The thing about rural living is that, no matter what, you keep getting ‘grounded’ in reality.  Yesterday, because of the rip-snortin’ storm and constant rain, I was inclined to stay at the computer, stoke the fire and beg for frequent cups of tea.  Alas, it was not to be.

The storm sent one of our neighbouring trees falling.  Or, rather, trying to fall.  It split lengthwise, twisted and fell against another.  In a world full of respectable trees, they looked like two drunks.

But, ‘so what’ you might say! ‘Surely trees do that all the time?’  Well, yes they do.  But these two columns of catastrophe were leaning precariously in the direction of my solar array and garden boxes.  Worse, it was not just direction they had going for them, they had proximity.  If they fell, I was gonna pay.

And they were going to fall.  It was just a matter of time.

So, like the cream-puff lumberjack I am, I went out to ‘do something’. Manly stuff.  Whatever that might be.  I had no clue.   I looked at the log-jam-in-the-air and wondered what Paul Bunyan would do as the 50 and 60 kmh winds howled and blustered around me.  Fear and ignorance suggested going back inside and trying for more tea to be brought.  Maybe a nice muffin to go with it, ya know?

But a man‘s gotta do, eh?

So I threw a light line weighted at the end over the drunkest of the two trees and then tied a heavier line to it.  Then I pulled the heavier line up and cinched it about twenty feet up the tree by way of a sliding knot.  And then I headed off into the deeper forest to find a strong healthy tree to tie it off to.  The idea: to hold up the one most tipsy.

So far so good.

A thick and heavy branch whistled down past my shoulders.  I looked up.  I was standing in a mini grove of swaying giants with all their branches waving hysterically in the gusts.  Another little limb went flying off out of range.  “Hmmm…….maybe I should get the hell out of here.  That last one is not likely to be the only large branch to kamikaze to the ground.”

I tied off the rope and skedaddled back to the safety of open space.  Surely that was enough for one day.

I felt grounded.  I felt as if I was ‘alive‘ and ‘living in the moment’.  Shouldn’t I go in now and feel alive in the house!?

I was thinking of making a break for safety when Sal came out with the dogs.  Smiles on all their faces (Sal assures me that dogs smile).  “We are going out to play, sweetie.  Wanna come?”

“You crazy!?  It’s hell out here!  Trees are coming apart.  Looming.  Threatening.  The storm is increasing.  We will all die!”

“Oh, sweetie.  Don’t be silly.  I am gonna go down to the lagoon and pull up a few logs and then I am gonna play ball with the pooches and it will be so much fun.  C’mon!”

I hate it when she gets all playful and happy in the face of clear and present danger.  Makes me feel as if I have to go ‘be crazy’ with her.

So, I went.

It was OK.

No trees fell on my head.

But chapter two happens today.  Now I have to take the two drunks down.  Wind has abated.  I am all ‘tea’d up’.  No excuses.

Dogs really are grinning from ear to ear now.  They know.  They think there will be blood.  Again.  Bloodletting is a regular occurence for me.  They love living here.