All in a 24-hour period (or thereabouts)

So, what's the life of a country parson?

There's Bernanois' version of Le Curé that takes place in the 19th century. And there is the Mitford series (that drove me nuts because the stories were too, too sweet and improbable), and other stories.

But here's a sampling of my petit train-train (putterings) on a work day and day off.

First, I come out before going off to preside at a communion service at the local assisted living home with a group I call the Saints, to find a brave parishioner about to tackle the never-ending ramp. There's a real sense of déjà-vu because he, as scout master, ended up finishing an Eagle Scout's project two years ago. What he is now doing in horrendous humidity, is replacing the little gangplank I have had to walk for the past two years with a real ramp.

So, after trimming ferociously the forsythia, he yanks out the porch steps (still upside-down because they are being replaced, which means a full circuit onto the sidewalk to get to the church and parish house). Once again, lumber is all over the front yard.

He has to dig up the path way and has dumped the dirt under the porch which is fine because it can act as insulation and keep the skunks out.

His old dog, Murphy, a real friendly guy, when he's not tangled up around the tree or railing post, surveys the work.

Here's the view back to the house.

So I left this valiant parishioner in the humid Panamanian-like weather and took off to the doctor's and then to my home-away-from-home, Compa's and my house.

Today we were supposed to chop down a bunch of trees and start working on the winter woodpile but the chainsaw was totally stuck. She took it all apart but to no avail. of course, then she had to put it back together as best she could (one part she couldn't because she didn't have the right tool). Fine by me. I've already been mauled once by the chainsaw.

So I mowed the yard and she took down suckers and saplings with pruning impliments.

It was time to drive back up north to get ready for tomorrow, finish off my sermon.

On the way out, ten turkeys blocked the road. By the time I got my camera out, they'd wandered off into the nearby field but you can make out five of them.

Then, things got interesting. Two towns over in Woodstock, 14 miles away, I stopped at a farmers' market. It was overcast when I went in. By the time I left, it was raining sideways with 40-50 mph wind gusts. It was crazy but I went up the usual dirt road I like to take. I didn't get too far before I could someone ahead of me turning around. When they got down to me, they said there were downed electric lines. So I also did a K turn and went back to the main drag.

It was still pouring and gusting and I was worried more trees would come down on top of my car so I pulled over into a parking lot. I chose my spot intentionally: it's the White Cottage, a family-run restaurant that has been going since 1957. They have good hamburgers, fried clams and other things. Well, since I was parked there, once the rain calmed down, I went in and got dinner. Why not?

On the way up north, I saw many trees down, branches and leaves on the road and one other road that I usually take was also closed.

Compa has been without electricity since 17.30 this evening but that's because our house is at the end of a dirt road. The rectory is smack-dab in town and it is rare that we lose electricity.

So, that's a brief overview.

And all day long, I have been singing Padre Mickey's version of The Letter.