Weather is turning for the worse.  Rain.  Read yesterday that LA had a record 113 degrees.  Then their thermometer broke.  I much prefer this.

I have never understood why it was that the hotter it got the ‘more beautiful’ was the description of the day.  Really, if 68 – 72 degrees F (19-20 C) is ideal, wouldn’t any temperature above or below that be equally as unpleasant?  And, given that we can wear a sweatshirt easily but can’t go naked as readily, wouldn’t slightly cooler weather be preferable?  I understand that this is a fat-driven perspective but I think the logic still holds.  

Mind you, things do grind to a halt out here as the weather worsens.  Especially me.  Some of the island`s  ‘old hands’ just don another layer and keep on going but anything other than light rain sends me back into the house for more tea and computer time.  Sal is always busy; rain or shine, in or out, up or down.  When she rests, she does so by taking the dogs for a walk or ‘tidying up’.  Or baking.  

Clearly she is suffering some kind of obsessive compulsive syndrome but the benefits to me have interfered with any suggestion of treatment.  I was thinking of getting a load of river rock in and putting a few bags of mortar in the shed.  I wouldn’t have to say a thing.  The trap would be set and, in no time, we’d have a rock wall or two!  Only downside: it may cut into the baking.  

Don`t tell her that she is nuts, please.  The dogs are healthy, the house is clean and the baking is getting better and more prolific.  And we could use a rock wall.  This is one psychiatric syndrome that should be left alone to work itself out. 

Phoebe, our woofer, has come to stay with us.  She is from Australia by way of a 7 year work stint in Jolly Old.  Her accent is wild.  A 30 year old worker with youthful offenders, Phoebe is smart, capable, strong and pleasant.  We did a little logging of dead or windfall trees yesterday and got a good days work done in less than four hours.  Which is good since four hours is my limit. 

The woofer program is one that has travelers offered room and board on farms or remote locations around the world in exchange for half a days work.  It is a good idea but not always so good in practice.  It seems many hosts run their summer businesses with woofers and that means that some of these people are unreasonably exploited.  They work as long as 12 hour days and get no pay.  Sometimes seven days a week. Phoebe’s second to last stint was as a full-time chamber maid and cleaner at a large Okanagon B&B where the summer rates for guests were $250.00 a day.  Canadians making bad impressions.

I always vow to work my woofer like a dog (seems fitting) but we never do.  “You have to do the dishes!” I say, sternly.  Sally adds, “If that is OK with you?” Our supine woofer looks up from the couch, “OK, but since you are already up, I’ll have a bit more wine.” There has to be a happy medium.

Actually, I am only kidding.  All the woofers were good save one couple of French school teachers who were pleasant enough but couldn’t actually do anything and felt obliged to ‘stand back’ whenever something hard was being done.  “Souhaitez-vous un peu de vin après que soulever des objets lourds?” (Would you like a little wine after all that heavy lifting?) .  

We share our woofers (we get only about two a year and a week or two is usually enough) with other unofficial hosts in the area now and then.  Especially if the woofers want to stay in the area.  They did.  We shared those school teachers pretty quick. 

But woofing season is drawing to a close.  So is hard, physical labour season.  I still have a few things to do but we’ll be shutting down for the the winter soon (after I get the rocks and mortar in).