Saturday, August 1, 2009

The weather prognosticators are predicting rain, or more precisely, thunderstorms in the next couple days for our area. I make the distinction, for while there may be precipitation, it most likely will not reach the ground, evaporating in the 10% humidity that is our summer air. The lightening that accompanies these events is not so hindered. Hundreds of high desert and forest fires have been or are being fought right now on the other side of the Cascades. I mention this because of the way I was awakened this morning.

Sirens. We can hear them coming for miles, their high pitch shifting as they make their way down our winding road. The one this morning screamed past our house and came to an abrupt halt not too far in the distance. Not good. However, lying in bed as I was, I had no idea as to the type of emergency vehicle. Both police and ambulance runs are the most common as we have neighbors who have criminal histories, and we have elderly and infirm neighbors. One is both criminal and in deteriorating health.

DW heard it as well, yet she was in the dungeon at the time and therefore did not have an idea of the final destination. After some speculation as country folks are wont to do, we went about our day.

While the heat is not as bad as it was a few days ago, the temperature still hovers in the mid-nineties, which makes motivation to do what needs doing around the farm hard to muster. Yesterday’s digging of the garlic involved repeated dabbing of the sweat before it temporarily blinded me. My light gray t-shirt was a couple shades darker. I would have waited until later in the day to do the work if I didn’t have other appointments to keep closer to sundown.

Today, I have on my list a row of potatoes, yet I have the luxury of waiting until shade overtakes that side of the paddock. In the meantime, errands could be run. To the rig.

About one hundred yards to the west of our house, across the road from the OCD neighbors, is a large prairie owned and maintained by The Nature Conservancy. It begins on the left side of the road as one rounds the bend to the right. On the right are a number of neighbors that have an unobstructed view of the prairie, and many miles beyond, the Coastal Range. About another hundred yards down the road another such prairie borders the right side of the road. All told, I would imagine that there is about 200 acres of native species habitat.

The prairie ends as a non-profit entity as the road curves to the left, yet continues as a geographical phenomenon onto private property. This time of year, except for the occasional tree, all of it is dry, yellow and brown. Except for about a half acre of the private prairie. It is black. The siding on the chicken coop is considerably darker but the building itself seems intact.

Probably a cigarette. Had there been any kind of breeze this morning, who knows.


Crash said...

You say you have trouble writing versus speaking. This post looked like it just flowed out of your pen, had you been using a pen.

bastinptc said...

Thanks, Crash. It is more the difficulty level of the thought involved. Writing about the day-to-day is considerably easier than sussing out an aesthetic decision. Then there's the issue of grammar, no?

Crash said...

Ha ha. I deserved that. I have lightened up on grammar after you told me that, in earning your multiple masters degrees, that the professors didn't push it. I figured it is just one more way I am showing my age. I suppose you should be a bit careful with your cover letters, though. Still laughing.