The morning sunshine of December 1st is a thing of the past, a memory. A storm rolled in that night and rages still. Here on the hilltop a fierce wind blows and rain beats against the house. Trees are my biggest worry in weather like this; trunks split and branches fall. Some locals have started a FB page with news from the surrounding areas. It was a lifeline during the wildfires. There were reports yesterday of trees down on Bucks Bar Road, blocking traffic. People with police scanners put out the word on accidents, etc. I'd planned to get a leg up on holiday baking (using leftover sour cream), but the threat of a power outage and an electric oven put the kibosh on that. It was a day to keep the dishes and the laundry done in case we have no water.
Rainy days put a hitch in the git-along down in the barn. The whole system goes to pot. Inga, first up, didn't want to leave her stall. With urging, she finally dashed out and around the corner into the milking room. Standard procedure is to next let Cindy out and then to the big room for Esther and Tessie. Cindy got as far as the covered play yard and balked. I shut the door to the back stalls and left her where she was. It was useless to even try to get Esther and Tess out so I let them be. Inga milked, nothing for it but to push her out into the rain. Sheila is always led out on a rope, so she didn't have a choice. Poppy, good old Poppy, is so routine oriented that she came out on her own. Her thick wool seems to make her impervious to rain. Needless to say, I didn't have to call Cindy to get her in for breakfast; she barreled into the room as soon as Sheila went out. There is a connecting door between the big room and the milking room, so Esther and Tessie were let in one at a time for their turn on the stand. I'd left the gate to the play yard open and the girls congregated in there, milling around and crying. I had to push my way through to clean the stalls, haul out the buckets of poo, and refill the feed bucket for the next day. Without a doubt, today will be a rerun. The girls will not be happy.
I answered a phone call laughing last night. When the phone rang I'd had a moment of panic, wondering why someone would call so late. All the Kids know that if they call after 8 p.m. they'd better be bleeding. The skies had been dark all day, so I might be forgiven for thinking it was late. As I picked up the phone, I glanced at the clock. Six o'clock. And I laughed.
Time to fire up the wood stove to warm the house before I go down to the barn. It's going to be another one of those days.