hatches battened
The wind is howling and the rain is pouring here. I’m not taking it personally.
Not the most loving of gods, nor the most indifferent of universes, could care
less about my artificial attempt to shorten winter.
I’m actually heartened in a way, because I know it could be worse. Almost
exactly a year ago we were getting socked with a 250 mm (10 inch) snowfall.
It was the winter wonderland from hell. And us without our snowshoes yet.
Slinkee and I ventured out to do the minimum: she to pee and me to check
the chickens and the rain gauge. The girls had already squeezed out three
eggs. They eagerly sprinted from the coop to the greenhouse, and might even
venture outside if the rain lets up. Their feathers are often wet these days
when I pet them at bedtime.
In fact, Jude, who is home with cold symptoms, just reported that they have
indeed gone out into the garden. Trooper that she is, she won’t let some measly
sniffles (or some sniffly measles, I would assume) keep her down. She’s making
some green tea and preparing to do our taxes.
We had 50 mm (2 inches) of rain in our gauge at noon. There are puddles all
over the farm. Slink and I quickly checked the micro-hydro system to assure
that it’s running smoothly. When we get heavy rain like this, the increased flow
into the catchment barrel pumps too much air into the pipes and makes them
clunk.
They were fine, though, due to some recent adjustments we’d made. Everything
else seemed to be adequately battened down as well. Yesterday, I sealed the roof
of the shed so I could enclose it for storage. It’s still leaking due to the slant of
the rain today, but I’m gaining on it.
So, satisfied that I’d done all I was willing to do outside today, I grabbed some fire-
wood, called Slinkee and fled to the Warm and Dry. Since we didn’t do our daily
walk or drive, she settled for an indoor version of Gimmethat!, the object of con-
tention being a ratty blanket rather than the usual ratty rope.
A quick check of the news revealed that the U.S. is finally facing gas prices as
high as we pay here. Also, the Republican presidential candidates continue to
ramp up the hysteria, a word I think they’d be comfortable with because of its
misogynist roots.
The consistently odious Newt Gingrich, forever searching for boogeymen,
informs us that the U.S. faces an existential threat from Islamic terrorists. I
guess it pays to be a scholar, or at least play one on TV. All Newt has done is
come up with another adjective for “actual”. Still, it does remind me of the time
Jean-Paul Sartre damn near overthrew the American government during the
1964 World Series.
Look, it’s late winter. Cabin fever is running rampant, even if you’re campaign-
ing in Arizona. Thursday in Orlando, Florida, police in riot gear had to hold back
1200 shoppers too eager to buy special-edition Nike shoes. Please let’s all take a
deep breath and batten down our hatches. Snuggle up with someone you love or
at least like — or snuggle yourself. Don’t do or say anything you’ll regret in March.
Perhaps these photos of a recent leak in our garden hose will break the ice.
