As I sat at my office desk on Halloween pondering what I should write about, the wind was howling, night had fallen and it was cold and dark. This old schoolhouse in Wasilla, which serves as our city hall, allows Mr. Wind to seep through its cracks and crevices, making it chilly inside and a bit eerie. Old buildings have a sense of being. In this one, a person can import the hopes and dreams of generations of Wasilla folks floating through its halls.

One of the hopes of Valley dwellers, especially as winter approaches, is staying warm. Not that many years ago everyone here improvised in that endeavor, from coal and wood, to propane and heating oil, electric space heaters to burning phone books and furniture if the need arose. It was no small feat laying in several cords of wood for the old stove every fall to help keep the oil and electric bill down, considering one had to be hearty enough to cut, split and stack the stuff. Then a miracle happened.

Eureka! Gas! Just like Anchorage had. Brothers and sisters, what a godsend. No more muss, fuss or back-breaking work, like lugging propane bottles, chopping wood, messing with smelly oil or paying MEA half a week’s paycheck every week just to stay warm. Cheap, affordable and available gas. Right? Wrong!

My thoughts wandered back to the now. The musings of Edgar Allan Poe crept into my soul.

“Deep into the darkness peering, long I sat here, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; but the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token.” 

I gasped, we’re browning out! The governor said so! Even Patty Sullivan, public affairs director for the borough, you know, Borough Manager John Duffy’s spokesperson asked us to all join in a voluntary reduction of energy consumption recently to prepare for a “possible” natural gas shortage this winter. “Possible?” What did John Duffy’s person mean, just this winter? What about the next immeasurable number of winters? Energy, beneath our very feet, but we can’t have it.

MEA just took a check for $2.4 million out of the Mat-Su over the bridge to Eklutna to acquire land for a power plant. Why? No chopping wood for pelletizing to heat within those nifty new stoves. Why? No gas exploration in Cook Inlet. Why? No modern coal gasification usage. Why? No methane gas development. Why? No hydro power. Why? No building a power plant or two right here in the Mat-Su. Why? Is it that the borough codes won’t permit it?

Could it be that there are some dark forces at work here? Could it be that there may be some amongst us that would let the Mat-Su go cold and dark?

The thought was too terrible to contemplate. I shouted aloud to myself in this empty building. Say it ain’t so! What happened to the hopes and dreams of those hearty people of the past that walked the halls of this old building I now sit in — dreams of sound development, energy readily available to permit that to happen, an economic base that would sustain them, their children and grandchildren, having them wanting to stay here, at home along with those coming here to seek opportunity, as well as staying warm in the bargain.

The wind gusted and I felt a cold breeze enter through the window casings of my office and my mind wandered on what to do. I thought, perhaps with more truckloads of money invested into “green” wind generation this will help us out. No, people have been on that track for a couple of decades and it only amounts to about 1 percent of the power. Besides, it doesn’t seem that it’s constant enough. How about solar? Well, this is Alaska and it stays awfully dark a good piece of the year. Hmmm, maybe we ought to float a used nuclear aircraft carrier or submarine up the Inlet, dock it at Knik, use it for a tourist attraction and run an extension cord off its power plant. Not a completely bad idea; after all, they have been around for nearly six decades and I never heard of any of them ever blowing up. Heck, I’ve known lots of kids who served on them while in the Navy and they aren’t glowing yet. When the Navy does relief missions around the world that’s exactly what they do with them. They even have hospitals and desalinization plants on them. Maybe President Obama will lend us one.

I thought, better check the borough code first. I, for one, don’t want the president getting into any trouble. Perhaps the governor could declare some emergency, override any pesky ordinances that prohibit development of power sources or lawsuits trying to stop the relief needed. Usually the courts, in an emergency, view that type of order as a political and a public policy need and won’t dare to sit as a mini-legislature. Besides judges need to stay warm too, don’t they?

Someone just real recently stated we may have to buy foreign gas. Huh? My musings continued, I couldn’t shake my dread, maybe because it was Halloween.

As I looked out the window at the full moon the wind once again blew through my office with a heavy gust and I was chilled. Poe returned to my mind.

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,” I thought, “Enough. I better go home.” I walked into my house and the kids were getting ready to go to their respective Halloween parties. I thought, “What’s it going to sound like to them if I have to tell them in the future to put on extra long johns under their Carhartts and extra socks with bunny boots before they climb into bed?”

Old Poe again broadsided me, it was like he was whispering into my ear,

“Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, and each separate dying ember, wrought its ghost upon the floor …”

Yes, I thought the ghost of promises past. I called to my wife; we were expected out with friends and were running late. As she was about to lock the front door behind us she asked if she should turn off some lights and adjust the thermostat. I said, no, never mind, if they go out that’s adjustment enough.

Again, Poe whispered, “Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I sought to borrow …” I said back to him, “The morrow, yes, tomorrow, let’s hope and pray.” My wife asked who I was talking to. I told her it was just a raven.

Verne Rupright is mayor of Wasilla.