Hooch

buffalo creek, already high :: feeder improv :: gauge @ 3 inches

I used to follow a blog before she got famous. Once someone gets famous, a TV show, a book deal, a not-to-be-missed giveaway, I don't really want to read about her life anymore. Anyhow - the point - she once said that she tried not to talk about the weather on the blog because she had an aunt who said that one who discussed the weather was a bore with nothing better to talk about.

But really. This weather.

From "my spot" inside the house I can see all the bird feeder activity just outside the window. Three days ago I looked out and realized the raindrops were coming off the un-guttered porch roof and into the supposedly sheltered seed like so many Swedes at the height of ski season. I ran out, readjusted the feeder, got drenched, saved the day.

Two days later, I hadn't seen a single bird all day. I looked out and the feeder is swarming... with fruit flies. Fruit flies? The bird seed had sprouted, and fermented, and made a boozy, moldy mess. I dumped it out. The mourning doves acted like it was a special treat. The sandy, saturated ground might as well have been silver serveware for them.

So here we are; making do and hunkering down. Five to ten inches is what we expect to see from Hurricane Joaquin. I've improvised the feeder with a plastic plant tray. Mom and Dad are at the State Fair and sent word that they are shutting down early. My birthday camping trip to Chippokes has been postponed until next weekend. The rain gauge has been emptied and is ready for more. Julian will make good use of the weekend spent in grading the midterm exams he is giving today.

Come rain, we are ready if we must be.