Last Sunday I found myself drenched from head to toe, tied to a tree and praying for enough strength to save our barn from disaster. Between cursing and yelling I found myself asking, “How the hell did I end up here?!?” This is a far cry from stilettos, skyscrapers and martinis.
The storm and the wind by ~jjjohn~ on Flickr
Our story begins at 5:30AM when the north winds met the freakishly warm south winds at the exact point where Cabril begins (and ends). A loud crash has us jumping out of bed and racing to check on the newly-constructed balcony roof. We quickly (and falsely) conclude no damage and go back to rescue the last few hours of sleep before daybreak. Nothing to worry about excpet a few tijolos that fell from the scaffolding.
Later, during our morning coffee ritual, we notice pieces of roof tile scattered throughout the courtyard. Within minutes brooding clouds form overhead and heavy raindrops begin to fall in sheets.
Drip. Drip…drip. Drip.
We look up at the kitchen ceiling.
Oh f*ck.
Mad scramble outside to assess the damage. Fifteen or twenty broken roof tiles on the main part of the house plus another dozen tiles on the balcony roof smashed to smithereens. Penfold quickly climbs the ladder to repair what he can while Schnitzel and I scour the barn and workshop for spare tiles.
From the roof Penfold looks across the house to where our cars are parked, nestled happily under some mimosa trees. Hold on … one of those mimosa trees has fallen. Right onto Penfold’s car.
Oh f*ck.
Mad dash to assess the damage. And curse. We move the tree and lament over the car. And curse some more.
It’s only a matter of time as another tree leans dangerously close to the barn extension roof so we quickly concoct a plan. It begins raining heavier as we scramble to find the chain saw and some rope. The frayed rope snaps.
Oh f*ck.
We are drenched, both of us relying on our combined body weight to keep the tree from falling. More cursing. Brute strength, cunning levers made of twigs and some creative chainsawing … and the tree finally falls. We cheer! I am pumped full of adrenaline, ready to take down the entire forest! We are invincible!
We are tired. We are ready to collapse on the sofa, eager for some mindless BBC entertainment. Penfold reaches for the remote as I change into dry clothes and settle in for the evening.
Click. Click…click. Click.
No satellite signal. The stormy winds have loosened the dish and our satellite is completely off course.
Oh f*ck.
And so endeth the weekend.
Last Sunday went from bad to worse and living the dream was more like living a nightmare. But there is a silver lining in those stormy clouds — after we finish chopping up those trees we’ll have enough firewood to last until February!
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PS: Great minds think alike but for the record … I wrote mine first.
PPS: Obrigada to daisyfae, Slbma, Esta, stinkypaw, JohnC and Penfold for their comments on No Tile Left Behind.
