The TV weathermen are predicting an inch or two of rain to fall on Sunday. That's a bit of a dump after a dry spell. My personal forecasters are in agreement, however, that we're going to be "for it" this winter. I previously noted that diaper wipes were missing from the bucket in the milking room...now the bucket is completely empty, including those I throw in every day, and there's not a wipe to be seen. They've all been taken underground to line nests and burrows. The neighborhood sounds like we've been invaded by an army of jackhammers. Woodpeckers are hammering away in every nook and cranny, stuffing acorns in any available space. Squirrels dart across the yard, mouths filled with grasses and cheeks crammed with seeds. The TV weather guys have all sorts of scientific equipment for their assessment, but I trust the "locals" more. I reread my personal journal from this time last year. A big storm hit then, too, and we were twenty hours without power. Yesterday I did all the laundry, checked to make sure the oil lamps were filled and the wicks trimmed, and took apart the woodstove and cleaned the catalytic converter and the glass front. The rack on the front porch is filled with firewood. Propitiously, I got a delivery of propane yesterday, so the cookstove is at the ready. Today I'll clean the gutters and rig some sort of shelter for the Silkies' crate (until the Taj arrives). Winter takes a little more preparation up here than just locating the umbrella.
When I awoke this morning, I was struck by the thought: why is it so hard to sleep on a hot summer's night, and so comfy-cozy to burrow down into the warm blankets when it's cold outside?