|I feel as bent as this wind-blown pine.|
Using a pipe frame we've had for years, I set up a small greenhouse on the extra pad in front of my garage. I covered it with shade-cloth tarps (from Harbor Freight), then constructed a micro-spray system attached to a timer. Perfect set-up, but soon discovered my folly.
|The wind was strong enough to bend a t-post.|
We had thought that the 5 gallon sand buckets we use to stabilize our vendor tent would be enough. We were wrong. They were dangling from the upended "legs"of the greenhouse. We flipped it over and put it back into place, this time wiring the west side (most of our weather comes from the west) to two 7' t-posts. We felt safe and secure.
And then came Hurricane Elvis II.
"Hurricane Elvis" is how Memphians refer to a storm that happened about 13 years ago. Smack-dab in the middle of "Tornado Alley," straight-line winds rather than a tornado swept away fences and stately trees, disrupting services for days in some areas. I no longer live in Memphis, but, as I stared out the back window, the memories were as fresh as the wind before a storm. Only the ribs of the tractor umbrella remained while the rain blew horizontally, and I maintained a dim hope that the greenhouse had withstood the gale. Peering out the front window, I saw my hope was in vain. There, like an upended turtle, lay the greenhouse, legs bent at odd angles. Within 20 minutes, the storm was over, and the late-afternoon sun caused steam to rise from the wet ground.
|Treetops in the road|
|Enjoying the silence|
In the silence, I can hear the cat purring. In the silence, I can hear the dog's happy murmur. In the silence, I can hear myself breathing, slower and slower. In the silence, I can hear myself think. In the silence, I find myself, and realize how long I've been trying to be what other people think I should be. And, in the silence, I am restored.