Let's see now, where were we ....
Ah, yes, the subject a year ago was wind energy, particularly Lincoln County's giant wind turbines and the reluctance of some living within the shadows of these prairie colossuses (or is it colossi?) to embrace the new technology. New, that is, to us. It's been accepted in Europe for years.
The first machines are up and running and delivering power for the price of a stiff Kansas gale.
All this isn't sitting well with King Coal, whose vassals are galloping around the Kansas countryside trying to convince the serfs that he's truly a merry old soul who knows best how to keep the lights glowing in their villages -- but mostly the lights in the kingdoms of Colorado and Oklahoma.
So, what do we truly need? Wind? Coal? How about Solar? Nuclear, anyone?
Or, we could continue to poke holes in the ground in search of more oil, but what if the Cassandras are right and we've reached the point where demand has finally outpaced our ability to find and extract it?
Kansas could be squatting over a pocket of oil twice the size of the moon, but if its flow rate is equivalent to draining a swimming pool through a drinking straw, we'll still have a serious shortage.
Where is all this going, you ask.
We up here in the hills pondered that question during the eight thrilling days we spent in the 19th century after December's ice storm.
OK, it wasn't a true pioneering experience. Yes, we have wood stoves, so there was much cutting and splitting of wood for heat, just like in the old days, and the gas range in the kitchen provided a method of cooking which, with enough imagination, was similar to preparing dinner over an open fire.
But we didn't have to shear sheep and spin wool, travel wasn't by horse and buggy, and we didn't have to rely on a well-stocked root cellar to get by. If we had to live on what comes out of the garden, we'd have perished years ago.
We were without running water, however. With no juice to power the well pump, there is no water. Fortunately, we were not forced to hike to the nearest stream and carry sloshing buckets back on our heads. We simply hauled it from town in containers using our two trusty steeds, who answer to the names Ford and Oldsmobile.
Unfortunately, we couldn't pour electricity into a jerry can, so we dug out the candles and battery-powered lights and searched in vain for the pair of kerosene lamps we knew were in the house somewhere. (Two weeks after power was restored, we found one of the lamps, minus fuel, a wick and its glass chimney.)
Local store shelves had been cleaned of these Amish goods, but I did find a pair of book lights, those little doodads that clip on the spine and shine on the pages. Still, the absence of strong illumination became unnerving, so a week into the outage, with store shelves still empty of lamps and no sign of utility repair crews, I broke down and ordered a powerful LED lantern from a reputable outdoors firm. If the lantern was as powerful as promised in the catalog, this light, when hung in the front window, would keep large ships from running aground in the yard.
The order taker promised the lantern would arrive in three to six days, so right then I knew we'd have power restored in exactly three to six days. I was way off. It was back on the next night.
Since the ice storm, we've provisioned our emergency cache with this mini lighthouse beacon, a supply of batteries, a radio and two oil lamps whose locations are now well documented.
One lesson learned, besides the need to be better prepared, was that we can do without some modern conveniences and not suffer irreparable bodily harm. Some, but not all. By day 2, I was going through serious toaster withdrawal.
Top items that did move from the necessity to the luxury column were the television, DVD player, microwave and computer. The refrigerator and freezer also made the list, but only because this was December and not July and we were able to load crucial refrigerated stuff into coolers and set them outside in the snow which followed on the heels of the ice storm. How perversely convenient was that?
The chest freezer was so long past the need of defrosting that the Greenland-like ice sheets clinging to its walls protected the food for a week before those items also went outside.
Fortunately, we had enough clothes to get us through the ordeal without resorting to stinky lye soap and a washboard. But what, we wondered, would we and everyone else do if the energy we need to avoid bending over a laundry tub becomes too expensive to buy? Or nonexistent altogether?
It is in our nature to exploit a resource until it gone, then latch on to something else until that's gone, and so on, in order to feed our profligate energy appetite. The power outage acted as a forced reduction in demand for the state's utilities. Were Kansans able to maintain that level of usage, how many coal plants, nuclear facilities, even windmills, could be idled?
The ice storm was a reminder to many that we can live with less and be just fine. When it's gone -- whatever "it" is -- it's gone. And when it's gone and there is no something else, then we'll really be in the dark.
nGordon D. Fiedler Jr. can be reached at 822-1407 or by e-mail at gfiedler@salina.com.
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