe a wart-covered yellow crookneck and a stack of neat lettuce leaves and arugula balanced precariously on top, my bare feet slapping where those icy foot prints wait. The kids love to run up these two steps, across the deck, back down the other steps by the back door and then around to do it again. And again. Chasing, laughing, picking up dust and wearing themselves into a stupor that only a popsicle in the shade, swinging in the hammock, can cure.

I’m encouraged to remember that the spring is coming, that the ice may slow it down, but if I also slow down, come down out of my busy mind to look closely I can see that it’s best to just trust that the earth knows better what must come next—that she hasn’t forgotten. The sun is higher in the sky, maybe not high enough to melt this prismatic glaze, but high enough to awaken the senses and pull me out of my long winter slumber.

But not quite yet. Just a little more cold and shadow, just enough to make me bend into it so I can see what’s waiting.

* Steven Wright

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