hurricane watch

We don't expect much drama from Hurricane Earl when he arrives tomorrow morning. By then he will likely have melted, wicked witch-like, into something that more resembles a gale. He'll either be windy rain or rainy wind. Either way, we're ready. Greg has put away all the signs, chairs, chariots, garbage cans, and boats: anything that could fly or crash.

Today he picked the ripe-enough apples that might blow down, and I picked more beans, since their brittle plants are likely to blow away,
and the basil, since it could get smashed too.
The tomatoes dangling greenly I leave in the hand of God. The kitchen is ready for Greg to turn it into an applesauce and pesto factory tonight. I'm sure it's pesto and applesauce the authorities mean when they talk about storm preparation.
We don't need to worry about losing power. There will be plenty of wind for the turbine.
And -- all on their own initiative, I might add -- the hens have decided to go on hurricane watch. They have taken up a strategic position from which they are staring in three directions for signs of Earl. When the last hen has laid her day's egg, she'll join the guard. Her assigned position will be looking east, so I think she will miss all the excitement.