Undercurrent and Exposures
If you're wondering where I disappeared to these past several days, well, let me tell you a story.
It all began last Monday (November 10th). We were in bed, reading, when the power went out around 11 PM. The snow, earlier, had fallen all at once and heavy, thick enough to bend trees and snap branches—so we weren't exactly surprised by the outage. We even woke up hopeful on Tuesday, with Hydro estimating a return for 10 AM. But the day came and went without progress and, after a dinner of takeout by candlelight, the three of us turned in early. Those circadian rhythms are quick to reassert themselves when the sun goes down and you can't push away enough darkness to trick them.
Wednesday morning. Still nothing. Ten degrees Celsius indoors. New estimates just a couple of hours off but trust was shattered. At least the girls got to leave for another day. I read, shot pictures, played with Watson, but holy f^% was the house cold. And that silence...it eats you up after a while, once peace turns to emptiness. There's a sound to it too, if you listen. Like bees in a faraway hive. Bees and a low thrum of air. Not something you hear, exactly, but a presence that surrounds you. A breeze, or an ocean...unclear...but vast. So, so vast.
Just before 5 PM the power came back—for 20 minutes. I heard a bang and ran around the house to find the source; heard another bang coming from outside. Our neighbours across the street were out, looking towards the pole and transformer at the edge of our front yard. They were shouting about sparks when the whole thing blew up. Fireworks. Screams all around. A tree caught fire. The lights went out again. Watson sprinted between my legs, running straight under the fire and that 14,000 volts power line. A couple walking with their dog caught him, and called the fire department.
That evening we fled the scene for a few hours. Played exiles with our nearest family, had a warm meal and showers. The fire had been out when we left, an entire team on the scene. Four trucks, lights flashing, a guy in a crane, workers everywhere.
But we still came home to nothing.
Thursday morning. A team comes in to cut down a couple of threatening trees before any electrical work can begin. I'm half-dazed at this point. Scarf, gloves, hat, two pairs of socks, multiple layers of sweaters. This is life now, quiet and frigid. But there's only 17 of us left without power in our neighbourhood, which gives me some hope, and I'm right: a Hydro truck arrives around 1PM. They tell me we should soon be back to normal.
When the lights came back at 2 PM I could barely contain myself. According to the workers on site we were all set. I made coffee, put on a record, listened and waited as the warm rush of air from the HVAC worked to bring our house back to life. Elation doesn't even begin to describe how this felt. Safety. A return to civilization.
It lasted all of 90 minutes.
Darkness, new sparks, another pole, a bigger fire. Despair? Yup, definitely. But the same crew was just around the corner and this time they changed an entire length of cable to avoid any hint of resistance. We eventually got power—for good—around 6 PM (November 13th).
It wasn't until the 15th that we started believing it would actually hold.
From several conversations with Hydro-Quebec workers, it's clear that the grid, in general, is teetering at the limits of its capacity. There's "enough" power when the network runs normally, but any surge caused by bringing services back online after an outage can easily push it over the edge. That's when cables melt and transformers explode. Ideally, more equipment would be added to compensate for the ever-increasing demand, but the company's stance is all about reaction. Preemptive work means costs up front, you see. There's very little vision to go around.
This experience is obviously a trifle compared to the horrors people face every day around the world. But it still brings a fair amount of perspective: about comforts we take for granted; about technology we rarely think about, some of it barely holding together; and about our lack of preparedness when it all comes crashing. Mostly though, this has forced a vivid awareness of our profound fragility—systems, constructions, society, and people.
We're a long way from the log cabin, hearth, and a self-sustaining lifestyle.
…
Ok, a few words about photography for a change...;)
The images in this post are all multiple exposures shot with the X-Pro1 (while contemplating the meaning of life in an apocalypse...!). You see, every couple of years I need to pick up this camera again just to reassure myself that I'm not completely crazy, because these are raw multiple exposures. Not JPEGs and not individual raw files recombined in post. But here's the problem: according to every Fujifilm engineer I ever spoke to, it's not possible. I first became aware of this "special ability" during a meeting about the future X-Pro2 and GFX 50S. I was shooting with the X-T1 at that point and I very innocently asked them why the newer camera didn't offer raw multiple exposures, like the X-Pro1. They very politely told me I was mistaken. Point blank. Technically impossible. I've gotten the same answer every time since.
And yet:
Magic camera? Fairy dust? Random radioactive spider on the assembly line one fine day?
I'll never know 🤷🏼♂️
