Burnt Hills Spotlight reporter Cari Scribner lives in Malta.
My kids had hoped for a white Christmas, but instead, got an icy Martin Luther King Jr. Day.
We woke up Monday, Jan. 15, in Malta to a spectacular sight: icy, crystallized branches on trees, blades of grass frozen into glittery carpeting, icicles dangling from car fenders and mailboxes. But within minutes, we saw the heavily weighted pine trees and delicate white birches bending precariously, and then heard the cracks of branches falling to the ground. Out back, enormous tree limbs dipped dangerously close to our shed and our new swimming pool.
The wind whistled once, and, like a match blown out, the power in our house shut off around 10 a.m.
Celebration ensued until the kids realized they hadn’t properly charged up their laptops and Game Boys, and that the portable DVD player was meant to be powered by the car lighter.
I went searching for candles (found 6, all scented bathroom type candles rather than rugged emergency lights) and flashlights (found one, barely functional). My husband said the now infamous words, Nothing’s going to happen, it’s not that cold outside.
We hunkered down for the day, then called out for Chinese food and ate as if we were hibernating for the winter. Without the Internet, we had a single source of information: my husband’s walkman, tuned into a radio station offering bleak news. We were one of 43,000 families left in the dark that evening.
Somewhere around 4 p.m., as our fingers and toes went numb, we realized our home would soon be a dark cavern, and we made plans to flee.
My father-law had power in Clifton Park, and so we loaded most of our socks, all our mittens, the sleeping bags and our guinea pig into the car. At the last minute we grabbed our toothbrushes, laptops and cell phone chargers. I yelled at my middle son, Ryan, for walking on the slippery lawn.
Driving out, we saw a couple of homes with generators, the windows flickering with blue shadows from their television sets, and we congratulated ourselves for being heartier, real Northeastern people able to take whatever Mother Nature served up.
`I love living out of our car,` said Ryan, hidden in the sea of blankets.
In Clifton Park, we ate more, figuring if the power didn’t return, we’d have enough body fat to keep warm. We took over every couch and most of the living room floor and slept about 45 minutes.
Tuesday, with school cancelled, we heard our power might not be restored until late Thursday evening. More celebration ensued among the kids, until they realized power had been restored to their schools. The boys went outside briefly, and I yelled at Ryan to stay off the icy spots on the lawn.
We ate all the candy bars at my father-in-law’s house, then moved base camp once again. We stuffed our blankets and pillows into the car to go stay at a friend’s in Ballston Spa, so the kids would be closer to school. As we were pulling away, we realized we’d forgotten the guinea pig.
`I love living out of our car,` said Ryan. Apparently, the gypsy life appealed to us; we all felt a little giddy.
We made a trip home to check the pipes. It was surreal getting off Exit 12 of the Northway; life seemed to be halted entirely. Traffic lights were out, and downed trees littered the streets and lawns — heavy, decades-old trees that will take weeks to clean up. Discarded Christmas trees were frozen into the curbs, a small barn had collapsed beneath a fallen branch, and there was no sign of life in our small neighborhood.
Inside, our house was tomb-like and 48 degrees. But already strange smells were seeping from our fridge and freezer, where we discovered packs of chicken and hamburger, wisely purchased on sale, now unthawed and unsafe.
Understandably, we lamented the loss of our chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream the most. We began to show signs of disorientation. My daughter carried her change of clothes back to the car wearing fuzzy black slippers. I opened my briefcase and found my toothpaste and a spare pair of socks.
Later, I discovered four cheese sticks in my purse. I still haven’t located my contact lens case.
At our friend’s home, before I had a chance to scold Ryan again, he ran through the icy grass and skidded onto his behind.
`I’m tired of living out of our car,` Ryan complained. The lure of the vagabond life was fading fast. The publisher of The Spotlight called to offer his generator to us. We picked up enough Italian food for an army Tuesday night, discovered the kids’ backpacks were still at home, ditto for the air mattress, but at least we had the guinea pig. Outside the windows, the ice hadn’t released its hold on the trees; such beautiful, terrible ruin.
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For ice storm photos, go to Saratoga County weather in our Sights and Sounds section.
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