Forebodings. You can feel it in the changing wind, the hint of moisture in the air, the stiffness in the bones. Bad anticipations are in those winds. Like Londoners waiting on the blitz, all you can do is hunker down and dig in. The coming assault dredges up memories of the previous assault, an assault that left us without power for 10 days. The Iceman cometh.
We're more prepared this time, or so we think. A new rick of firewood, generator filled and tested, candles, matches, flashlights, batteries, and, most important of all, a trip into the attic to the stash of books bought but never read. Good news is we have gas for cooking and the fireplace. Bad news is we're on the outer edge of the grid, meaning first to lose power, last to get it restored. More bad news is how this throws the monkey wrench in the garden timetable. It's hard to plan the work and then work the plan with a layer of ice covering the ground. Oh well, though the course may change sometimes, rivers always reach the sea. (Ten Years Gone by Led Zeppelin)
Livestock are double fed, and their huts are strawed up. The last ice storm caused the electric fence to sag to the ground from the weight, so that's to be expected again.
I'm just waiting to exchange this:
for this:
Hopefully the Iceman has lost his way, but if he shows up here, stay safe and stay warm!
Pork & Greens