How I wish I had a B :-) I have wriggly oessant and matted balwen - luckily only six now, all wethers who I've kept for dog training. Just pets now, as I wind down the operation and plant more trees. For now, Jessie-dog is still a working dog and mighty proud of it. Nell before her, working, gently, almost to the end. Supervising, you might say. And yes, after I'd clipped them this year they went out looking for themselves in every corner of the field.
I wish I could disagree with you Betty, its not even that I mind the crazy weather so much as the amount of damage and cost of putting everything right when its over - time and money - and, we still only have an intermittent wifi connection, first world problems I know!
But yes, at least the sheep are shorn which is one less worry and they are all back to their normal chummy selves!
The poor hill and land where you are seems to catch the extremes of the weather each year, though undoubtedly (and sadly) such things are becoming more and more common in many places.
Glad you and the sheep are safe. Your retelling of the ordeal is so vivid!
We are luck (so far) that winter down here has been relatively mild and with no crazy extremes, although the east coast recently copped a drenching. Melbourne seems to be tucked away enough by a bay in the south east, although we do get fire danger every year at the height of summer.
Look after yourself. I hope the land is OK and you get connectivity restored.
These storms become more extreme every year, they are no longer confined to the super heated summer months either, they are 'any-time, any-place, any-where' - Martini storms 😂 which makes them even more terrifying, losing a roof in summer is one thing, in winter quite another - no builder will risk repairs or replacement if there is rain or frost forecast - and its happening all over Europe. There are still tarpaulins covering so many rooftops in the town below us from last years giant hail, some villages had more... it's devastating!
A bleak future for our children and theirs looks sadly very likely...
I am glad to here you've had a relatively calm winter, I hope it stays that way for you.
You take care too, thanks so much for reading my friend.
Martini storms! I really like that, despite the reasons for the name.
And yeah, it's a bleak future unfortunately and certainly isn't helped by the ineptitude, idiocy and short-sightedness of certain powerful individuals in the world.
I'm up and down, thanks. I have shingles, which isn't fun, though it's improving slowly. I think it's my body and immune system telling me I got too stressed/run-down from the first six months of the year! I'm just thankful it's between semesters right now, so if I'm ever allowed to rest a bit then this is it!
The irony of teaching... we fight every germ through term time and fall sick through the holidays! Shingles is no fun at all Nathan and almost undoubtedly caused by overwork and stress - rest well!
PS I drink warm - not hot or cold - green-tea and ginger twice daily to boost immunity it's not a cure but it helps... I'm sure you don't need my hippy dippy advice but just in case!
I love your description of the sheep after their first haircut. I could picture them completely baffled and bleating as they evaluated their svelte new physiques.
Thanks Ben, it’s the funniest sight to watch, especially when they leap round when they catch sight of their rumps, I can’t say for certain this happens to all breeds but the tiny Ouessants in my flock have all suffered the same confusion after being shorn which makes them all the more endearing to me.
Unbelievable experience that you've captured on so many levels of emotion and description. Bravo dearest Susie. Missing you... hope to catch up soon. Love and hugs.
"the hilarity of four sheep, relieved of their thick woollen coats, confused as to who is who or even if they are who they were." I loved this description of the sheep and the whole shearing scene.
They are truly hilarious once shorn Jeffrey, especially the way they leap round in confusion at their own shorn bottoms! It has to be seen to be believed I think…
What an experience! What a storm!! What a story!!! A tornado meeting the ghosts of your beloved sheep. You have told it in such captivating nuances, with flying ovines and frantic jitterbugs flashing around the hill.
You are an amazing photographer AND storyteller, Susie 💗🙏
Mercifully, that tornado passed us by this time. But we did get hit by the heat wave in Central Portugal too, a heat where everything slows down or comes to a standstill. The lethargy I feel in my own body reminds me of the research I did for my book 'HUMUS: the black gold of the earth' where I learnt that above a certain temperature the edaphon (= soil life) goes into a state comparable with hibernation... we should call it aestivelation...
We have escaped the heat for a week and gone to the North of Portugal, where temperatures are about 10 degrees cooler. After a couple of balmy days by the seaside, the ocean winds picked up and we got blown away and into the local beach bars for some respite... glad to have brought the jumpers, scarves and jackets we didn't think we would need... looking forward to going home into the heat in a couple of days 😅
I read this with a sheen of sweat on my brow & a thrum in my chest, as though I were the one dodging falling branches & coaxing bewildered sheep into the chicken run. What a symphony of chaos & care you’ve orchestrated here—lanolin-laced, thunder-laced, heart-laced.
There is something mythic in the telling. Not just the storm, but the way it rearranged everything—inside & out. Your valley sounds scorched & rearranged, yes, but also alive with defiance & old, whispering magic. Sheep phantoms! Fleeces that refuse to leave! A branch falling just-so, pre-sawn, as if the walnut itself conspired to spare you. I held my breath with each clap of thunder, laughed aloud at the galumphing confusion, & felt that jitterbug sky rattle through my bones too.
And the line—“at any other time I would film them”—stopped me. Because isn’t that always the measure? How absurdity & beauty braid together, & how presence sometimes demands that we drop the camera & run, barefoot & breathless, through the thick of it.
Thank you for this. For your bravery, your humour, your weary grace. For writing before it slipped into the half-remembered. For bringing us all with you through the field, through the kitchen door, through the electricity-lit dark.
With admiration, with a nod to the sheep (may they know themselves again soon), & with the deepest of wool-soft thanks,
Dearest Kim, What a very beautiful and heartfelt response, I'm holding it like a warm and precious stone in my palm. To be read like this, with such care and such finely-tuned feeling, is more than I ever expect when I send words out into the world. Especially when recently they have not been flowing in any form worthy of anyone's time.
You’ve caught not just the story, but the strange pulse beneath it, the wild mix of fear and absurdity, the magic, woolly, leaf and branch strewn mess of it. And the sheep! They are now reacquainted, each with the other and themselves, they know their own faces and shaven bottoms, have returned to their delightful kiss chase antics (and a few less delightful - my poor trees - have they not suffered enough?)
That you noticed that one quiet line “at any other time I would film them” means, so much, everything. You’re exactly right: sometimes we’re not the watchers, we’re the ones being unavoidably swept along. And somehow, in the thick of it, something truer breaks through, but oh how those galumphing fleeces will be remembered with surprise and awe!
I feel like you met me in the very heart of it all, in the strangeness of wool-soft wonder in the eye of a storm - for which I send you huge heart thanks. xx
I can still feel the storm in my ribs, honestly. Your reply made me smile in that way where the face goes soft before the eyes do. What a gift it is—to be read back like that, to feel the story stretch & echo between us like a clothesline strung with wool & wind & a few stubborn Mirabelle pits.
I’m so relieved to know the sheep have recovered their identities (& possibly invented new ones). There’s something deeply reassuring in the image of them galloping, butting, & reestablishing their pecking order—as though no squall could ever shear them of that mischief. Your poor trees, though… kissed & clobbered in equal measure.
That we both paused on that line—“at any other time I would film them”—feels like a small, quiet alignment. A pulse of kinship. Because yes, sometimes the lens drops & the body takes over. We become animal again. Responsive. Fully in the moment, instead of trying to frame it.
And yet, in your telling, you framed it anyway—not with a camera, but with your voice. And that’s what lingers. That’s what hums.
With soft laughter, a woollen nod to the kiss chasers, & a hand over heart,
Riveting storytelling. Mother Nature is quite a force when she wants to be, yes? On a lighter note - that sheep don’t recognize each other or themselves after shearing is truly adorable. 🥰
She seems to be gathering strength with every year that I am still blessed to walk this our planet, it is both frightening and beautiful at once Julie, though I am fearful for future generations; how much stronger and more powerful will Mother Nature become?
On the lighter side, yes, newly shorn sheep are simply and adorably hilarious, a real life comedy sketch! Thanks so much for reading, we have warnings for another storm on Sunday - hopefully it will be less of a vicious attack!
Goodness Susie! I am so relieved you and your sheep are safe. What a scary experience. I am trying to picture those woolly sheep, who did zoomies in the wind recently, without their fleeces!! I can't! Enjoy your two whole months of holiday. What bliss!
Oh Linda, try harder... they are such a delight to watch when they've just been shorn, it will make you smile for the rest of the day!
I guess it's like meeting a friend in the street whose just had long hair cut really short, we have to do a double take! They do the same only they seem to do a little leap of fright at the same time! It really is very funny.
That storm was a beast, I am praying to all the gods of nature that it will be the only one carrying such power this summer but they do seem to be arriving with alarming frequency... It is terribly worrying.
As for the holiday, it still feels a little unreal, I really am so very lucky. xx
My goodness what horror! Complete with your wooly ghosts! David is right, we have most certainly pissed off the gods who now throw wind and rain and fire with unpredictable abandon, presumably to shake this human pest off this planet once and for all. I’m glad you’re safe and dear me, if you too feel shorn in the aftermath, may you find your generous beauty reflected back to you in your luminous writing and the adoring comments you find here.:) You are loved.
And this is so darn cute! — “sheep often don’t recognise themselves or each other for a while after they’ve been shorn, they even look backwards at their own behinds then jump in surprise at their new shape”
You have managed to make a tornado both real and surprisingly beautiful with the love of your sheep, the fierceness of nature, the kindness of the sheep sheerer, the sheeps' behavior after the sheering. I couldn't have guessed the latter.
When I was a visiting author at the U of Missouri in Columbia, I studied the weather before accepting the job offer and misread what "average" could have meant. Columbia, MO is tornado alley, along with being a Bible Belt. These discoveries were alarming once I arrived. Tornado warnings were frequent and meant I needed to run to the basement of the awful house I had also mistakenly rented from the author I was replacing for the academic year. What a horror: the basement was filthy with dog poo and who knows what else. They even had a lock on their refrigerator door: child guard??? Anyway, I learned to stay in my brand new bed and hope during the tornado warnings--and a lot of them!
Your eloquent writing reverses those memories. I can even laugh about them now.
Love to you, beauty of a writer ... lover of nature ... even of its fierceness ... xx
Kendall, what must you think? I fear the storm short circuited a wire somewhere... I thought you were replying to a Note I posted of a field of alliums... can I possibly get more dippy!
Indeed, it was a bit Damn! Watching branches fall, the tarpaulin take off like a vast green pterodactyl, legs dangling in the wind. Heaven knows where it ended up and sheep's wool galumphing about the field with no sheep in them like ovine poltergeists, it would have made a truly comical film had I not been quite so completely freaked by the sheer force of the tornado.
Oh my goodness, I sent that comment mid-thought on accident! I was going to sit and write it to completion today and realized I must have hit enter too soon. I think the computers are revolting on me lately! What I MEANT to say was, "Susie, Damn I wish I could write like that!" Followed by these thoughts: this was such a breathtaking read. So much of it has stayed with me even after reading- the way you introduce the sheep shearer as a person whose presence announces itself in so many sensory ways before he actually enters the scene (brilliant!) the hilarity of the sheep not recognizing themselves, the woolly ghosts rising up in the storm (!!), the relief and elation at being both done with an arduous task and then, later, entering the safety of your home as the wind and rain wreaked havoc outside. I just loved every bit. What a ride!!!!
Unfortunately those wicked winds do not take more than fifteen minutes to wreck havoc on nature and our homes. You've described it so perfectly, that I felt I was there running with you and with the wind to get to safety! We have had a few of these in my part of the world these past few years as well. The ominous darkness that comes before any such event, somehow always instills a wee bit of fear, even if I do like the sound of a storm (a mild one!). I hope the sheep do not have any lasting fear, and that their 'ghosts' have been herded up into a calm pile to be eventually made into something earthly ! Enjoy every moment of your vacation, Susie!
I never ceased to be amazed by the speed at which these fierce storms can rearrange an entire town/county/island Jeannine - it is extraordinarily terrifying to watch and yet still I am held in the absolute power and beauty of them. Though I will admit to feeling far more comfortable watching from the safety of these old metre thick walls rather than wrestling with sheep's wool and branches in the wildness of it. We were fortunate not to have been hit by the eye (is that the word?) the centre anyway... as I drove to work the following day the devastation was far, far worse, hundreds of trees and roofs, small buildings and above ground pools had been literally transplanted.
Thankfully the sheep seem to accept any weather that's thrown at them, once they had recognised each other again, and themselves they were playing chase around the pond!
I think we are all, the whole world, experiencing worse and worse weather which terrifies me for the future and what our children and theirs might be witness to.
A huge heart thank you to you, stay safe lovely lady. Let us both pray for peaceful and joy filled summer months absent of more violent storms! xx
What a wonderfully told story Susie. I was there with you through the whole thing from placing your necessary deception of "apples, toast, nuts, grain pilfered from the chicken feed, Mirabelle plums, windfalls they love" into the pen, and transfixed by your writing as the storm performed a "frantic jitterbug around the hill like a disco ball on amphetamines released from its chain." Glad you are ok and I hope not too much damage to your home and surrounding structures. Always sad when beautiful trees go down. We get a few tornados in NZ and they are both frightening and awe inspiring to be a part of. 💛 xx
Hi Jo, thankfully we were relatively damage free this time, though it was small mercy when I drove to work the following day. So very many trees were uprooted and fallen, others, huge old oaks and chestnut, were literally snapped in half, I don't know which is the sadder sight... I had tears streaming down my face for what seemed an endless six kilometres of devastation yet the village I work in was unscathed.
I am still tidying branches and debris in my woodland today, again it feels endless, though as I look around at those trees that were damaged last year, already they are pushing new branches, they look healthy, thriving even! Which makes me wonder at the wisdom of MN - perhaps these storms, as frightening as they are to us, are really a cure for something far deeper? That they are a necessary nightmare?
No matter the answer, I think I will always, like you, find this weather phenomena completely awesome to watch, the sheer power inside!
I hope your week is a kind one - big sunny hugs. 💛xx
Thanks Lynn, I can’t quite believe it happened, I can’t quite believe we must prepare for tornado summers… MN really is mad at us! With reason… good grief she has reason!
Neither can I quite believe I have two months holiday stretching ahead of me! I don’t even mind that today it is grey and cool and trying to rain, I just can’t stop smiling! X
How I wish I had a B :-) I have wriggly oessant and matted balwen - luckily only six now, all wethers who I've kept for dog training. Just pets now, as I wind down the operation and plant more trees. For now, Jessie-dog is still a working dog and mighty proud of it. Nell before her, working, gently, almost to the end. Supervising, you might say. And yes, after I'd clipped them this year they went out looking for themselves in every corner of the field.
I'm afraid we'll be seeing more of this crazy weather...I definitely read about the damage in your area. At least the sheep got shorn...
I've loved the weather so far this week and if we don't see another canicule this summer, that is fine by me!
I wish I could disagree with you Betty, its not even that I mind the crazy weather so much as the amount of damage and cost of putting everything right when its over - time and money - and, we still only have an intermittent wifi connection, first world problems I know!
But yes, at least the sheep are shorn which is one less worry and they are all back to their normal chummy selves!
Eeep, Susie. How terrible and terrifying.
The poor hill and land where you are seems to catch the extremes of the weather each year, though undoubtedly (and sadly) such things are becoming more and more common in many places.
Glad you and the sheep are safe. Your retelling of the ordeal is so vivid!
We are luck (so far) that winter down here has been relatively mild and with no crazy extremes, although the east coast recently copped a drenching. Melbourne seems to be tucked away enough by a bay in the south east, although we do get fire danger every year at the height of summer.
Look after yourself. I hope the land is OK and you get connectivity restored.
Damn, I wrote a reply and lost it!
Ok, here goes again...
I hope you're feeling better today Nathan.🙏🏼
These storms become more extreme every year, they are no longer confined to the super heated summer months either, they are 'any-time, any-place, any-where' - Martini storms 😂 which makes them even more terrifying, losing a roof in summer is one thing, in winter quite another - no builder will risk repairs or replacement if there is rain or frost forecast - and its happening all over Europe. There are still tarpaulins covering so many rooftops in the town below us from last years giant hail, some villages had more... it's devastating!
A bleak future for our children and theirs looks sadly very likely...
I am glad to here you've had a relatively calm winter, I hope it stays that way for you.
You take care too, thanks so much for reading my friend.
Martini storms! I really like that, despite the reasons for the name.
And yeah, it's a bleak future unfortunately and certainly isn't helped by the ineptitude, idiocy and short-sightedness of certain powerful individuals in the world.
I'm up and down, thanks. I have shingles, which isn't fun, though it's improving slowly. I think it's my body and immune system telling me I got too stressed/run-down from the first six months of the year! I'm just thankful it's between semesters right now, so if I'm ever allowed to rest a bit then this is it!
The irony of teaching... we fight every germ through term time and fall sick through the holidays! Shingles is no fun at all Nathan and almost undoubtedly caused by overwork and stress - rest well!
PS I drink warm - not hot or cold - green-tea and ginger twice daily to boost immunity it's not a cure but it helps... I'm sure you don't need my hippy dippy advice but just in case!
I'll take any and all cures. ;)
I'm a big fan of lemon and ginger tea. I'll have to try the green tea and ginger combo. 🤗
now that the sheep are all safe (and shorn) i can sleep
Me too Darren, me too my friend. 💛
I love your description of the sheep after their first haircut. I could picture them completely baffled and bleating as they evaluated their svelte new physiques.
Thanks Ben, it’s the funniest sight to watch, especially when they leap round when they catch sight of their rumps, I can’t say for certain this happens to all breeds but the tiny Ouessants in my flock have all suffered the same confusion after being shorn which makes them all the more endearing to me.
Unbelievable experience that you've captured on so many levels of emotion and description. Bravo dearest Susie. Missing you... hope to catch up soon. Love and hugs.
"the hilarity of four sheep, relieved of their thick woollen coats, confused as to who is who or even if they are who they were." I loved this description of the sheep and the whole shearing scene.
They are truly hilarious once shorn Jeffrey, especially the way they leap round in confusion at their own shorn bottoms! It has to be seen to be believed I think…
Thanks so much for reading.
What an experience! What a storm!! What a story!!! A tornado meeting the ghosts of your beloved sheep. You have told it in such captivating nuances, with flying ovines and frantic jitterbugs flashing around the hill.
You are an amazing photographer AND storyteller, Susie 💗🙏
Mercifully, that tornado passed us by this time. But we did get hit by the heat wave in Central Portugal too, a heat where everything slows down or comes to a standstill. The lethargy I feel in my own body reminds me of the research I did for my book 'HUMUS: the black gold of the earth' where I learnt that above a certain temperature the edaphon (= soil life) goes into a state comparable with hibernation... we should call it aestivelation...
We have escaped the heat for a week and gone to the North of Portugal, where temperatures are about 10 degrees cooler. After a couple of balmy days by the seaside, the ocean winds picked up and we got blown away and into the local beach bars for some respite... glad to have brought the jumpers, scarves and jackets we didn't think we would need... looking forward to going home into the heat in a couple of days 😅
Oh Susie—
I read this with a sheen of sweat on my brow & a thrum in my chest, as though I were the one dodging falling branches & coaxing bewildered sheep into the chicken run. What a symphony of chaos & care you’ve orchestrated here—lanolin-laced, thunder-laced, heart-laced.
There is something mythic in the telling. Not just the storm, but the way it rearranged everything—inside & out. Your valley sounds scorched & rearranged, yes, but also alive with defiance & old, whispering magic. Sheep phantoms! Fleeces that refuse to leave! A branch falling just-so, pre-sawn, as if the walnut itself conspired to spare you. I held my breath with each clap of thunder, laughed aloud at the galumphing confusion, & felt that jitterbug sky rattle through my bones too.
And the line—“at any other time I would film them”—stopped me. Because isn’t that always the measure? How absurdity & beauty braid together, & how presence sometimes demands that we drop the camera & run, barefoot & breathless, through the thick of it.
Thank you for this. For your bravery, your humour, your weary grace. For writing before it slipped into the half-remembered. For bringing us all with you through the field, through the kitchen door, through the electricity-lit dark.
With admiration, with a nod to the sheep (may they know themselves again soon), & with the deepest of wool-soft thanks,
—K
Dearest Kim, What a very beautiful and heartfelt response, I'm holding it like a warm and precious stone in my palm. To be read like this, with such care and such finely-tuned feeling, is more than I ever expect when I send words out into the world. Especially when recently they have not been flowing in any form worthy of anyone's time.
You’ve caught not just the story, but the strange pulse beneath it, the wild mix of fear and absurdity, the magic, woolly, leaf and branch strewn mess of it. And the sheep! They are now reacquainted, each with the other and themselves, they know their own faces and shaven bottoms, have returned to their delightful kiss chase antics (and a few less delightful - my poor trees - have they not suffered enough?)
That you noticed that one quiet line “at any other time I would film them” means, so much, everything. You’re exactly right: sometimes we’re not the watchers, we’re the ones being unavoidably swept along. And somehow, in the thick of it, something truer breaks through, but oh how those galumphing fleeces will be remembered with surprise and awe!
I feel like you met me in the very heart of it all, in the strangeness of wool-soft wonder in the eye of a storm - for which I send you huge heart thanks. xx
Dearest Susie—
I can still feel the storm in my ribs, honestly. Your reply made me smile in that way where the face goes soft before the eyes do. What a gift it is—to be read back like that, to feel the story stretch & echo between us like a clothesline strung with wool & wind & a few stubborn Mirabelle pits.
I’m so relieved to know the sheep have recovered their identities (& possibly invented new ones). There’s something deeply reassuring in the image of them galloping, butting, & reestablishing their pecking order—as though no squall could ever shear them of that mischief. Your poor trees, though… kissed & clobbered in equal measure.
That we both paused on that line—“at any other time I would film them”—feels like a small, quiet alignment. A pulse of kinship. Because yes, sometimes the lens drops & the body takes over. We become animal again. Responsive. Fully in the moment, instead of trying to frame it.
And yet, in your telling, you framed it anyway—not with a camera, but with your voice. And that’s what lingers. That’s what hums.
With soft laughter, a woollen nod to the kiss chasers, & a hand over heart,
—K x
Riveting storytelling. Mother Nature is quite a force when she wants to be, yes? On a lighter note - that sheep don’t recognize each other or themselves after shearing is truly adorable. 🥰
She seems to be gathering strength with every year that I am still blessed to walk this our planet, it is both frightening and beautiful at once Julie, though I am fearful for future generations; how much stronger and more powerful will Mother Nature become?
On the lighter side, yes, newly shorn sheep are simply and adorably hilarious, a real life comedy sketch! Thanks so much for reading, we have warnings for another storm on Sunday - hopefully it will be less of a vicious attack!
Goodness Susie! I am so relieved you and your sheep are safe. What a scary experience. I am trying to picture those woolly sheep, who did zoomies in the wind recently, without their fleeces!! I can't! Enjoy your two whole months of holiday. What bliss!
Oh Linda, try harder... they are such a delight to watch when they've just been shorn, it will make you smile for the rest of the day!
I guess it's like meeting a friend in the street whose just had long hair cut really short, we have to do a double take! They do the same only they seem to do a little leap of fright at the same time! It really is very funny.
That storm was a beast, I am praying to all the gods of nature that it will be the only one carrying such power this summer but they do seem to be arriving with alarming frequency... It is terribly worrying.
As for the holiday, it still feels a little unreal, I really am so very lucky. xx
The sheep sound hilarious. I’m glad they made you laugh despite the terrible storm. Yes it is worrying indeed. xx
My goodness what horror! Complete with your wooly ghosts! David is right, we have most certainly pissed off the gods who now throw wind and rain and fire with unpredictable abandon, presumably to shake this human pest off this planet once and for all. I’m glad you’re safe and dear me, if you too feel shorn in the aftermath, may you find your generous beauty reflected back to you in your luminous writing and the adoring comments you find here.:) You are loved.
And this is so darn cute! — “sheep often don’t recognise themselves or each other for a while after they’ve been shorn, they even look backwards at their own behinds then jump in surprise at their new shape”
You have managed to make a tornado both real and surprisingly beautiful with the love of your sheep, the fierceness of nature, the kindness of the sheep sheerer, the sheeps' behavior after the sheering. I couldn't have guessed the latter.
When I was a visiting author at the U of Missouri in Columbia, I studied the weather before accepting the job offer and misread what "average" could have meant. Columbia, MO is tornado alley, along with being a Bible Belt. These discoveries were alarming once I arrived. Tornado warnings were frequent and meant I needed to run to the basement of the awful house I had also mistakenly rented from the author I was replacing for the academic year. What a horror: the basement was filthy with dog poo and who knows what else. They even had a lock on their refrigerator door: child guard??? Anyway, I learned to stay in my brand new bed and hope during the tornado warnings--and a lot of them!
Your eloquent writing reverses those memories. I can even laugh about them now.
Love to you, beauty of a writer ... lover of nature ... even of its fierceness ... xx
Susie! Damn
Kendall, what must you think? I fear the storm short circuited a wire somewhere... I thought you were replying to a Note I posted of a field of alliums... can I possibly get more dippy!
Indeed, it was a bit Damn! Watching branches fall, the tarpaulin take off like a vast green pterodactyl, legs dangling in the wind. Heaven knows where it ended up and sheep's wool galumphing about the field with no sheep in them like ovine poltergeists, it would have made a truly comical film had I not been quite so completely freaked by the sheer force of the tornado.
Damn indeed!
Oh my goodness, I sent that comment mid-thought on accident! I was going to sit and write it to completion today and realized I must have hit enter too soon. I think the computers are revolting on me lately! What I MEANT to say was, "Susie, Damn I wish I could write like that!" Followed by these thoughts: this was such a breathtaking read. So much of it has stayed with me even after reading- the way you introduce the sheep shearer as a person whose presence announces itself in so many sensory ways before he actually enters the scene (brilliant!) the hilarity of the sheep not recognizing themselves, the woolly ghosts rising up in the storm (!!), the relief and elation at being both done with an arduous task and then, later, entering the safety of your home as the wind and rain wreaked havoc outside. I just loved every bit. What a ride!!!!
Kendall, there were never so many!
Unfortunately those wicked winds do not take more than fifteen minutes to wreck havoc on nature and our homes. You've described it so perfectly, that I felt I was there running with you and with the wind to get to safety! We have had a few of these in my part of the world these past few years as well. The ominous darkness that comes before any such event, somehow always instills a wee bit of fear, even if I do like the sound of a storm (a mild one!). I hope the sheep do not have any lasting fear, and that their 'ghosts' have been herded up into a calm pile to be eventually made into something earthly ! Enjoy every moment of your vacation, Susie!
I never ceased to be amazed by the speed at which these fierce storms can rearrange an entire town/county/island Jeannine - it is extraordinarily terrifying to watch and yet still I am held in the absolute power and beauty of them. Though I will admit to feeling far more comfortable watching from the safety of these old metre thick walls rather than wrestling with sheep's wool and branches in the wildness of it. We were fortunate not to have been hit by the eye (is that the word?) the centre anyway... as I drove to work the following day the devastation was far, far worse, hundreds of trees and roofs, small buildings and above ground pools had been literally transplanted.
Thankfully the sheep seem to accept any weather that's thrown at them, once they had recognised each other again, and themselves they were playing chase around the pond!
I think we are all, the whole world, experiencing worse and worse weather which terrifies me for the future and what our children and theirs might be witness to.
A huge heart thank you to you, stay safe lovely lady. Let us both pray for peaceful and joy filled summer months absent of more violent storms! xx
What a wonderfully told story Susie. I was there with you through the whole thing from placing your necessary deception of "apples, toast, nuts, grain pilfered from the chicken feed, Mirabelle plums, windfalls they love" into the pen, and transfixed by your writing as the storm performed a "frantic jitterbug around the hill like a disco ball on amphetamines released from its chain." Glad you are ok and I hope not too much damage to your home and surrounding structures. Always sad when beautiful trees go down. We get a few tornados in NZ and they are both frightening and awe inspiring to be a part of. 💛 xx
Hi Jo, thankfully we were relatively damage free this time, though it was small mercy when I drove to work the following day. So very many trees were uprooted and fallen, others, huge old oaks and chestnut, were literally snapped in half, I don't know which is the sadder sight... I had tears streaming down my face for what seemed an endless six kilometres of devastation yet the village I work in was unscathed.
I am still tidying branches and debris in my woodland today, again it feels endless, though as I look around at those trees that were damaged last year, already they are pushing new branches, they look healthy, thriving even! Which makes me wonder at the wisdom of MN - perhaps these storms, as frightening as they are to us, are really a cure for something far deeper? That they are a necessary nightmare?
No matter the answer, I think I will always, like you, find this weather phenomena completely awesome to watch, the sheer power inside!
I hope your week is a kind one - big sunny hugs. 💛xx
Goodness, what an event! Beautifully written, and I loved "Malefic darkness gathers up the remains of the sunlight." Very evocative.
Thanks Lynn, I can’t quite believe it happened, I can’t quite believe we must prepare for tornado summers… MN really is mad at us! With reason… good grief she has reason!
Neither can I quite believe I have two months holiday stretching ahead of me! I don’t even mind that today it is grey and cool and trying to rain, I just can’t stop smiling! X