Last Wednesday morning; our first day back in Level 2 kinda-normalcy:
Here on the Homestead our non-essential worker, The Resident Engineer, potters off to her office for the first time in threeish weeks. The day’s a bit grey day as I go about the morning chores and, at coffee time, I comment to Farm Girl (who has one more day “of freedom” as she likes to put it) that it might just rain given half a chance.
Then this happens:
The Resident Engineer turns up at lunchtime, laptop in hand, with the news that it is much worse on the “other side” where her place of employment is situated and she’s back to working from home. The Cube provides The Farmer with both the means to reload ammunition and a new target, The Bean Counter has kept up with happenings via family chat and is
quietly looking forward to coming home “to check it out”, and Farm Girl’s smile continues to widen; she’s sure she’ll end up enjoying another day of “freedom”.
At afternoon tea time the sun comes out; by the time the Bean Counter returns from a day at the coalface not a hint of the white stuff remains.
Thursday and school is back in business; The Resident Engineer, true to her word, works from home. The weather is crisp and clear and sunny but there is a wind warning for later on.
I potter about my Darfield Day shopping and catching up with folk, finishing up with an overdue haircut which proves lively affair as the other (socially distanced) client is a fellow line dancer and my thoughts turn to my third form English teacher, who was heavily into drama. My voice projection techniques may be rusty but the conversation didn’t miss a beat despite everyone being masked up.
The first gust hits the side of the Homestead like a truck as we are watching the final moments of our latest binge watch (24, the first series, somehow this passed us by) but we retire sure in the knowledge that our trees are up to the task.
Friday and the district is in chaos. The wind continues to slam, trees are down, there are multiple power outages which all adds up to the school buses being unable to run; no school.
Carrying out the chores becomes an extreme sport. I travel around the paddocks like an America’s Cup yacht, tacking and jibing depending on wind direction. The sheep all have centre-parts and the chickens and goats demand breakfast in bed. Colin barks his outrage at the new landscaping item outside his bedroom; the subject of much does-it-stay-or-does-it-go debate when the arborists were visiting, the silver birch proved that I really should have listened to the experts.
Then, just as the school bell would have been sounding for Form Class, the wind just stopped. What a laugh!
The weekend’s sunny days are made even better by an overnight visit from The Princess and, even more exciting as far as Colin is concerned, Kora, the royal hound. But don’t get too comfortable; the wind warning for Sunday evening has been upgraded to Red.
Once again, the paddock food bowls are stowed in their hidey-holes, the outside table is inverted and the chairs are stacked into the pump shed. As we eat Sunday dinner the lights flicker and stutter as the wind takes its toll on the power infrastructure. The night is punctuated by huge flashes of lightening and thunder like I’ve never heard before interspersed with another bout of slamming wind gusts. Surely, there’ll be no school tomorrow.
Monday morning, the wind died at about 5.30am, school is on. Business as usual.
Farm Girl has now had two full days at school. It seems the crazy Spring weather is taking a break for now; it’s probably exhausted. The chickens are back laying, Marilyn the goat is no longer demanding room service, the first tulips have appeared in the middle of all the chaos, and during my midday paddock check yesterday
I found Eleanor was in the process of becoming a mum again.
Spring; she keeps you on your toes but also gives you the biggest smiles.