The Defenders of Civilization

Early September, 2004--The defenders of freedom serve in our armed forces around the world, while our police and fire departments protect us here at home. Civilization itself, however, is the sole responsibility of a whole different breed of professional: men and women in hard hats and driving bucket trucks. They work for the power company.

It's been a tough summer for us Floridians. We've had three hurricanes (Bonnie, Charley and Frances) rip across the state in as many weeks, and a fourth (Ivan) is poised to roll in next week. These are not good times. As I write this, millions of Floridians are still without power all across the state, and it may be next week--weather permitting--before electrical power is restored to everyone. Civilization hangs in the balance, sometimes quite literally as fallen power lines drape across the roads. Watch your step.

I often write about the troubles we all will face when the world's supply of oil starts to get tight and we have to find other ways to get around, grow our food and make so much of what we make, but there are other forces at play here as well, and we ignore them at our more immediate peril.

Oil and natural gas are too often used to generate electricity in North America. Both natural resources are at their production peak right now, and will begin their long and final goodbye with very little warning in the near future. Natural gas is a popular choice for power plants, but its fast-approaching depletion curve could be more like a near-vertical line: almost straight down. Over two hundred new natural gas fired power plants are scheduled to be built and brought on line in the years to come across the US, but we have no spare natural gas production capacity to fuel them. None. And that's not going to change. The oil depletion curve will be somewhat more gradual by comparison, but the end result is the same: Civilization as we know it is about to face its first real test. And we'll be facing it in the dark.

The power went off with a very loud bang at three in the afternoon on Sunday as Hurricane Frances was bearing down on us with high winds and rain. We were secure in our house, watching the radar loop and endless TV coverage, when the house went dark and silent. Something had blown onto the line behind our house, and with the slow-moving storm nearly on top of us, the power company wasn't about to send anyone out in weather like that. (Can't say as I blame them.)

We weathered the storm as best we could, and listened to the portable radio for storm reports. We went to bed early. What else was there to do? By the following night, the storm had moved along and over four million Floridians were without power across the state. About half of the homes in our neighborhood were dark and hot. (It is, after all, Florida.) And with the storm moving away, that cooling breeze was dying down. We did what we could to stay cool.

Electricity defines our civilization. It powers our society and shields us from anarchy. Take that power away, and the thin veneer of civilization begins to erode almost immediately. Try driving down a city street minus functioning traffic lights and see how friendly everyone suddenly isn't. It's a concrete jungle out there. Commerce can't function without power, and much of what we consume has to be refrigerated. Turn off the power, and you turn off America's supply lines for virtually everything. How can we function without electricity? Right now, we can't.

Life gets put on hold, and you hope everything holds out. You do what you can do to do everything in daylight. After the sun goes down, your options go with it.

By Tuesday night, the quaint novelty of living a power free quasi-Amish lifestyle was lost on many suburbanites--and it was certainly lost on us. Sure, we were saving money on this month's power bill (usually the highest of the year), but it was hot and humid and unpleasant in the house. It was eighty-four degrees inside. The dirty laundry was piling up and the 'fridge was an unpleasant science project--one that would not be getting a good grade. We were seeing the end of our yard work, as most of the debris was bagged. (Twenty-one big yard bags, by the way. I expect that number to reach thirty before we're through.) I'll take a chainsaw to the heavy stuff tonight. With a bit of luck, we'd be done with Hurricane Frances in time for Hurricane Ivan. Lucky us.

It was too hot to sleep. We tossed. We turned. We tried to lie down without actually touching the sheets. No luck. Every time we saw lights go by, we looked up to see if it was a power company truck. Finally, a truck pulled up next door and a spot light came on. The power company was here! We rushed to get dressed and went out to do what we could to help. We held flashlights and moved debris. After about twenty minutes, with no fanfare whatsoever, lights came on all around us. We had power. Civilization was back. We thanked the power guy profusely as he packed up his equipment and headed for his truck. We closed our windows, turned on the air, and stayed up a bit longer as the house cooled down. Civilization hummed along quietly in our part of the world, and the rest of the world couldn't be far behind. For now.

In the years to come, America's ability to generate enough electricity will be severely tested. Decreasing natural resources, combined with increased demand, is a lousy way to run headlong into your own future. What would you do if the lights went out? How would your life change? (And let me tell you, it would change.) These last few days have been a learning experience for us, and I think we will be a little better prepared next time--which could come as early as next week with that next big storm. For now, our slippery grip on civilization holds, thanks to the linemen from the power company--the defenders of civilization.

C. Haynes