Fun With Carbs

At left, a 50+ pound tree limb. At right, my car.

Yeah, we’ve had a hell of a weekend. If you’re not living it, you may have heard about it – New England suffered a massive freak snowstorm Saturday night. And because it was about six weeks ahead of schedule, the leaves hadn’t fully fallen off the trees. Extra leaves on trees = excess weight = trees coming down on power lines, buildings, cars and anything in their path. Parts of the state are destroyed. The Connecticut Department of Transportation said the damage is “five times worse” than Tropical Storm Irene, which hit at the end of August.

We are currently one of the 750,000 Connecticut households without power, which we lost around 5 p.m. Saturday. At one point, our entire town of just under 50,000 people was 100% in the dark. Almost every tree in our condo complex is splintered, cracked in half or somehow uprooted. The road we live on was down to one lane of travel, because there was so much debris (and downed power lines) in the street. I have never seen anything like it in my life.

We spent Sunday morning scrambling for a hotel, after the one we booked Saturday night lost power. Hilton corporate rebooked us at a hotel in Glastonbury (35 minutes away) and by the time we got there, they also had no power. Meanwhile, we had to travel 15 minutes north to Springfield, Mass. to fill up my gas tank. (Things I will NEVER forget to do again: fill up my car before a predicted storm.)

After striking out in Glastonbury, we decided to spend the night at home with no heat. But if there were any saving graces during the day, it would be the following:

* Our gas water heater that allowed us to take hot showers, despite the lack of power. When the temperature in the house drops to 50 degrees, it’s a damn godsend. I felt human again, just for a little while.

* Our gas grill, that’s normally used year-round anyway: We finished cooking Saturday dinner (pizza) on the grill; used it to reheat leftovers, and then grilled up cheeseburgers yesterday afternoon after giving up on our hotel plans. Later, Rob used the grill’s side burner to boil up some pasta, and then we grilled up a bag of frozen shrimp. With red wine and candles, it was almost romantic – except for our six layers of clothing.

* The cold temperatures: Thankfully, the freezing temps outside meant we were able to keep our perishables “refrigerated.” We filled three coolers with food and ice packs – and then dragged them up to my parents’ house today.

* Dunkin’ Donuts in Spencer, Mass.: Oh. My. God. I have never been happier to see a large French vanilla coffee with skim in my life.

We’re currently enjoying refugee status somewhere with heat, electricity, Internet and all the creature comforts that have suddenly become a luxury in this time of climate change.

If you’re in the midst of this storm, how have you fared?

If you’d asked me 10 years ago where I’d be on Sept. 11, 2011, I doubt I would have answered, “Petting a baby goat while holding a bagful of fingerling potatoes and farmstead cheese.” But here we are.

Like so many other bloggers, I was going to write about Sept. 11. I was going to share “my story,” which consists of me waking up ludicrously late that day (even for a college student) and finding out about the terror attacks after the North and South Towers had already collapsed.

Certainly, there are images I’ll never forget, from that day and the weeks following.

My roommate calling her family and asking, “We’re going to war now, aren’t we, Mom?” Another roommate – an Indian-American woman – getting frantic calls from her parents, telling her to stay away from Boston in case someone misjudged her dark skin and tried to retaliate.

Driving home to my own parents’ house, seeing 10 cars parked outside a Worcester family’s home, and finding out later that the young mother was aboard Flight 11 out of Logan Airport. Riding in the car later that night with my father, and hearing the news on the radio that 7 World Trade Center had collapsed. Returning to campus to see a bevy of American flags, hanging from dorm windows and walls (which overzealous resident directors squawked about, considering them “tapestries” and therefore against the rules.)

Whether it’s maturity or the sentimentality that comes with changed life circumstances, I find the anniversary sadder and more horrific each year. I knew I’d be glued to coverage if I stayed home, so we made plans to hit the road.

Like that day a decade ago, Sunday’s weather was gorgeous. Perfect for a road trip we’ve been meaning to make for at least a year: the Coventry Regional Farmers’ Market. It’s a beautifully organized weekly event held Sundays from June to October, featuring dozens of vendors and lots of fun activities.

Wandering around to booths selling heirloom tomatoes, artisan breads, homemade soaps, local seafood and herbs was oddly relaxing. I even found myself practically chasing a woman holding the most adorable golden retriever puppy I’d ever seen (and I’m kicking myself for not getting a photo of him.)

While Sept. 11 will never be a normal day again, there was comfort and joy in little vignettes. The pissed-off looking dog sitting among a half-dozen alpacas in a makeshift pen, which we laughed about for the first 10 minutes of our ride home. The uber-fresh Swiss chard that we sauteed with garlic, chicken broth and red pepper flakes. And the sense that we’d done something good by supporting local Connecticut (and therefore, American) agriculture, producers and small businesses.