Not Pretty

Ominous was the only word for sunrise yesterday and I hoped (in vain, as it turned out) that it was not a preview of coming attractions.  I had to move into the shelter of the house to take this shot as the wind on the south side was blowing so hard as to move the camera in my hands.  The hummingbird feeders were swinging like the bells of St. Mary's and Bessie's ears streamed back.  We agreed to cut our walkabout short and headed back into the house.

There was no sign of the trash can lid and I assumed it would be found somewhere in Placer County someday.  I raced through the milking and barn chores with the wind thundering against the walls and roof, and finished before the rain started.  The goats were as nervous as I and clustered close to the barn.  Leaving the gate to the play yard open for the girls to get shelter, I hauled the milk up to the house.  When the rain began about noon, it was a deluge beating on the windows.  It was not a day to concentrate on anything and The Project was again put on hold.  I walked through the house time and again, looking out at the trees and hoping to see them all upright.  So far, so good.  From the advantage of height, I did see the lid down in the north field by the woods, but left it where it lay as I sure wasn't going out in that storm.  Wonder of wonders, there was only one brief blip in the power all day.

I decided to put the girls to bed early; it was dark at 4 o'clock anyhow.  I really, really didn't want to go outside, but there was nothing for it but to gear up and do the deed.  It was all I could do to keep my feet under me, the wind was that strong and the rain stung like buckshot.  I got the first clue when I stepped into the goat pen and saw pieces of the roof panel piled up against the fence.  Ah, yes.  I could hear the Serendipity Singers warbling, "My roof's got a hole in it and I might drown," as the girls rushed into their rooms.  Any shelter was better than none, and there was naught to do in that weather.

The storm door on the feed shed had been lashed back and was, I thought, safe.  I was wrong.  The wind had blown it completely apart and pieces lay all over.  Amazingly, the glass panels were still intact.

The storm door on the first shed fared somewhat better, but is being held on by just one screw.  The frame is demolished and the whole door will have to be replaced.  I put in an SOS call to my son Dave, who (fortunately for him and unfortunately for me) has just started a new job with 10-hour days and 6 days a week.  This weekend is a washout anyway (how's that for an understatement?) due to the weather and the damage has already been done, so there's no urgency.

I had thought Ginger would be frantic to get inside with the flock, but, again, I was wrong.  With the rain pelting down and the wind blowing strong, the little twit was scratching and pecking with the turkeys down in the orchard and would not come when I called.  I tucked the rest of the chickens inside, told her she was on her own, and went in to get dry.  My conscience got the better of me as darkness fell and so I went out again.  Bess stayed indoors and said, "She's your chicken, Mom.  I want nothing to do with her."  This time, a soggy little chicken came running and beat me to the gate.  "I thought you'd never get here!"  We'll have to discuss her timing.

I can't really say it was a good day, but if this is as bad as it gets, it was tolerable.  Fingers crossed.