Everything here is turning green, and nights are starting to roll into this hefty humidity of early summer. Last night a thunderstorm shook the house so loud that I actually thought the roof collapsed. I didn't know if I should get dressed to assess damage or just close my eyes and hope for the best. I opted for the later. Turns out the roof made it, but some tree limbs did not.
The sheep are in a safehold now. My Easter Sunday was not spent as planned. I was supposed to join the Daughton family for a big meal at their farm in White Creek (two towns south) and called them sad to cancel. After a week of escaping sheep, complaints (and help) from neighbors, and one ewe leaping right over the gate towards my truck...I realized I needed to use this last day off from work before the week started to secure my animals. Farms do no recognize holidays.
When I told the Daughton's this, they simply said. "Oh, well, we'll bring Easter to you then" and in a few hours they had set up (on a table they brought, since I don't have one yet) a full Easter dinner with ham, salads, pickles, cake, and finger snacks. They brought me a hand-made bluebird house and I almost wept. I have never had friends willing to uproot an entire family holiday to help me keep sheep off a road.
We spend the afternoon setting up wire and testing lines and by sunset my sheep were being shocked away from danger and my belly was full. Tonight while I walked the perimeter of the fence to pick up any pulled wires and reset it before bed, I thanked them again. I don't know if they heard it, but I said it.
Wind picked up all around me and the stars started to disappear into the black above my mountain. The weather report called for more storms this night, and the air felt humid, which I love. Humidity gets a horrible reputation because it makes people temporarily uncomfortable. It lasts a few months and then it's gone, and it leaves trails of thunderstorms, lush grass, fireflies and warmed working farmer bodies in its tail strands as it saunters through in hot gasps. I love humidity, and so does the old Maple. Who watched my clumsy farm's Easter in quiet. And knows more stories than I can bear.