I was going to write a lyrical little post this week called 'French Rain'.
You know the sort of thing I like to write, weather reports interspersed with nature observations, a little wistful, a little nostalgic.
No photos, it's too dark.
What began in the dark this morning around 5 a.m. has subsided in the dark. I'm going to have a shot of armagnac and go to bed, exhausted but I wanted to let you know that when your read that little headline, just know that the reality was way worse.
The worst winds in French history (northern Spain got slammed too!), equivalent to a Category 2 hurricane, slammed the Atlantic coast. The BBC says it here but the map says it all; I live right where that red arrow to the east of Bordeaux is.
Lucky. We are very lucky as we have only minor damage. Lots of trees down. The roof of the chicken coop took flight, but the chooks didn't seem to bothered. A bucket of bird seed blew over and they just continued to harvest the spill. Bacon got to sleep in my cabin and sit with me on the couch under a blanket for comfort (his? or mine?), and Boudin (the barn cat) yowled her displeasure at the noise which sounded like a train coming down the canal. The new wheelhouse leaked as 100 mph winds drove the rain into the still unvarnished joints and the roof tarp disappeared over the side. There are days when I don't like living on a boat.
By late afternoon, the barometer starting rising, the clouds blew over revealing a weirdly blue sky and it is now blissfully still. Thank you. I have a good stock of candles and flashlights, oil for the lantern, and now the electricity came on.
I will sleep tonight. Peacefully.
Tomorrow, damage control.
Wish you were here.