Sunday was as lovely a fall day as anyone could desire.
The sky was brilliantly blue with soft white clouds.
The wind was a gentle intermittent breeze.
The trees, so long green in this autumn of rains, were wearing rusty hues, leaves drifting silently to the ground.
Walking behind the barn my attention was caught by a single scarlet leaf, spinning in a current of air, floating softly to rest on the trampled grass.
Trees along the east boundary, illuminated in morning sunshine.
Our good neighbor [renter when we owned the farm] volunteered to help for the day.
Jim and Fred devised a method for raising the truss rafters.
Looking at the sky from the main floor.
Monday was a restless day. Weather forecasts warned of high winds, heavy rain beginning late in the evening. As dusk approached the mostly blue sky turned inky.
Later, I lay in bed listening to the rising wind, the scrape and skitter of leaves blowing across the camper's roof, aware of the seemingly fragile barrier between us and the gathering storm.
At about 10:30 the siren at the local fire station began to hoot.
Rain, propelled by gusty wind, lashed the camper, which shuddered.
We struggled into clothes, Jim pulled up the doplar weather map and announced, rather redundantly, 'We're in for some of the storm!'
Turning on my laptop to access the web page for county weather warnings I noticed that our SIL at the other end of the county was messaging me.
Tornado warnings in effect!
Headed your way!
Jim pulled on a jacket, stepped out to the deck, popped back in, water streaming from his cap, jacket soaked.
I fretted about the house, invisible in the swirling blackness.
"The house will stand," Jim declared. "We braced for this."
Thunder boomed, the sound mingled with the increasing roar of the wind.
The cats hid; Bobby Mac huddled in the windowless hallway, wedged himself against the shower door. Unable to take refuge under the platform bed, the other cats flattened themselves along the edges. In a camper there is no room to pace.
From my chair, laptop on its stand in front of me, I watched out the uncurtained west window, cringing at each flash of lightning, eyes glued to the awning that billowed, wrenching at its support posts.
For 10-15 minutes the wind lashed, howled, moaned; rain pounded, streamed down the windows.
Then--"Is it slacking off?" I asked, tentatively, not quite ready to believe the storm was passing.
"Yes, said Jim, "Its moving off."
Shedding his wet cap and jacket, he marched resolutely off to bed.
I messaged SIL--We're OK--the storm has gone through.
I picked up Jim's wet jacket, looked for a place it could be hung to dry; not finding one I poked it into the clothes dryer.
The cats began to creep out of hiding.
I turned off lights, removed my shoes, got back into my nightgown.
Shaken by the storm, I didn't immediately fall asleep., but lay awake listening to the now desultory spattering of rain on the roof, the rustle of falling leaves.
We were up early, reassured to see the framework of the house looming against the dawn sky.
Outside the day warmed into brilliance. It was muddy underfoot and windy overhead.
Newly bared branches swayed under swiftly scudding clouds.
I stood looking upward, head tilted, watching the movement of the clouds until I was dizzy.
Too restless to stay indoors I squelched up to my makeshift garden.
At the house Jim and Howard were cheerfully sweeping rainwater out of the basement.
Waiting for things to dry out we did errands, ate an early lunch at Bread of Life Cafe.
In the afternoon the men got most of the underlayment applied to the roof before dark.
Early on Wednesday morning the metal roofing was delivered.
By quitting time the backside of the house was clad.
Today the weather has been brisk--harbinger of the frost and cold front predicted for the weekend.
The rest of the roofing is on, though not the soffit and edge trim.
The house is being wrapped in tyvek.
Late in the morning the men appeared for a meal.
[We don't know whether to term it 'breakfast' or 'lunch' these days.]
I made cream of butternut squash soup, seasoned with minced onion, garlic, curry powder.
I used the volunteer squash which grew out of the compost pile at the farm.
Served with fat sandwiches--canned corned beef mixed with chopped celery and pickle, sliced tomato on whole wheat 'store-bought' bread.
The meal was a success, with a serving of soup tucked away in the fridge for me to enjoy tomorrow.
Gina brought us two loaves of banana bread--lovely with hot tea to ward off the chill.
Each week brings us closer to a new house--even as the days grow colder and shorter.