|
We got no snow last night.
The smart people on the media had been telling us to brace for rain transitioning to something solid over night. Maybe four inches was what they said, though the temperatures made that prediction a bit of a crap-shoot.
Of course, that amount of snow would have been catastrophic in any other year, and now just caused jaded Washingtonians to yawn.
As it happened, the jet stream veered north and left the Upper South alone. As the snow slowly has declined, I realized I had to do something about the grim inexorable weight of the trees laying on the deck and the garage.
I could feel it, even in Tunnel Eight. The grim weight of the wet wood pressing down on the angles and beams, pressing them out of line, trying to knock them flat.
I called the guy who built my little house to find a guy who did trees. He had done the right thing and gone to the Cayman Islands with his wife, which depressed me no end. That is the real answer to this, cut and run and ignore the whole thing.
Jerry is the man with the chain saw, and he is going to do the work today, for a couple thousand dollars. Weather dependent, of course.
He spoke in a soft drawl. The real Virginia is out there, and not far away from this island of hard-edged Transatlantic energy.
He is concerned about real things.
“Ya’all got dogs or a wife on the property?”
I considered it a curious turn of phase, but I knew what he meant. He did not want something savage to appear at his backside while he had the chainsaw going and the goggles clapped tight to his eyes to protect against chips.
“Nope,” I said, metering the amount of truth I wanted to share with an itinerant tree-man. “She is traveling, and she took the dog. Feel free to shoot anyone on the property that don’t claim to be me.”
He thanked me for the courtesy, and I hung up, hoping the garage was going to stay upright.
I figure it is weather dependent, and we are entitled to some good luck on that front, you know?”
Copyright 2010 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Subscribe to the RSS feed!
|
