…of course not, we’re in the rural outback of Georgia, deep in the heart of the south; where, on this Friday the 13^th, we’re experiencing gale force, 50 mph, winds and driving rain.

What?

What’s that you say?  So what.

Well, I’ll tell you so what:  Upon hearing the driving rain (again) this afternoon, I stepped out on the back porch to glance up toward the chicken house (again).  But this time (the 20-something-th time…), the tin roof of our hen house was peeling backwards and flapping in the wind like Reynolds Wrap.

I call to the guys and we head out with raincoats, boots and the keys to the big barn.  I’m first in the barn to find the big ladder.  Sam grabs the hammer and Alex is trying to find nails and get the second ladder.  I’m trying to put the ladder against the chicken house – and well, it blows out of my hands!!  Finally, I regroup and am on the ladder.  Sam hands me the hammer and then heads inside the chicken house to calm the flock (poor souls – they’ve just about had it).  The wind is flapping the tin and I just know that any minute the Reynolds Wrap roof will be gone and wrapped through the woods and beyond.  All I could think of was to just hold the roof.  So I did.

So I’m holding the roof and the wind, I’m guessing, was, well, voodoo speed.  Yep, it was all voodoo.  I could hear Alex clanging around in the big barn and Sam inside with the chickens telling me where I needed to nail the roof down.  Well, that would mean I’d have to let go of the roof; if I let go of the roof, it will blow off.  So I just said, “Okay.”  Alex was still clanging and I was clinging.

About this time…sometime around 4 this afternoon…the Gladiator arrives home.  I can not imagine what must have zipped through his mind when he pulled in our driveway to see me, in my orange – non-homesteading raincoat – holding on to the roof of our chicken house.  He drove his truck over to the chicken house and put his window down.  I really can’t describe the look on his face – it sort of reminded me of the look he had during that wrong dead cat episode I shared with y’all a while back…

Through the high wind and pouring rain he asked, “What are you doing?”

“I’m holding the roof on,” I shouted through the wind.

He replied, “Yes, I see that.”

“Don’t you think you should get on the roof?” he finally asked after giving me that look again.

“But the roof will blow away,” I answered back.  Then, “Can’t you DO something since you’re home now?”

So while I’m clinging to the ladder and holding the roof, my beloved goes and gathers a few things and returns.

I had to let go of the roof to let him have the ladder.  The Reynolds Wrap began flapping wildly again.

“See,” I started, “I told you…”

Relocating the ladder to the side of the chicken house, Alan climbs and gets on top of the hen house, still clothed in his dress-work clothes, and begins hammering the flapping tin.  I was amazed.  He is the only person I know who could do all that and remain neat and clean and somehow un-windblown in all this voodoo wind and rain.

After we all were back inside the house, Alan looked at me and said, “What’s wrong with your eye?”

So I explained that I am now growing a third eyeball in the middle of my right eyelid, and that  I can only hope that by the time we’re ready to attend his company function this weekend, it will have sprouted eyelashes, too, so I can at least dab some mascara on them.

Is it any wonder I’m becoming mildly concerned about going out to eat tonight?

Is this day of voodoo over yet?

Harriette K. Jacobs

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