Overcast

Thursday's weather was a little strange.  As best I could tell the forecast did not include rain, yet all signs pointed in that direction.

(I say "as best I could tell" because I never listen to, watch or read forecasts. So what am I talking about when I say the weather was strange? Why did I assume it was supposed to be sunny?  Did I see it in tea leaves? What made me so certain it wasn't supposed to storm?)

In spite of what I read in the tea leaves what I thought the weather should be, the wind was strong, the tide was unusually high, the temperatures were cool, and the clouds were foreboding.

Sort of like a nor'easter--minus the rain and flooding.

After a 5 1/2 mile jog that began and ended at Salem United Methodist Church, I took a drive down to Aarons Beach.

As I type this Thursday evening, I've just returned from lighting a bonfire in the back yard. The wind is steady and the temperature continues to drop, so I turned off the A/C and opened up the windows. As a result the entire house now reeks of campfire smoke The subtle smell of the fire is in my hair the air. Life is good.

Hope you have a great weekend.

Happy Father's Day.

The Dock

The weather over the weekend was spectacular - crisp, clear, almost humidity-free.

(We are never completely without humidity just like we're never completely without ants, mosquitoes, flies, fiddler crabs, cats that need feeding, unwelcome/uninvited Canada geese, dirty laundry or grass that needs cutting.)

The setting sun combined with this crisp air made for a delightful light display on the dock.

These photos, taken from the dock and the boathouse area, won't win any awards, but hopefully they help convey the point I'm trying to make.

Believe it or not, there is a point here, somewhere. I think it has to do with lighting. Or maybe it has to do with insects those missing boards and all the other repairs the house dock needs. Still, maybe the point is I'd rather have a million cats in the yard than even two geese, because at least the cats don't leave feathers and other distasteful deposits that make it nigh on impossible to walk through one's OWN yard barefoot.

Either/or.

Below, because there aren't enough hazards already, is an old crab net that hangs right in the middle of the doorway leading into the boathouse and the fish cleaning area.

(No fish have been cleaned in this area since Pocahontas gave Gwynns Island to Captain John Smith the 1970s. Archaeological tours are available by dialing 1-800-Nothing Ever Changes.)

There are plenty--plenty--of other places we could hang this net, but for some reason we keep it right here as if we hope to catch a human.



This is a better illustration of the missing boards the light show.

The dock is vital to our survival here in Mathews. It allows us to fish, crab and--most importantly-- communicate.

Just tonight, after exchanging pleasantries from the end of our dock, I learned from our neighbor that the reason she was hauling furniture off her dock onto higher land was due to a Major Storm predicted to possibly skirt the coast here in the next couple of days.

Since I hate skirts never listen to the weather forecast; don't watch TV; rarely listen to the radio; only occasionally read anything; and seem to get by just fine on oblivion word of mouth for everything up to and including an impending hurricane what's on sale at the Best Value, I guess I'd best be gettin' ready for a storm.

To anyone out there who lives in civilization watches TV: Do I need to batten down the hatches tonight or tomorrow night?

To anyone out there who knows what it means to batten down the hatches: Please give a brief overview of how to batten, especially in the throes of a storm you didn't know was coming, and give special emphasis to the hatches, which may or may not have any particular meaning to the person you're talking to.

To anyone out there still awake: Is this thing even coming close to us here on the Chesapeake Bay?

If so, I have a lot of work to do, right after I come home from work.