Living on the wide-open prairie always makes life more interesting. Those news clips of weathermen in raincoats during a hurricane can’t hold a candle to everyday life out here. I feel like I need a tether to get to the barn and back. Even the sheep don’t want to go outside.
“Are you going to feed us or are you just going to stand around making clicking noises with that black thing?” asks Tula.
This century-old farmhouse wasn’t designed with aerodynamics in mind. A wind advisory here can be translated to non-stop whistling. During the past 48 hours of nature’s serenade, I’ve given it much thought and have determined it has something to do with the wrap-around porch. At least that is where it sounds like it is coming from. The same place it came from at the old farmhouse I lived in as a child. This explains a lot, really. I’ve always lamented a homeowner’s decision to enclose their wrap-around porch, but now I realize they were most likely driven stark raving mad by the blasted whistling. They were trying to make the whistling go away. No different than lining the walls with tinfoil to block out the voices.