The storm last night was a wild one.

It knocked the power out, blew pumpkins off the porch, dismember wind chimes, who rang themselves to death, tossed the garbage cans around, tore a dozen limbs off of our birch three, blew cushions from the front porch all over the yard, carried a pooper scooper into the pasture, and knocked the portable toilet from the Open House down, spilling some gross chemicals and smells over the lawn.

That was an impressive storm and wind, especially in the middle of the night. Much howling and blowing.

Our old farmhouse was built like a fort, and even though I heard some mice scurrying for cover behind the walls, the house didn’t even creak.

Things are getting back to normal, it’s cold and rainy but the wind has died down and the sheep and donkeys are peering out of the pole barn, where they spent the night.

At 3 a.m., I woke up and had a dream that our Little Free Library had blown over. Sometimes the wind blows the library door open. Over the weekend, we put a new hook and eye latch on the library but in the dream it blew open in the mind. The was was pouring over the books, the wind was blowing them into the road.

I was sort of sleepwalking, but it felt like a nightmare and I had to go see.

I got up, put a robe on, stepped into some slippers,  and walked out of the house with Fate at my side – she is always up for anything.

I walked out into the wind (it was still warm then) and headed out towards the road.

I can’t imagine what I was thinking, leaves and limbs and garbage cans were blowing all over the place, the driving rain blew into my face,  and the wind bent me over, my robe practically blowing off of my body. I had this vision of books being ruined and blowing all over the road.

I can only imagine what I looked like, but the sky was black and there was almost no traffic on the road. Only lunatics would be walking around.

At first, I was unable to see even a few feet in front of me. And then I walked into the Tin Man, standing proudly on our lawn, and he was not bothered by the storm.

It was so black outside I just went by the feel of the gravel driveway under my feet and I knew I was close when a giant truck roared by and lit up the mailbox and the library. If he saw me, he must have thought I was some kind of ghost.

I was about 15 feet off, to the north, and about to walk into the highway. I made my way to the library, and felt the front door.

Our little latch held beautifully, the library was secure and dry. I turned back, drenched,  but this time, I could see the kitchen light through the wind and rain. Fate and I, both soaked, got back into the house and went to bed. Gus was curled up in a ball next to Maria’s knees.

Maria, still asleep, mumbled something and asked if I was okay.  I told  her that the Little Free Library was safe. She mumbled something incomprehensible and drifted off.

She is a wonderful sleeper and I deeply resent her for it.

The barn and animals and house escaped unscathed, but when things died down, the only thing outside that remained untouched was Ed Gulley’s Tin Man, the new symbol of the farm. He didn’t move an inch and seemed unfazed. I’m paying Ed Gulley $50 a month for him, I will be paying him off for years.

But like the flag in the song, it was great to see him up there in the morning. He’s not going anywhere. he has a lot of heart.

Maria and I have been through this drill countless times, we are the kind of people who are calm as glass in a crisis, and nervous when we don’t need to be. We just got down to it, we both knew what to do.

I started picking up the tree limbs, we pushed the light toilet up on it’s feet. I hosed down the chemical waste, which dissolved into the grass.

It looked worse than it was. The power seems to be on for the duration of the storm, the yard is cleaned up.

Maria checked the pole barn and cleaned out the manure – the animals were in there all night. We gathered the broken chimes, collected the garbage cans, put the cushions back onto the chairs. Then we had breakfast and went to work. Just another morning.

As usual, Maria is worried that she isn’t working hard enough, or making enough of her art. She is never really at peace if she is not making art, she is in her studio. She is there now. I told her it always takes awhile after a vacation to settle back in.

She’s getting there.

Today or tomorrow, I’ll get back to the Mansion. Thursday, I’ll go to Albany to meet Ali and the refugees. Time to get back to doing good.

I gave the Tin Man a pat on the head. “Of course you have a heart,” I said. Just like your creator.