By Peg Elliott Mayo
Columnist | Posted: Friday, January 19, 2007 12:00 am
SUMMIT - When the power goes off, I feel as if my head has been amputated. I am addicted, hopelessly entranced with the creative process. Nowadays, with sewing, basketry, ceramics and elaborate cooking behind me, I most experience the creative high at my computer, dinking with words and graphics.
Yeah, I should get a job, volunteer more or clean (yuck) under the refrigerator, but those things aren't much fun and for the first two, I'd have to go somewhere. I'm not doing that regularly again.
When a fir limb snaps an electric wire or lightning fries a transformer, life as we know it stops. So do the freezers, pumps and water system. That means hauling water for dawgs, dishes, spit baths and the flusher. Reading becomes laborious squinting and the vacuum won't work (doggone!)
After the instantaneous phone call to Consumers Power and the tirelessly reassuring canned voice saying all that can be done is being done, what we can do is wait. That's when a reality different than the aggravation of blocked momentum plugs in.
It is a dark and stormy night, the wind driven rain beating against the forest and there are strong, skilled, courageous people out there, in the woods, with the gyrating trees. Icy rain, like handfuls of gravel, slap bare faces and soak gloves. Steep banks, slick from a week's worth of drenching are greasy slick. Rivers rising unpredictably, backing up behind fallen trees, make access thrilling.
Chainsaws snarling their ways through spring-loaded leaning alders entangled with live wires are not part of your summery walk in the woods. Darkness, except for islands of uncertain spotlights, casts hard shadows. And these maintanence folks keep at it for hours. Days if necessary.
Courageous line repair people know that somewhere a breathing apparatus, a life-saving heater and the pattern of life for hundreds are disrupted. They care.
The other emergency workers who work through the nastiest weather, roughest terrain and dreadful sights deserve our thought and thanks as well. What about the peace officers responding to reports of a shooting up that dirt road where a meth lab is suspected? Sure they're equipped with modern tools, but they are as mortal as the rest of us.
Consider the emergency medical technicians who clean up the bloodiest, sorriest wrecks on the highways or respond to panicked calls from dark houses.
Remember the volunteer and professional firefighters who march into the mouth of hell to save who and what is possible, at high risk to themselves.
There is the staff of an emergency ward, bringing expertise and calm to those terrified by a heart attack or gory accident. There are the brave people of the Coast Guard saving unfortunate sailors or search-and-rescue teams heading uphill, into the blizzard, looking for the lost.
Though modern usage has cheapened the word "hero" to describing golf pros, rich actors and fat-cat senators, that is a twisted distortion. A hero is someone who willingly sacrifices her/his comfort and safety for the good of others. Some die or are maimed in the effort. That many choose this as a career, a living, does not dilute the quality of their willingness. These are not your ordinary jobs.
My proposal is do the civil thing: thank these people. Write a note or e-mail. Nod, wave, lift your hand from the steering wheel in acknowledgement. Stop one in the store or alongside the road where they are clearing overhanging trees. Let them feel appreciated.
Imagine life without their skills and courage, then rejoice that heroism is more than prominence. It is often unspectacular drudgery as well as dramatic courage. We have reason to be grateful.
Peg Elliott Mayo encourages comment at uncommonideas@rivervoices.com. Her blog is www.rivervoices.com/blog and website is www.rivervoices.com.