Battery Power

On the day of my husband’s 50th birthday party, there was a hurricane. It brought whipping winds, a flood warning, and a tornado watch. We were hosting forty friends at our farm in Vermont. Anticipating the weather, one brought a plastic sheet for a slip-and-slide.

The party was in the barn. A group showed up early to help clear it out and prepare for the Senior Olympics Happy Hour. We swept, brought in tables, and made posters for specialty drinks. Outside, rain sheeted off the roof, and I kept alert for emergency notifications – a flood the prior year had nearly washed away our dirt road. I didn’t mention this to the others who were happily absorbed in our work. 

As the party began, one of our friends, a musician, set up his guitar, amp, and microphone. Then the power went out, quieting the music and leaving us with the battery-powered candles that lined the walls. Another friend had an idea: could his truck power the barn? He drove it around front, we located an extension cable, and everyone cheered as the party lights came on. 

At some point, I walked across the road to the house. The barn hummed in the distance — laughter, cheers, singing, feet dancing in rhythm. Outside, the sky had cleared, and the air felt dry. Pink clouds shimmered behind the barn. A rainbow arced over the field. I paused in the doorway, pressing my hands to my heart and closing my eyes to breathe it in. Then I gathered the others to come see.

*This piece comes from Glimmers, a book of short essays we published at my former company, Inkhouse.