The Lowcountry Farm Wife Blog

The first ten years I lived in Charleston, I heard about the destruction of Hurricane Hugo; and how, in its aftermath (winter of 1989), Charleston got snow. Two especially memorable events in one distant year.

              Except for a three-year stint in New Hampshire, I spent my life in places that don’t get snow.  So far me, and definitely for my southern kids, snow is exciting.  It’s beautiful coming down.  It gives the world a fresh, clean look.  And it lightens up the world on even the darkest winter day.

              I don’t know what has changed, but in the last few years, we’ve had at least four or five good snows in Charleston.  Of course, a “good” snow in Charleston needs to be only the slightest dusting to shut down our schools, businesses, and even churches.  We have no equipment for clearing roads or shoveling walks and wouldn’t know what to do with them if we did.

              All that to say, snow in Charleston—no matter how slight—is an epic event.

              But no snowstorm was so epic on Peaceful Way farm as last year.  Not because the kids played for hours with tennis shoes covered with plastic shopping bags (although they did).  Not because my husband pulled the girls in a broken wheelbarrow behind the 4×4, (although they did that, too).  But because that was the night the lemur cage caught fire.

              So, first of all, I should probably clarify, yes, we have lemurs on the farm.  Why? Because they’re fun.  They’re an easy keep.  And they make Peaceful Way a memorable destination for many.  Old and young alike get a kick out of having lemurs’ soft fingers grab cheerios and bits of banana directly out of their hands.

              But that night, the night of the fiercest winter storm we’ve had in Charleston, we invested so much trying to save their little lives, that I was about ready to kill them.

I’ll tell you.

We had a few days warning of this apocalyptic winter storm.  Nothing else was talked about.  School was cancelled proactively.  People were hunkered down in their homes with rations of bread and water and holding flashlights with fresh batteries between their knees.

We had prepared for the storm as best we could, making sure the animals were as warm and comfortable as possible given the circumstances.  The lemurs, being warm weather critters, have a safe block hut at their disposal, but they did not seem inclined to go from the large cage into the warm hut.  So Curtis had built a special wind and snow break in their cage with plexiglass.  He added a warming lamp so the little primates could huddle together under the heat lamp out of the wind and snow.

So when we went to bed, the lowcountry was silently being painted white.  The animals were comfortable.  The children were fed.  I was ready to be homebound for a day or two with the right to sleep in late and wake up with a cannister of hot chocolate in one hand and a good book in the other.  Home.  Another reason to love snow.

Sometime in the night, my husband woke up.  And for some reason, he went to the window; as if looking out the window in a snowstorm on a dark winter night would be enlightening.

What he saw was a fire raging in the yard.

Within seconds, he was dressed and running out the back door.  I threw on a pair of jeans, warm socks, and a jacket and ran out behind them.

The beautiful snow was actually more like tiny cold darts, stinging our faces and melting in our hair.  The only thing the snow did not seem to be affecting was the fire, which had enveloped the left side of the lemur cage eating the telephone pole corner post and spreading to the roof, scaring the little creatures who were running back and forth on the far side of the cage.  A sign that, at least, they were still alive and keeping warm despite the plunging temperatures.

My husband is the fire extinguisher king.  Probably a good thing considering he raised four sons who love to blow things up and burn things down.  He emptied one, instantly taming the blaze, but only temporarily.  The next puff of wind set the pole back into flames.

I ran in the house to get the kitchen fire extinguisher.  Then the one from our bedroom.  Then the ones from other rooms.  I don’t know who got more steps in, me or the lemurs as we raced back and forth—them with their eyes on the flames, and me grabbing fire extinguishers and running them out to my husband.

When the ground around the cage was littered with empty fire extinguishers, the fire was out and we were thoroughly soaked, tired, and freezing.  In some of my running, I had found a hat, another pair of socks, a scarf…I was slowly adding layers.  Curtis had just braved the storm which had not let up, not even a little bit.

Another thing had not let up…the blasted fire seemed to have life after life and didn’t want to give up any of them.  It had truly worked its way into the heart of the post which was soon ablaze again.  The hose was frozen and so was the water, so Curtis and I began carrying buckets of water from the pool and throwing them as high as we could toward the smoldering post and then trying to duck and cover as most of it rained back down on our heads.

When it seemed the fire was finally and completely out, all of my layers were soaked.  I was cold and well past caring about the lemurs whose faces had an even-more-surprised-than-usual look frozen on them.  But they were huddled together at the far end of the cage in a very pitiful manner that made it impossible to walk away and leave them to the elements.

Time was ticking…it was the wee hours as we tried first to entice the lemurs into their warm hut with treats…apples, bananas, cereal.  They wanted nothing to do with it.  We tried to scare them in…but that was altogether unsuccessful and we were afraid they would instead escape given the badly damaged cage.  We tried to catch them, but lemurs that have just been traumatized by fire are extraordinarily impossible to grab. 

Alas, they were not going to go into the warm hut. 

Lemurs have no sense, I concluded.  I, on the other hand, have a tiny bit of sense.  Just enough to know it was time to go inside myself and warm up.

Curtis, however, was still intent on warming the critters who refused to be warmed up.  Curtis says he doesn’t like the cold, but sometimes he acts like he is part snowman.  Determined, he starting finding tarps and zip ties.  I shivered in the cold alternately holding one corner of a tarp with one hand while placing the other on my neck inside my scarf in effort to bring back feeling.

Curtis climbed up and down icicle covered ladders trying to create a make-shift tent to at least block the wind.  Each time we got a tarp hung, the lemurs would move out of it back into the storm.  It was maddening. 

The storm continued, but light eventually dawned and although we were not able to warm them, the family of primates survived the storm significantly better than I did.  They seemed to be in good enough spirits.  I, on the other hand, was on my last nerve and wondering as do so many who come to visit, “Why?  Why lemurs?

At that moment, I had no earthly idea.

But all is well that ends well and eventually our neighbor came over to help Curtis secure the cage and lure the lemurs into their hut once and for all.  We kept them warm in there for several days and their incarceration seems to have worked wonders—now, when the going gets tough, they will go into the hut and cuddle up together like reasonable lemurs should do.

Why lemurs?  You ask.

I used to say because they’re an easy keep.  And because they make Peaceful Way a memorable destination for many. 

But maybe now we have a new reason…because it gives me something to compare myself to that makes me feel like I have a little bit of sense.  I know, it’s a low bar.  I have to have just enough to know when it’s time to come inside out of the storm; not necessarily enough to do it.