The first day of real rain was a disaster. It came a little earlier than predicted and caught me unprepared. Windows in the feed shed were open and the floor under the big bag of goat chow was flooded. I trundled it through the mud down to the barn to open and put in the barrel so it wouldn't get moldy. The milking routine went to pot as no one wanted to leave the barn. How quickly one forgets the feel of frozen fingers and water dripping down the neck; how quickly it all comes rushing back. The wind was fierce (there were five documented tornadoes in the valley!) and whipped the tarp off the one dry woodpile. I had the forethought to stock the rack on the porch sometime back, but wind blew the rain all the way up to the door. I did get a fire going in the wood stove to take the chill out of the house, but it was a struggle. Going out during a lull in the storm, I found the deck bench plastered up against a far railing and felt lucky it hadn't been flipped over the edge. The cats hold me personally responsible for this weather and mutter in resentful tones as they go from door to door, looking for the one with sunshine outside. It's a good thing I'm aware of the rain beetles. They are particularly active after dark. Tapping at the windows sounds like bony fingers against the glass, bumping and whirring against the screens like blind men.
Ah, well. Yes, it was me who wondered if summer would ever end. It did, not with a bang but a splash.