Even more than the lack of cold weather in the early part of the season, for me what stands out most about this winter has been the wind. First it’s from the north, then it’s from the south, but whichever, 20-30 mph winds have been nearly constant. The wind has been calm on only a few days this winter.
So when I saw this tree wrapped like a maypole with a vine, it seemed like an appropriate picture for the day, though for the life of me I can't explain why. Perhaps it's just that I feel constrained by the brutality of the wind. Perhaps it's because first I'm blown one way and then the other and end up feeling like I am all tangled up in it.
Last night the wind howled at more than 40 mph all night long. And so did Baby Dog.
Every time a twig or a branch or a limb fell onto something and made a bumping noise, Baby Dog barked. This happened I don’t know how many times throughout the night. And once she started, Dog had to join in.
Baby Dog is a mutt with enough chow in her lineage that it’s her most identifiable breed. She has a black tongue and could be a sister to at least two other dogs I know who are also half or at least part chow. Chows were bred essentially as alarm dogs who would awaken the palace guards at the first sign of trouble. Baby Dog has retained this characteristic. Unfortunately, her version of trouble and my version of trouble are two entirely different things.
To her trouble is a raccoon calmly eating cat food on the front deck. She will stand at the front door, staring outside for hours just waiting for the raccoon to arrive so she can bark at it. And even removing her from the spot doesn’t stop her from barking.
Trouble is also the sound of a foot-long branch hitting the cabin roof and rolling off it. Every Time It Happens. All Night Long. I didn’t get much sleep last night. And neither did Baby Dog, though at least she is likely asleep right now.