I checked again on the animals, as night fell, and they seem to be doing all right. The cattle are tightly gathered under one of the hay shelters, and they will weather the night acceptably. All of the other buildings on our little farm will manage. The barn is a sturdy one, as is the unused daadi haus. And, of course, the house itself. Where I am sitting, drying off yet again. And where all of my little family are sitting, nestled under blankets or reading.
On nights like this one, I am glad that the house was well built. It had been one of the many houses owned by the Schrock family, and some relative had lived here for many years before it was put up for sale. I remember admiring the craftsmanship of it when I came here to look for a place where we could settle down in this community. It had been carefully constructed, the joists all doubly reinforced, the roof secured against high wind, and insulation everywhere. It was a good and sturdy home for the family we were sure we would have.
Still, it is not brick, and as it flexes and shifts, I am reminded that wood has limits, even if it is well used by careful hands. Everything in this world breaks, if you strain it hard enough.
October 12
It was a long night, and sleep did not come easily. When I awoke, the rain was still coming down in sheets, pouring down the side of the house, but the wind was dwindling away.
The barn seemed to have managed the night, as had the daadi haus. In the dull grayness of the morning, I could see branches down and scattered twigs and debris as I walked to feed the horses.
Sadie came with me, or rather, she ran ahead, as quickly as she could, covering her head with a shawl. Inside the barn, all was well, and though there was much moisture here and there, it looked like there was not much that needed to be repaired. I could see a bit of sky where the wind had pried some of the tin roof loose, but it hadn’t fully pulled away. I would be able to repair it.
As we returned to the house, Jacob came running from the chicken coop, leaping puddles as he came up to us. He breathlessly announced that they were all fine.
My check of the larder showed that all was well, just a spot or two of moisture there. But when I went to the root cellar, opening that door revealed that it was not quite as fine as I would have hoped. Water stood to the height of my knees, a mess of muck that would have to be cleared out. But the work that Hannah and I did to move perishables was time well spent. I do not think we will lose anything.
It did not stop raining until early afternoon, and the wind rose on occasion, stirring and shaking the trees.
When the rain did take a break, I went to look at the work that I had done yesterday. It was a mess. Much of the soil had been washed away, and the seeds that we’d laid in had probably not fared much better. It was too soon for them to have sprouted, so maybe some would have survived, but whatever remained would not be neat and orderly. The Lord would give us patience, and we would deal with it in due time.
But there was not much about that I could attend to, because the immediate need was the cellar.
We moved the meat up into the house, where we hung it from the rafters in the kitchen. And then it was back down to the root cellar. I had a pair of waders, which years ago I had used for fishing. Wearing them, I went in, taking with me our three five-gallon buckets. For almost two hours we bailed, bucket after bucket, me to Hannah to Sadie to Jacob, who’d toss it and run it back. Over and over again, me to Hannah to Sadie to Jacob.
We sang a little bit as we worked, which made the business of clearing all that murky water not quite so terrible.
When the water level was low enough, the buckets were joined by mops. I found myself remembering a movie I had seen on rumspringa, a cartoon with a mouse and magic, and the echo of the music from that film hummed in my head, just out of reach.
It would be nice to have such magic right now, I thought. But of course the whole point of that part of the movie was that you never know when the magic you rely on will overtake and drown you. It struck me as strangely like the magical world the English had made for themselves.
In the afternoon, the Jon Mail arrived, or at least that was what Sadie had taken to calling Jon’s arrival on horseback.
Sadie came out to listen when she saw that he had arrived, and he tipped his hat to her. She just smiled.
And he smiled back, and cantered over toward her. There were words back and forth, nothings and trifles. Sadie’s eyes flitted from the ground to Jon’s face, back and forth, like a fisherman teasing a trout fly across the surface of a stream.
Jon seemed even more pleased, but as I was standing there, he remembered his purpose.
He asked if we were all okay, and if there was much help needed at our house. I told him no, that we were going to be fine, and then asked what news there was.
The community had weathered it well, he said. Some of the siding had been torn from the Thorsons’ house, and another tree had fallen on their property, but it really hadn’t been all that bad. There was damage to Deacon Sorenson’s house, too, a big tear in the roof where the wind had caught it.
“Deacon Sorenson asked if you could come and help with the repairs,” Jon said. I told him that I could, once we’d dealt with things here around the house. Probably tomorrow, after I’d set in with the chores for the morning. I asked if Jon could ride and tell him, and he said he would. He said it with a smile, because he really and truly did love being Jon Mail.
I then asked him what else he heard, and if there was more news from the world. He had the news, of course.
After helping his family with the cleanup, Jon had ridden down to the Stauffers to see if there was any broader news about the storm.
There was a little, which had been conveyed by some soldiers who had passed the news from their radios. The storm had stayed mostly to the east of us, going north–northwest. There was a lot of flooding in Philadelphia, and some bridges had been washed out. From Lancaster and Lititz, the news was of many homes with flooded basements and damaged roofs. Many among the English needed sump pumps to keep their lower levels dry, and there was still no power to run them. With gas now scarce and functioning generators hard to come by, there was nothing to do but use mops and buckets.
“Not much other news,” he said. “But there will be!” I knew he was right, of course.