Reflections on the Twelfth Week of Summer – Catching the Last Rays of Summer 

Laura and Addy

    The morning of the Wells family Labor Day gathering dawned cloudy and wet. Then the power went off.

    An hour later the rain cleared, but the power didn’t return. I headed out the door to throw the solar disconnect switch, and Spence, my mind reading husband, said, “I think it’s time to disconnect from the grid so we can use our solar power.”

    I pulled the red lever then descended to the darker-than-night basement. Spence followed with a flashlight and peered over my shoulder. “Do you know how to turn the outlets on?”

    “Nope.” But the box holding the switch for the Solar Power Supply (SPS) had a red sticker with white printing. “Switch the PV (solar) breaker to off position before turning the SPS switch to ON.”

    Easy. I turned off the two breakers, one for each inverter, and turned on the switches for the outlets.

    Spence plugged a work light into one outlet.

    Voilà. Light.

    I left him entangled in an orange extension cord and climbed the stairs to sweep the great room.

    Lugging two more coils of orange, fifty-foot extension cords through the house, Spence got the modem connected, clicked his email icon, but didn’t get Internet service.

    No phone and no Internet for contacting the Pittsburgh Wells family. Would they mind the power outage?

    Spence asked a question I hadn’t considered. “Do the babies need their food heated?”

    “Probably not but . . . we should call your brother.”

    Spence grabbed his keys.

    I scribbled a note for our son Charlie. He, a mid afternoon to mid night sleeper because of his UPS Preload job, napped in the guest room so he could visit with the family.

    Spence and I hopped in the truck for a seven mile bounce past unlighted houses to I 79 and cell phone range. He parked above the interstate.

    I watched cars zoom north and south.

    Spence taped his cell phone screen.

    Bruce’s muffled voice came through the ear piece.

    After ten minutes, Spence set the phone down and summarized the conversation. “They’re on the way. They can flush toilets with buckets of water, and the babies don’t need anything heated.” He started the engine, turned the truck around, and slapped his forehead with his left hand. “I could run extension cords to the loft and plug in the router to get WiFi for the Internet.”

    Back home, Charlie and Spence connected the router. Internet popped onto battery powered computer screens.

    We still didn’t have electricity for appliances including the pump to refill the water tank. To conserve water for hand washing and cooking, Spence turned off the supply line to the toilet and lugged buckets of cistern water for flushing. I stacked dirty breakfast dishes in neat piles to wash “later.”

    At 2:30 the power still hadn’t returned. I walked out to Spence’s porch desk and said, “I think we need to plug the freezer and refrigerator into the solar outlets to keep the food cold before dusk falls and solar power stops.”

    Spence stopped cutting cucumbers and tomatoes for our dinner salad. “The refrigerator food will be fine. Just move the food from the freezer compartment to the basement freezer. We’ll plug that in.”

    I opened the freezer compartment, stared at the contents, and mentally calculated the trips to carry armloads of food downstairs–way too many. I grabbed the laundry basket from atop the dryer and dumped in bags of Wells Wood strawberries and beans.

    Gravel crunched in the driveway.

    I ran outside, said, “Welcome. It’s good to see you,” then dashed back inside to continue filling the laundry basket.

    Cindy, my sister-in-law, followed. “Can I help?”

    “Pick the basket up to see if it’s too heavy to carry.”

    Cindy lifted the half filled laundry basket. “It’s surprisingly light.” She put the basket down.

    My niece Laura walked into the kitchen with a huge smile and her niece, seven-month-old Amelia. Laura stretched out her arms holding the wide-eyed baby looking adorable in a dark blue hoodie, blue and white striped pants, and polka-a-dot booties. “Here, you can hold Amelia.”

    I wanted to hold Amelia, Michelle and Patrick’s new baby. Since they had to work at different Giant Eagle grocery stores that day, they sent their daughters north with the girls’ grandparents and aunts.

    But I was holding packages of chicken, pork, and ground turkey.

    Laura looked from her mom and the laundry basket to me and the open freezer compartment. “Oh, you’re busy. I’ll hold her until you’re done.” She snuggled Amelia to her chest and sat in an Adirondack chair.

    When Cindy and I filled the laundry basket to the brim, Spence came in from the porch. “That looks too heavy,” he said and reached for the basket. “Oh, its light.”

    He carried the basket downstairs, unplugged the modem and router, then plugged in the freezer.

    I crammed food into the freezer chest and hustled upstairs to Amelia.

    Soft, warm, and precious, Amelia focused her blue eyes on my sweatshirt. I kissed her forehead and inhaled the fragrance of her thin blond hair. Around us Addy, Amelia’s two-and-a-half-year-old sister, circled the room saying “’xcuse me” when she squeezed between crossed legs and the coffee table. My niece Sarah carried a bucket of water to the bathroom. Cindy organized baby supplies. Folks chatted.

Sweatshirt Design

    Amelia reached her fingers toward the subtle blue and purple flowers embroidered on my maroon sweatshirt.

    Holding her sides, I moved her so her fingers could touch the sweatshirt. “Amelia’s going to be a quilter. She’s studying the minute design details.”

    “She watches everything,” her proud grandpa said.

    In a whirlwind, Addy led Spence and the grown nieces outside for a woods walk. Cindy and I headed to the grassy knoll to dig up some daffodil bulbs planted in memory of her mother. Bruce and Charlie stayed in the dark house with Amelia.

    An hour later, smoke plumes billowed from the backyard grill, and the nine of us regathered in the great room. Addy set three Tux the Penguins on the coffee table. Spence collected Linux mascots and had shared them with Addy on previous visits. She knelt, picked up a stuffed penguin, and banged its bottom on the table. “Quack. Quack. Quack.”

    “Penguins squawk, Addy,” a chorus of grown-ups said.

    Addy picked up the plastic penguin and banged it. “Quack. Quack.”

    Spence disappeared into the bedroom and came back with his key chain penguin. “Look, Addy.” He pressed a black button on the penguin’s shoulders. The penguin squeaked, and it’s LED eyes flashed.

    Addy clasped her hands. “Ooooooo.”

    Spence handed her the penguin.

    Squealing and pushing the button repeatedly, Addy ran around the room.

    “Show your sister,” Spence said.

    Addy ran to Amelia and held the penguin close to her face. “Look, Sissy.” Addy pressed the button.

    The penguin squeaked and flashed.

    Amelia opened her mouth, threw her arms to her sides, and knocked her head against Sarah’s chest.

    The power came back on by the time Spence and I served dinner. Both babies napped while grown-ups munched and caught up with Sarah’s teaching schedule, Laura’s apartment hunt, Charlie’s Preload job, Bruce’s trolley museum activities, and Cindy’s babysitting adventures.

    At dusk, after Addy led folks on a run down West Creek Road while Cindy held Amelia and I washed dishes, we re-assembled on the porch. A cricket chorus and cool breeze accompanied even more shared stories. Despite the power grid disruption, this farewell-to-summer gathering generated as many smiles and as much loving camaraderie as all the other Wells family gatherings.

Amelia and Sarah