Jim Morrison should have gotten royalties, I sang his song so many times yesterday as I fought with the wood stove and the wind. Once engaged in battle, I couldn't leave the living room and so was late getting to the coops and barn. I will admit it was one of those mornings when the thought of raising little furry hamsters in the house was more appealing than goats outside. The fire finally did catch and hold and I geared up and went out. For starters, the wind had rattled the latch loose on the big chicken coop; the door was wide open and rain had blown in. The little kids were huddled back in the corner and came running for reassurance when I took them their breakfast. (Or maybe they just came running for breakfast.) Down in the goat barn, the wind howled under the open eaves of the metal roof and the rain beat down like kettledrums. The girls had to be forced outside once they'd eaten and been milked. I didn't blame them, but had no option. I did leave the covered "playpen" area open for them for protection, and they had Louie's old room to get in out of the rain.
The rest of the day was anticlimactic after that frenetic beginning. The wind had sucked every bit of stored heat out through the open doors, so even though the wood stove was finally doing its best, the house was freezing for most of the day. There was nothing for it but to curl up under an afghan with a hot drink and a new book and read and nap for the afternoon, looking up to see the rain blowing sideways. It all eased up toward evening, but just as I was ready to step outside to put the kids to bed, it gave one last blow and downpour just to prove who was in charge. It wasn't me.