The ice storm of Dec. 11 left in its wake damage on a frightening scale and a power outage endured by residents for days, in the deep of an early winter. Everyone has a tale to tell about the experience. Here are a few.

Lux Aeterna
by Mhairi Paget, Still River Road

It was the light I missed most. Yes, I was cold, but the woodstove in the den kept the cats and me warm, even though the temperature in the rest of the house dropped below 45 degrees at one point. But the light. I really missed the light. I found it harder to bear because, from my windows in the middle of Still River, I could see neighbors two doors away in either direction whose power was restored on Sunday. Mine was out until Thursday night.

Coming home from work in the dark, I looked for hopeful signs. The General Store was blazing with light by mid-week. Wednesday evening, the part of Still River Road to the corner of Madigan Lane (where I divert to pick up my mail at the foot of Prospect Hill Road) had festive lights. I turned the corner at the Browns’ house, and my house and my immediate neighbors’ were still dark. My heart sank.

Of course I coped. What else would a Scottish-bred Yankee incomer do? Until the firemen came on Sunday to pump it out, I had two and a half feet of water in the basement. I bailed it out with a pail (an Augean task, at best) to flush the toilet. Later, I lugged watering cans from a neighbor with a generator. I took showers at various friends’ houses and heated water for birdie baths. When the grocery store ran out, I brought drinking water in milk jugs from work. I heated soup and stew on top of the woodstove for dinner and made coffee and poached eggs for breakfast—although toast was beyond my abilities.

For the first few very cold nights, I wrapped myself in a queen-sized duvet and slept on the floor of the den so that I could feed the woodstove, when needed. Then, one morning, I woke up flat on my back, with the cats pinning me firmly into the duvet so that I felt like that aptly named cocktail snack, pig in a blanket. The next couple of nights, I shut the cats in the den and slept upstairs under two down duvets. Getting up in the morning to go to work was a challenge—particularly since it was still dark and very cold. But I managed.

Coping without the light was more difficult. It was mostly psychological because I had candles, an oil lamp, flashlights and a battery lantern (which I recharged, along with my cell phone, at work). I also had a hiking headlamp. While I have used the headlamp on summer camping trips and once, memorably, to mow the lawn, this is the first time that I have used it for any length of time. I found reading difficult, even with the sources of light that I had, but I could do other things. Wearing the headlamp, I knitted a scarf for the Yankee swap at work—knit one, purl one is not hard to do mostly by feel. I practiced the cello.

And, I played the piano. The temperature in the living room was in the 40s or 50s. So, picture this: there I was, wearing a couple of layers of fleece (including a fleece hat) and red, fuzzy fingerless gloves that my mother made me for just this purpose (I keep my house cooler in the winter than most); a small comforter over my lap; one of my cats perched on the bench beside me, plastered against my side for warmth; and using my headlamp to read the music, playing Mozart and Beethoven. It fed my soul.

All that ice ain't nice
by Dick Greene, Warren Avenue

It was cold and dark and quiet. I woke up and began flipping light switches and had that feeling. No power! No heat! No water! No preparation.

No extra batteries, water supply, or plans.

‘Woe is us!’ Whattawegonna do now?

First need: coffee. How we gonna do that?

A wire flower pot. An empty soup can. Some precious water from the faucet and a smelly little candle. Voila! Forty-five minutes later (as told by digital clock), warm instant.

The only light came from bumping my head and I thought the lights were on again.

Had we known this thing was gonna last as long as it did, we’d have gone back to bed.