storm

Not So Plain Rain

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It is Wednesday, noon, and I’m moving through the rooms of the house, holding my breath to listen for leaks.

We’re getting thumped by another rainy weather system. Though calling it “rain” sounds pedestrian or prosaic; it’s more like a never-ending wall of water.

It’s not a notable storm — there’s no sexy name like Derecho or Hurricane Sandy — it’s just another weather event that’s become all too common in recent years.

When does this one wrap up? Five inches of rain by 10 tonight or midnight? Just a few hours in and already we’ve reached the point of saturation. The rain dives from the sky, plunges into the earth and then… resurfaces again: percolating up through the stall floors in the barn and pooling in pond-fashion. In the house it’s burbling up through the cellar floor — though it doesn’t sound burbling. It sounds more like peeing as rivulets of water follow the sloped floor and trickle into the sump pump.

Fortunately, no leaks from the usual suspects — the rotted window frames or the porous clapboard on the stormy side of the house. Nothing yet, but I’m staying vigil. 

Meanwhile in the dog’s world, it’s an unremarkable day, no different than yesterday or tomorrow. I noticed Maisie’s absence but couldn’t believe that she’d bolt in this deluge. Then, an email from our neighbor Chet confirmed my suspicion:

No deer, foxes, people, or even birds can be seen anywhere [in this downpour]. There is, however, one very happy black-and-white dog, who just raced through the hayfield with pure joy, headed to the river.

Martin, if you’re reading this: Dig out your Wellies and your rain slicker. It’s gonna be a wet slog to get the dog.

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Update at 4 pm: When the kids announce that they’re going to float boats in the cellar, assume that the sump pump isn’t working.

 

 

When winter won’t quit

Gale

 

Okay, no time for introspection; I want to load this post before the power cuts out and the internet flashes its “unable to connect” message again.

We are in the midst of a dramatic temperature change: a 50-degree dip in mere hours. Adios, 70 degrees; hello 22. And what’s powering this weather front? Howling wind punctuated by 55 mile-per-hour gusts.

Fifty-five — it’s not just a highway speed. This evening 55 smashed a porch chair to smithereens. Fifty five blew in the barn windows and tore a generous bite from Martin’s office roof.

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The roaring racket of fluttering tin lured us from the house; and in the fading light, Martin mounted a ladder and valiantly attempted to tack down the loose roof. But the billowing tin nearly yanked him from perch… nearly sent him airborne. It was scary — watching him cling desperately to the office top, struggling to ride out the wind’s clutches. When it finally receded, he scrambled down and leaned against the wall, shaking.

The roofing? It’s all yours, we told the wind.

And as for this winter? I have just one word:

“Uncle.”

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Lazy Post: Winter Prep

 

This is a lazy post… based only on my writing effort.

There’s nothing lazy about this photo.

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Hadley, eyeing the remaining pile

 

Stacking firewood is a family affair and we’ve still got another cord to go.

But we are ready for wicked weather.

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And by my estimation, we’ll be able to see out the windows again in mid-January….

 

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