Or, "Why, Yes, It Is A Bleg"
Power went out about 7:45 this evening and was off for half an hour. (Back now but it keeps flickering off and back on). About fifteen minutes after we lost power, a major storm front blew through; Tam and I had been outside and barely made it in ahead of falling limbs pursued by a wall of fat raindrops (a neighbor across the alley had a tree down over their neighbor's power drop and workers had been removing it; they loaded up their truck and lit out when the lights went out!).
The winds got stronger once we were inside. After rounding up flashlights and candles, Tam adjourned herself to the porch.
She was no more than out the door when I heard, "Uh-oh."
...There are two trees in the front yard at Roseholme. Tree number one stands square in the middle and sends a limb out to menace the streetlight. Tree number two's had a hard life. Mostly hollow, it lurks back nearer the cottage, just inside the property line, as though it was unsure whether to flee or try to get under the house to hide. It's got a job, holding up one end of my ham antenna (a G5RV, guys).
That is, it used to do those things. The wind took hold of it, popped it free of what was left of its roots, and leaned it right into tree number one. The leaves are still green but that tree has shuffled off its mortal coil; it has collapsed into the arms of its brother-in-branches. It hasn't taken down my antenna, it didn't fall that far (yet?), but it's going to need to be taken down and hauled off to the tree morgue.
The porch --The Porch where Tam muses -- is not presently safe. And I'm kinda worried for our mailman, too.
I had not really planned on this and will therefore, somewhat abashed, remind concerned readers of Tam's tip jar. The unfortunate tree's gotta gotta go and payday's awhile off yet.
He Worked On A Starship
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