Living in the countryside fucking rocks

We lost power for 48h.

There was a mild (15-25cm of snow) storm two nights ago and in true, endearing Nova Scotian fashion, everything shut and the entire area lost power. Our back-up generator kicked in, but it does not power everything: we only have light in the kitchen and hot water, but no Internet and most of the house is in the dark. Cellular data is spotty where we live, so we basically have to drive out for any kind of Internet.

It’s been GREAT. We lit all the candles, broke out a new 2,000-piece jigsaw puzzle, and read books all night. We still don’t have power, but the little towns around us do, so we’re at a café now, back on the grid. It feels like the early 2000’s of Internet cafés. Remember that? When the Internet was consumed in bits and pieces, by the hour. And then you were… offline. The Internet is nice, but in doses, I think.

I love living in the countryside so much. I love knowing my barista because we went to the same summer barbecue last summer. I love talking to all the bookshop owners, of Lunenburg Bound and Cat Tale and Elizabeth Books, about new books and old. I love that the sushi waitress who always serves us tells us she’s going to Spain for three months. I love when we’re driving out and have a 20-minute conversation with the neighbour. I love the big snow drifts that contort the land, the surface of the LaHave River motionless, frozen, white.

There’s always so much to do, soup to make, sheds to re-shingle, soups to make, stairs to paint, books to read, letters to write, daydreams to dream, walks to go on. I feel the day slipping by me and moments falling all around me, and if I’m not very careful I’ll lose all of it.