Roach Races and a Cat who knocks on doors

Close to Russellville is a town called Roachdale. I always got the skeevies from the name of that town, possibly because ummm, I hate roaches. When I read or hear 'Roachdale' I see this big roach family chilling on a porch or something. It's really not pleasant. Imagine my face when I found out that in the town of Roachdale they have an annual fair, and the highlight of the fair is, get this... a Roach Race.

Yes. A race ran by roaches. Here's proof.

I can hardly handle this. They can't think of anything else to race other than a roach? I know, town name. I get it. But seriously. I saw a sign for it along a road somewhere, boasting the event... and for a second I wanted to witness this, but like I said it was just for a second. I'd never get through the door. Tamrha and a fair where everyone is stoked over a race of roaches will never happen. Any roaches I've ever seen are ran away from or whacked with something hard. NY'ers really try to not hang out with roaches, even though they might be more plentiful in NYC than in Roachdale, Indiana. We don't get out the roach race track. We call the Orkin Man.

I wondered if they painted little numbers on their backs because otherwise wouldn't they get their roaches confused? Apparently, they do. Do they use food as incentive? Then I wondered if they keep these things as pets. Bulk up the losers for next years race? They don't. They kill them with insecticide after the race. Now, I may not love a roach, but this is wrong. The town of Roachdale uses these insects for entertainment and then gases them? Is there not an agency I can call? Maybe I'll call PETA.

As for the cat who knocks on the door. This is my cat Stella. Previously you read about me being creeped out in the country at night and tacking blankets against the door and stuff. Well, I've overcome! Not so scared anymore. Although I about chocked on my tongue the other night when I heard, against the glass door at 11:30 at night a 'tap, tap, tap' sound. A perfect knock. Like a ring on someones finger tapping against the glass door. Either that of the pointy tip of a knife. I look up, and there's Stella, just looking at me with an expression that said, "Uh, hi. Can you let me in?"

She's lucky I didn't pee myself with fright. And because of her genius, I granted her entrance to my abode. But I did ask her to in the future scratch at the door like a normal feline.

Not all Farmers are created equal

Maybe I should say not all local food is created equal because this guy was no farmer.

Let me back up a minute and give you some back story. Back in NY, I bought raw milk and soy free eggs from free range chickens from a farm in PA. They dropped off weekly to places on Long Island and i picked up an order every other week. It was the best milk and the most delicious eggs ever. I did my research before leaving and located a few farms where I could buy a cow share and get milk here. I also looked into a few places where I could get eggs.

Apparently there are quite a few people who sell eggs because a lot of people have chickens. My sister in law Montica told Scott that she's seen people up in Crawfordsville that sell them. They put little signs in front of their houses to let you know 'we've got eggs for sale.' So, when I saw the little sign at the end of a driveway in Russellville, I was intrigued. Eggs right in town! How convenient!

But (there's always a but, right?) every time I passed by, I just couldn't stop. It was a bit of a messy yard and there was a dude always hanging out near or in the garage. It was just weird. So, I'd look at the little sign and drive on by.

What planet I woke up on today, I have no idea.

It's dinner time and I realize that I used my last three eggs in the cake we made earlier in the day. And I need an egg. I could use some milk for the chicken strips but an egg works a lot better. Its still three days until I go to the farm I hooked up with for raw milk and eggs and its not like I'm near a store to just run in.

Here was the thought that got me into the car to go to the little house in town:

"Stop being so judgmental. Just go get some eggs! How can someone screw up eggs?"

It's not that eggs can be 'screwed up' but they can be .... less than fresh.

I get there and the guy (who maybe is the same guy who likes to hang around the garage) is just getting home from work.

"Hi," I said. "Do you have any eggs today?"

"Eggs?"

"Yes, do you have any today?"

He's looking at me silently, and I just pointed at the sign at the end of the driveway. He tells me that he'll go check, and the boys and I wait. They discuss the possibly stray cats going through the basement window of a vacant house and soon the guy comes back with a dozen in hand.

"Here you go. You might want to check these. I don't know how old they are. My wife normally does this."

Yea.

I just stood there nodding my head. He doesn't know how old they are.
 

He doesn't know how old they are!! 

I'm sorry, but how do you give someone eggs and tell them that you don't know how old they are? To 'check them'. I mean, thanks for the heads up, bro... but how do I check them? Crack them open and see if they smell rancid?

I just took the eggs from this poor guy with barely a tooth in his head and drove home knowing that these eggs weren't even coming in the house. The carton was smelly, one egg had been broken and it looked like it had been that way for a while.

I understand you might have to wash an egg after you take it out of the chicken coup, but should they have white fungus growing on them!?

I don't think my leeriness of that place was me being judgmental. It was something else called ... Intuition. 

NY Stories ~ Dirty Santa

So, I'm missing NY a bit. Not that that's a shock. I was looking back on my posts the other day and my mention of feeling safe even in somewhat shady NYC areas made me start thinking of funny stories revolving around my time spent at school or living, or working, in the city. So I decided that on days that I've got nothing 'country' to report, I'll regale you and amuse myself with an old story straight out of New York City.

To kick these 'NY Stories' off, I'll tell you about... Dirty Santa.

Fall '93 or Spring ' 94
7Th Avenue and 28th Street

I'm living on 27th Street and 7th Ave., attending The Fashion Institute of Technology where I'm studying Photography (and later Display & Exhibit Design). My room mate is this awesome chick originally from Wantagh and later from Kansas City, Missouri, Dawn. We're headed up to a drug store on 30th and 7th, maybe it was a Duane Reade., I don't know.

But anyway. We're walking up 7th and there's this old guy shaking a cup on the west side of about 28th street. I think Dawn or I may have tossed him some money. He had long gray hair, big long gray beard, pretty much a hot mess, but he was homeless, you know. As we walked away, Dawn said to me, "He looks like a dirty Santa."

I had to agree.

So, we walk up a few more blocks and cross 7th Ave. to Duane Reade and do our shopping. I think we were buying hair stuff. Or maybe lipstick. Whatever, we bought something. Now, there were two doors to get into this particular store. One faced 7th Ave., the other faced 30th Street. Since we need to walk back down 7th, we go to that door. As we are about to walk through, with Dawn ahead of me, out springs Dirty Santa! He literally jumped into the door way and started shouting at Dawn. "I LOVE YOU, WOMAN!! I LOVE YOU, WOMAN!"

The two of us scream at the top of our lungs. It might be a busy Manhattan store on a busy avenue across from Madison Square Garden, but who's expecting to see an old man, with more agility than you'd think one would have at that age and being homeless, land infront of you screaming out his love? Yeah, you'd scream too.

She flew backwards into me and then the two of us put it in reverse, ran through the door on 30th street and took off across 7th Avenue with Dirty Santa still screaming "I LOVE YOU, WOMAN!!"


Every time I give someone money on the street, I've got to think of this guy. I'm sure he's passed on by now. Rest In Peace, Dirty Santa. I hope you have all the lovely women a dude could ask for!

Question- Does this qualify as a Tarantula?

 

This little treat was sitting by the old sink next to the washing machine in the basement the other day.

I went down to do some laundry and I saw it sitting there, just hanging out. This thing made that spider with the green fangs that I caught when we first got here look like a teddy bear. I knew I had to get a photo for emphasis, and I put the bottle cap there for perspective.  Aren't I helpful?

The thing barely moved when I put the bottle cap next to it. Just a slow shift, as if it was making room for the bottle cap. I took the picture, started the laundry cycle and told the spider to scram. I really don't want to kill these things. When i see them, I get creeped out... but I also think of my coven sisters, Lorraine and Hillary and I really can't kill them! How do I kill a creature connected to the goddess Athena and Arachne too???? (Arg!!!!!)

Fast forward about 15 minutes and I hear the rinse cycle on, so I run down to toss in some fabric softener. So exciting, I know. I get down to the stairs to see that the hose to the washing machine is no longer in the sink (its an old house. This is the way we roll here) but on the floor, and all the water getting sucked out is now on the floor too. All of it is running towards the drain by the shower (that's another post) but the tarantula is still sitting on the sink edge.

There's no way in hell I'm ducking under that ledge to get a hold of the hose with that thing sitting there. So I said, "Sorry, girl. You need to take a hike!" and I knocked it off the ledge. It hit the water and then climbed up onto a piece of wood that got knocked to the floor. And it just sat there. No running away, no crazed dance as it tried not to get killed. It just sat on the wooden life preserver and continued chillin' out. I had this thought that it was like an old dog, too tired to do anything more than just sit around. 

I'm kinda glad I didn't kill it. I haven't seen it in a few days, and that's good. But it better not be resting up some place, getting ready to pounce when I go collect the laundry tomorrow. If that thing comes at me I won't be held responsible!

I'm starting to develop a tick

I am. And it'd driving me crazy. I'm flinching and smacking myself every minute or so because I always feel like something is biting me. Well, something is often biting me (there are these hateful little flying bugs that bite and make mosquitoes look like teddy bears and I HATE them!) but not always. However, I feel it.

Can there be ghost insects?

Last night I saw the biggest ant I ever saw in my life. The biggest. I could have sat at a table and had tea with it. It thought it was going to creep across the floor without me seeing it... but I smashed that thing with a piece of shelf. It was like I was driven to kill. There was now way I could let it live. It gave me a twitch till I went to bed.

After smashing that bug I really wanted to go live someplace else. I want the bug sightings to stop. Please stop.

I don't think I can do this farm thing.

Because mouse traps don't upset me enough already

Earlier in the day of The Snake Wrangling Adventure, I had a horrifying mouse experience.

Let me set the stage for you:

Me, sitting in my living room, open laptop signed into Skype awaiting my first training chat (going to be a Doula Trainer for my certifying organization, Childbirth International!!). Still a bit sleepy at a few minutes to 9 am, in my jammies. Kids are playing upstairs. All seems normal.

The mournful meowing got my attention. My cat Morighan, who last summer was insistent on catching butterflies and bringing them to me (hello transformation!), comes out of the kitchen and into the living room. On to the floor she drops something out of her mouth and continues the weird meowing. Because what she dropped is obstructed my the table, I stand up to look at what's got her so emotional. And there in the middle of the floor is not only a mouse but a mouse with its head in a mouse trap. I thought it was alive because its paw moved and my heart broke.

I was more disturbed by this than anything with the snake.

My recurring 'oh my gods' brought the kids down from upstairs. Their appearance snapped me out of my panic and I ran to the kitchen to get paper towels because, you know, paper towels come in handy for just about anything.

Picking up the trap with the mouse hanging out of it, I headed out the front door with kids in tow. I realized the mouse was in fact deceased and for that I was grateful. Last thing I want to do is torture a creature.

We left it outside under a tree. Then Aidan started to cry, so we sat down in the living room and we asked the Goddess to take the mouse to heaven and help it come back as a baby mouse someplace far off in the woods, away from any people. He was comforted by that. I was too.

I had to laugh about Morighan later though. It was like she was claiming the kill. "I didn't kill it, but look! I carried it up the stairs and gifted you with this beautiful treasure! Don't you love me?"

Yes, Morighan, I do love you. But let's leave the dead rodents in the basement, 'k?

Wild Kingdom

So, I came home from my mother-in-laws where we were swimming this afternoon, and I went to head down the basement to put some laundry in the dryer. Good thing I left the light on down there, because this is what I saw at the bottom of the steps (Lori, close your eyes!).... 

 

Yep, there was a snake in the basement sitting in the tiny puddle (country basements do that), just chilling out. 

I said, "Oh. Hello."

I'm not a snake hater. Actually, I like snakes. I've always wanted one as a pet, but I'd be really sad to give it dead mice and there are no vegetarian snakes. That's why I had an iguana. Just this past May the kids and I played with some snakes at the Beltane fest Brid's Closet hosted up near Cornwall, NY. So, when I saw this snake squatting in my basement, I thought of those Beltane snakes. My only real concern was whether it was poisonous. My luck, I'd be all, "Hello snakey! You so pretty! Wanna be friends?" And then it would bite me and I'd die of venom poisoning. 

I also had to consider that as a Votary of Hekate, that snakes are sacred to Her. I wear a Hekate pendant designed by Janet Farrar that has snakes on it. Hekate is said to be serpent girdled, and snakes woven through Her hair. In the Prayer to Selene (which was probably really a prayer to Hekate), a line goes, "You are steely-blue with serpent-scales, O serpent-haired and serpent -girdled One." Also, while in Christianity as well as some other pagan religions and cultures, the snake has negative connotations, it also has positive symbolism such as healing, regeneration, fertility, and transmutation. 

I had to do right by this creature.

I tried to call Scott to find out if Indiana even was home to any poisonous snakes, but he didn't answer. So I walked over to Darren's where the kids had just gone. Our conversation went something like this: 

"Hey Darren, tell me about the snakes around here."

"Oh, we've got little garden snakes, black snakes. Stuff like that."

"So, what do you think one should do when there's a snake in their basement?"

"Are you kidding?"

"Nope."

"There's a snake in the basement?"

"Yep."

"God, I hate snakes."

I asked him if maybe I should just leave it alone and maybe it would go away. We considered this for a minute - or rather 5 seconds but when he mentioned, 'what if it gets upstairs' I knew that ignoring it wouldn't be the way to go. I like and respect you, Snakey... but you probably shouldn't be slithering around the joint.

We were going to have to catch the snake. 

Tools used:

-fishing net

-towel

I opted to add the towel because I used to use a towel to toss over our iguana when I had to wrangle him back to his cage. He was super strong and would spin like an alligator. That was always fun.

So, with the fishing net and the towel, the two of us with the boys watching went into the house and peered down the stairs. Snakey was now hanging out by the dryer.

"I gotta be fast," Darren said. "Because that snake is going to be fast."

A couple of deep breaths, and instructing the boys to clear a path for the escape route, we counted off and he went for it. One drop of the net and he had it under it. However, scooping it into the net would be hard, plus it had holes in it. That's where the towel would come in handy. 

He held it under the net, but told me, "I really don't want to grab that thing."

"I'll do it. Gimme that towel."

We did the hand off and just at that moment the snake found its way out from under the net. I had to grab it before it wiggled away and into hiding. 

First lunge and bam! I got it. It tried to swing around to bite me, but I've watched enough Surviorman and Man vs. Wild, and even garnered some tips from Jungle Bob when he'd make a visit to the bookstore with all his exotic, scaly friends back on LI to know that you grab a snake close to the head and not the tail.

With snake in hand, we all ran up the stairs cheering and headed out the door! The boys marched alongside me taking on some of the pride and acting like mini snake wranglers (tough faces and growls of mini-manhood galore) and I let the snake slither into the grass near the woods. 

Darren congratulated me with, "You're a country girl now!"

Maybe I'm adapting to this after all. ;)

How I beat the Heebie Jeebies

I've been creeped out since my Scott left to go back to NY last Wednesday morning. I'm out here in, what to me feels like the middle of nowhere and it gets dark. I mean, dark. I'm thankful that this property has a security light that comes on at night and stays on. It helps me to see in the bedroom. You know, 'cause I like a night light.

So, it gets super dark and I'm not in a town. I'm outside a town. I have a few neighbors, but they are a distance away. Its far like this - I wonder if I screamed, would Darren hear me? I've done this before when Scott & I house sat out here. I was alone at night because he worked a third shift. We stayed in the finished basement, which was fine by me. I could hide down there. I learned to sleep with the TV on and the lights on. I tried real hard not to go upstairs because I didn't want anyone too see me through the windows. And I literally had an escape plan. If the killers came down the stairs, I'd hide behind the fireplace (you could walk all the way around it) and then hit the stairs after they went into our room. Plus, I slept with a blow torch and a knife. I shit you not.

A few days after we left that house, it was broken into. They stole the desk that was next to our bed. Scott and his friend tried assuring me that they knew we'd moved out (there was still stuff in the house which the family was getting ready to auction), but I was still beside myself.

Now, I'm out here again and I'm alone. Well, I've got the kids, but at night that's the same as being alone. Bonus of it being 2011 instead of 1997 is I have a cell phone so I can call 911 or Darren from my hiding place if I have to. But anyway, this is supposed to be all about how I stopped being scared.

I was making sure that all the blinds were closed at night because with little light, I can't see out the windows and I didn't want any people wandering the farm fields to see me. I ended up pinning a blanket to the front door because its a lot of glass and the porch light doesn't work. That freaked me out the most. The blanket really helped me loosen up. I'm not running around naked, but I'm better.

And then I had a thought last night - 'What's more likely? Getting killed living where there are few people or in the City That Never Sleeps? Or even on Strong Island?'

That's when I realized how silly I was being.

How can I feel safe as a bug in a rug walking through a NYC subway station at 1 am, or let's say walking the street alone on 10th Avenue at night, or the Lower East Side, or Harlem, or wherever and be scared on a farm? I'm laughing at myself as I write this because even now I still think its less scary to be in any of those other places than here. I think it comes down to it being more familiar to me in a city setting. But knowing that technically its more dangerous in a city than in the country helped me chill out a bit.

However, I'm not in the clear. I just got a text from my brother (we text each other movie quotes) and as I stood up to answer it, I wondered if it was a killer texting me. I really need to make those wards to protect this house. I think I'll get on that tomorrow night!

I'm getting better, but I've just realized I ain't there yet. I think I'll keep the knife on the bedroom window sill tonight. Too bad I lack a blow torch.

The War on Fivel

 

I, 'City Mouse' am now at war with my country cousins. I found mouse sh*t on my counters this morning. 

It completely threw off the timing of all my plans. I had everything mapped out strategically last night before bed. Wake up, fed crazies, color hair, put stuff in the drier, get everyone dressed, head to Indy. Once in Indy, pick up the vacuum I scored on Craig's List (left mine in NY), go to Target for a trash can, Trader Joe's for goodies, and Staples for a router and paper. But noooo... I have to find Fivel's trail on my counters!!!

So ensued a crazed cleaning spree while feeling completely grossed out. And then I had to laugh at myself because not two months ago I considered getting Aidan and Ciaran mice from Petco. What's the difference? 

A cage. A cage where they can poo and not crawl all over my counters. That's the difference.

It's not like I didn't know there were mice around though. I saw one in the basement the other day. It decided to die on its own I think because a few days later I found it keeled over. I really don't think my cat-mouse-trap killed it as there were no visible wounds. Maybe it just decided to kick it instead of get mauled by a cat or caught in a trap? 

I was a bit squeamish about having traps around. I hate to kill anything. But Scott and the in-laws are right - I can't have them in the house. Especially not pooing on my counters. Little f*ckers. I'm opting for the old snap trap things over the glue pads. I just can't with the glue pads. If I have to kill them, I want it over with fast. I don't want them to know what hit them. With glue traps they get stuck there and die slow. I could never handle that. When I worked in the coffee bar on 40th Street in Manhattan, I would be the one laying on the floor of the back room, looking under the appliances and sinks at the struggling mice dying on the glue pads, crying and talking sweet to them. I soon got one the schedule of the Orkin Man and after he laid the glue traps... I'd sneak back there and get rid of them. Don't tell the Brother's Coffee Company. Oh, wait - they went out of business! Nevermind.

I probably invited them though. As I was cleaning the kitchen, I considered that dishes left in the sink overnight here probably isn't a good idea. Nor is leaving anything in a pot on the stove. My days of cleaning up in the morning are over, I think. Now I have to have everything all spic n'span before I can relax for the night. Damn you, Fivel! Get back on that ship for Russia. 

I also had to kill a wasp couple building a nest underneath my awning over the back door. I apologized profusely before I sprayed the killer spray. I dreaded that for days. They were so busy doing their thing, I just put it off and put it off. But then yesterday I got stung by a jackass wasp over at my mother-in-law's pool. Its like a big glass of water to those things and they are pretty unavoidable. It hurt like hell but keeping my arm in the 78 degree water helped. However, today it itches like crazy. I have to reach it with a brush or get Aidan to itch it for me. :) That's the bonus to having  little minions. 

So yeah. I killed the wasps before they could sting my kids. Or me. I guess it was one mother against another. 

Thank the Gods I was a Girl Scout

And not only that I was a Girl Scout, but that I was one of those Girl Scouts that actually went camping. A lot. I know there are ex-Scouts out there and probably current Scouts that never camp. Me on the other hand, I spent a massive chunk of time at Camp Edey. I lived full summers at Edey as a camp counselor in my teens. 1990 staff, I still love you with all my heart!

I think the way I feel about Camp Edey, in Bayport, Long Island is probably how some immigrants feel about their native countries. Its the 'Motherland.' I probably bonded with the place on my inaugural camping trip when I was in first grade; a Brownie would be the technical term. I apparently thought it was a great idea to sleep walk along the edge of the lake on the very first night and scare the shit out of my mother and the rest of the leaders - even the seasoned ones. Poor little me in my pink nightgown ( my mother was yet to be skilled in how to dress for outdoor living) tried to wake up my "buddy" to walk to the bathroom, as per the rules but she wouldn't get up. Seven year old me probably said, "If you won't wake up, buddy, I'll walk there myself!" And I wonder where Aidan gets his 'tude from. I must have fallen asleep standing outside the tent because that's the last thing I remember before my mother picked me up and brought me to the bath house. No, actually I have one fleeting memory of wandering through brush.

Back to my renewed thankfulness of my Girl Scout camping experiences. As of this evening, the bugs are coming out in droves in the house. Oh, and the mice. And let's not forget the bats. Maybe they knew Scott was leaving this morning. Maybe they said to each other, "She's going to be lonely. Let's hang out with her! Introduce her to the locals!" Or maybe it was more sinister like, "Let's freak the newbie out. She ain't seen bugs like us!"

However, I got three words for them - Bug Wax Museum.

Oh, yes. The Bug Wax Museum. I could add mice to that, and bats if they don't stay out of my hair. It's very simple to make actually, and could be useful as a sort of 'warning' to other bugs and rodents that I don't fuck around. In the case you feel this would be either a useful item or a conversation piece for your house, the following items are all you need to create your own Bug Wax Museum.

- large citronella candles
- sturdy paper or foam core
- a marker

You want to get those citronella candles in the buckets. This gives you a decent sized flame plus lots of surface area to give those bugs a good landing pool. Poor things really can't help it, even when scores of their brethren are floating in the hot melted wax, they still can't stay away from the flame. 

All you do is light it up and wait. Before long you'll have your first museum acquisitions. Just fish them out of the wax after they die, maybe with a stick or something and drop them on to your board. You may require extra wax to really adhere them to it, but don't use too much otherwise you'll obscure your art. After that, you can use your marker to individually name them with either their real species names, or get creative and give them people names. Camp Edey style was to go with the latter.

Then again, there's the side of me that wants to remain kind. I'm hearing the song from Miss Spider and her Sunny Patch Friends that goes 'Be good to bugs, be good to bugs, be gooooood to bugs!!!"

I saved a spider the other day. And it was pretty creepy looking. Dime sized and fuzzy, it also had green fangs. Yep, green fangs. I looked him up after I caught him in a cup with a plate for a lid - he was the Phidippus Audax, otherwise known as the Bold Jumper. He was harmless as well as relatively small, unlike the one in the kitchen tonight that I trapped under a cup and had Scott deal with. And he was kind of cute, in a spidery kind of way. But still, back off, bro. K?

Something oblong just flew by my head. It was as if it was saying, 'Back off? Back off!? How's this for back off?"

I whacked it with the back of a hair brush. How's that for dead?

Welcome to Indiana. Here's a tornado to kick things off.

Yep. We arrive and the weather gods decide to indoctrinate me and possibly re-indoctrinate Scott with some crazy weather. At least They gave us time to unload the truck.

I should have known there would be something. On the way from New York we got some insane rain coming into Ohio. Top that off with the fact that I hate Ohio (at least I hate the Ohio I see from I-70). We decided to stop at a pet-friendly hotel only to find that almost every hotel was full. I guess all the travelers on I-70 decided to hit the hotels too. But we did find a place and settled all cats and kids by 2 am.

Anyway, back to the tornadoes.Warnings and watches crawled across every local channel on TV and we watched the Doppler radar like they were the Presidential elections (somehow I suspect more people watch the Doppler than the elections, but that's another story). So many counties were lit up with warnings and at one point the county we are in went red too. It wasn't until late in the evening that the first warning sirens went off.

It sort of brought me back to my first days in the Midwest before Scott and I were married. We house sat for his friends parents at the grandparents home, which is actually just across a farm field from here. Scott's mother told me, "If you hear something that sounds like a train, get in the basement." This Long Island girl was horrified. I'm not sure which statement scared me more, that or "If you have to call 911, don't give them the address. Just say Flora Lee's house and they'll find you faster." If I didn't love Scott, I'd have started driving back to NY right then and there. And P.S. I think they'd just recently gotten the 911 option. It was 1996.

So, the sirens go off in the town and my in-laws are saying its for the more southern part of the county. Good ol' Doppler is confirming that, but I put nothing past Mother Nature. I'm then informed that at our new place I probably won't hear the sirens... so I'll need one of those emergency storm radios.

Toto, I don't think we are in New York anymore.

Just before we put the boys to bed, the sirens go off again and it's determined that we should sleep on the main floor in case we have to get to the basement. Poor Aidan was really nervous and it took a while for him to fall asleep. Ciaran on the other hand went right out as he didn't understand as much. Then we lost power. Awesome.

At around 4 am, power returned and in the morning we woke up to a misty day. All in the clear. A few tornadoes touched down about an hour from here and a bad part of the storm had headed for Indy. Everything ended up ok there. Knowing what had happened in Joplin was nerve wracking but the tornadoes in and around Bloomington weren't as devastating.

Driving out to our house that morning, I decided to go a different way than I had been the day or two before. Intuition is an amazing thing because the way I went that morning wasn't really the way I like to go. But I did it anyway, and it avoided me seeing a lot of the damage initially. I didn't actually notice the big tree down in the front part of the property because I was too focused on the drive up the hill. But the big piece of tree lying in the drive caught my attention.

Scott and his father drove up behind me and we moved the branches. Then we got to the top of the hill to find trees snapped at their bases in the windbreak, large branches broken out of trees along the property, the lawn littered with small branches and our neighbor/landlords truck grazed by another tree. Power was still out because power lines were down. Actually the power poles had been snapped at the bases along the road I like to drive in on that I avoided. A barn had its roof peeled open like a giant came along and peeked into see what lived inside. And really, this was nothing. This was nothing compared to what that kind of weather can kick up.

Darren, our neighbor and Scott's friend said it was the worst tree damage that they'd seen up here. He held his arms out as he looked at me and said, "I don't know, Tamrha. Welcome to Indiana!"