batten down the hatches

"Batten down the hatches" is one of the many phrases I have gotten sick of hearing these last few days -- along with "churning" and "storm surge" -- as Irene makes her way into our neck of the woods.

It's gotten hard to separate the hype from the reality, but it is a hard cold fact that after a relatively dry July, we have gotten hammered with rain this August. Anything that is going to add more water to an already soggy situation is not a good thing.

We spent this morning getting the place ready, as best we could. Everything that could be blown away (and we are still missing a trash can from a nasty thunderstorm two weeks ago) has been locked in the barn or tied down.

Binder twine:

is there any problem it can't solve?

We tried to make preemptive strikes in the case of anything that could be blown over.

It already looks like a hurricane hit around here.

Clogged gutters were cleaned out, problematic branches were lopped off. Months of delayed maintenance were dealt with in approximately 45 minutes.

We have gotten more worried calls about the sheep than anything else. Since putting them in our basement is not possible -- and that is probably not the best place for them anyway -- they are in securely fenced areas, with access to solid shelters and plenty of (hopefully dry) hay.

As for our house, we are very fortunate to have a natural gas-powered generator thanks to my LSH's office. (It is very difficult to practice medicine when the lights go out repeatedly, as they did when we first moved here.) I stocked in necessary supplies, but I forced myself to leave the bottled water on the shelf for people who might really need it.

Tonight, however, I cracked. We received a notice from the gas company that the gas supply may also be disrupted by flooding.

Gulp.

The bathtub is now full of water, and the candles are out and ready to go should we need them. Now, we just wait.