“This is the longest power out I’ve experienced in Sweden”, Anna says. She is heading down to the lake, armed with a hatchet, to get some water from underneath the ice. I’m making coffee on the camper van’s gas stove with the water we have left. No morning without our coffee ritual. I went outside earlier, after I realized that there’s still no electricity, to screw it out of the van. The pine that came down by the house stopped me for a bit in my tracks. Not really close, but actually too close. 

Our room is still around 12°C. The fridge and freezer though have switched their function and are now acting more like heat traps than cooling devices. We dig a rectangle hole outside in the snow on the north side of the sauna and make an outdoor freezer with the laundry baskets we forgot their last autumn. This will keep our frozen meat frozen, I hope. Otherwise, big outdoor bbq soon. 

“I can understand why you like the idea of a self-sufficient cabin.”

The gas heater is buzzing in the kitchen. We pretend to be fully engaged in the candlelight dinner preparation, but I can see one of our eyes is always on the new heater. Did we connect everything properly? Is it time for airing out already? Was that too much flickering on the pilot flame?

Our trip to the nearest town brought us two jars of peanut butter, two bars of chocolate and the gas heater. Survival stuff. The little heater is trying its best to get the two rooms back up to 15°C. 

“Can you come over for a second?” I am frying some ground chicken on our camper van stove, but I need Bridget’s headlamp to make sure it’s actually cooked through for our guac-salsa-bowls. I’m glancing to the right. Our game of Jenga with the dishes needs a solution. Tomorrow. I guess we will get some water from the lake as well.

Over a glass of wine, we are talking relaxed and deep for hours like we haven’t for a while. No electricity, no distraction. Weird how comfortable it feels.

Just when I am about to say good night to Bridge and try for a last time to convince her to stay with me in the small narrow bunkbed for warmth, the light by the northern window flickers back to life. 

It is 22:19 and electricity is back.
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