Says It All

This dejected, sodden flock of turkeys gave up hope that I was ever going to serve early breakfast and was heading down into the woods for whatever protection they could find yesterday morning.  It pretty much describes the day.  While at the computer earlier, I'd thought I heard water dripping.  It couldn't be from the ceiling...I'd had to have a new roof put on five years ago when the ceiling in the breakfast room collapsed.  Hmmm, must be my imagination.  (I'm really good at playing ostrich.)  No, that's definitely dripping water, but where could it be coming from?  Then I saw the splashes...the wind was blowing so hard that rain was being driven in over and under the windows and the track for the sliders had filled to overflowing.  (A towel was an easy fix.)  Being somewhat less than enthusiastic about going out, I'll admit I dawdled around before donning outer gear and jamming on a hat.  The worst part about wearing glasses in the rain is that one is instantly blinded, and Joel and I wondered the other day why it is that rain falls inside the glasses where it can't be wiped away.  After days of heavy, heavy rain, the goat barn was awash and there was nothing for it but to trundle down a bale of straw to give the girls some relief and a place to get dry and hopefully warm.  Manhandling the hand cart with that heavy bale in gale-force wind while hanging onto two milk buckets was...well, not my idea of fun.  Understandably, the girls were as reluctant to go out as I, but we each had our incentives.  Esther tried to pull her trick for second helpings, and I had to push each girl out the door after feeding.  The inclement weather continued all day, but it did let up just a little before the normal bedtime hour and I thought I'd take advantage and dash out to put the kids to bed.  Ha!  Halfway to the hen house, it started hailing!  I mean those little pellets were mean!  Combined with the wind that kicked in again, it was like being shot with rock salt.  The goats mobbed the gate like soccer fans and our routine was shot to hell.  Poppy barrelled past like a linebacker, stomping on my foot in the process.  Trying to sort out who went where was like those little hand-held games I had as a kid when you tried to get a bunch of BBs into depressions at the same time.  (Wa-a-a-y before I-Pads or pea pods or whatever they're called.)  Coming back to the house, I saw that the wind had driven the rain in under the porch all the way to the front door and the stacked firewood was soaked.  The evening was spent trying to keep the wood stove fired up. 

It's nearly seven a.m.  It's still dark.  It's still raining.  The wind is still blowing.  I think that says it all.