farmdoc's blog post number 395

When I’m bushwalking, I get apprehensive when the contour lines crowd together. Because that means steep terrain. The closer the lines, the steeper it is. Up or down. Down bothers me more. It’s a bigger strain on my legs. (But less bother to my heart and lungs.) Talking of lines close together, I’m wary when weather chart isobars crowd together. Because that means wind. The closer the isobars, the stronger the wind. When I was younger, the wind confounded my tennis. My talent was meagre talent. So I had trouble enough hitting the ball well in still conditions. Wind made it almost impossible. Here in Mole Creek, in the early hours of last Sunday morning the wind howled. And howled. It woke me. The house shook. And creaked. The flue cap groaned. As if in anguish. I tossed and turned. Anguished too. Imagining the worst: Trees down over the road. And over fences. Liberating sheep and goats. To roam. Free range. Then sleep returned. I woke to a spectacular morn. Sunny. Windless. I found a wattle down. Slightly blocking the road. No match for my chainsaw and bowsaw. After lunch, Sweetheart Vivienne and I walked our fencelines. All of them. We found a tree a tree over a fence. A small tree. So we lifted it off. I repaired the broken barbed wire. Now we’re good to go. Until the next big wind. Whenever it comes. I hope not soon.