Who knows about the weather?
Richard says being a weather person--you know reporter and prognosticator--is the only job where you can be wrong most of the time and still make a good living at it.
Maybe. I'd list doctors next. But let's pretend I didn't say that.
All of this to introduce my post about last night's big wind. And I already know you're not thinking big enough. When things finally died down, about nine o'clock, I saw leaves all over the lawns and pine needles and pine cones and those other nasty little pine things everywhere--lawns and driveway.
But wait. It gets bigger.
A branch from one of my ash trees had been blown off, one end sticking in the ground, the other propped up on the chain link fence. The branch was big, and you're not thinking big enough, maybe fifteen feet long. And I can't know how such a big branch could break off, and I can't tell which of the trees it broke off from.
Andrew sawed and cut and I carried sections of it to the trash can, which is now full. But neither of us thought at first that we could get all of it in one can. We did, though, and the thing is cleared away.
Thank goodness for Andrew, because I worried about it much of the night, thought we'd have to borrow somebody's chain saw. He used the little Back Saw, which in my hands would have been useless, and the long-handled pruner, and we pulled and so on.
