Huddling Inside As A Spring Storm Passes

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The view outside my study window is once again a canopy of green that nearly blots out the sky. My time spent in this study, enjoying this view, has come full circle through the seasons. On this morning a cold front is beginning to push through, promising to push temperatures down 20 degrees in a few hours. A thunderstorm is brewing. The rumbles send the dogs scurrying so close to my chair that when I roll back from the desk I risk running over one or the other of their tails. They don’t like thunder and seem to blame it on me. Both Sam and Rosie cast baleful looks my way, as if to say, “Make those dreadful, scary noises stop.”

I find few things more enjoyable than being inside this study during a thunderstorm, watching through its large picture windows as the wind lashes the branches, rain sweeping across the driveway. The dogs and I are inside safe and dry — a full day ahead with nothing to do but write, since the rain precludes any outside work.

I dearly love these trees. As I have written before, it is as if we live in the midst of a park. But, my goodness, even after the extended winter raking season ended, our paradise of pines, pin oaks, sweet gums and red oaks created a lot of unexpected springtime work, shedding all manner of detritus as their leaves came forth. I foolishly thought pollen season had ended two weeks ago and climbed on the roof and worked my way down, blowing all the oak clusters, and pollen polyps down to the ground, pressure-washing much of the house and deck. I spent most of a Saturday on this endeavor. By Monday, the windows were tinged again in yellow, the roof was once more covered with oak clusters, and the driveway was dotted with sweetgum balls.

I am finally learning the cycle of these trees and will be better prepared next year to not waste my labor. Right now, the pine trees are shedding their peanuts. Maybe this norther, with its heavy rain and wind, will prove the siren song of pollen season. I ventured outside when the rain briefly abated to watch a yellow river of rain running down the street.

The swimming pool has also been a vexing learning experience. A long-suffering buddy helped me take the cover off a few weeks ago. The cover was also covered in pollen, which had dried to the consistency of dried yellow paint. It took a couple of hours with a pressure washer to clean the cover. As for the pool, the water once uncovered looked as if it could host the Creature from the Black Lagoon. I had already placed a call to a pool company, figuring I would need professional help getting the pool restored to where I could maintain it. But I had no idea it would look quite this toxic.

The pool guy was unfazed. He set about vacuuming and brushing the bottom and sides, tossed in a couple of pounds of lethal chemicals, told me to run the pump a few hours, then turn it off. He said he would be back in a week to finish the job, and then the water would be back its pristine clarity.

I checked the pool’s water temperature. It was 48 degrees. Good grief. I was paying a pool guy what turned out to be $300 to clean out the swamp, and there is no way any of us are going to be swimming in 48-degree water. That is 20 degrees colder than Barton Springs in Austin, which I can barely stand for more than 5 minutes. The joys of pool ownership. As my buddy who both helped put the pool cover on last fall and take it off in early April has said often, there aren’t many people who own swimming pools more than once in their lives. Count me among them.

But that is OK. I will enjoy the pool as long as I own this house. For now, the water is pristine, although I must go out twice a day and clean the skimmer of about five pounds of pine tree peanuts. It is a good thing I work from the house. As soon as the storm passes, I’ll make another inspection.

The thunder has abated, but a steady rain continues. The dogs have calmed down and returned to their usual positions on the prairie sofa I built several years ago for the sole purpose of taking naps. I think I’ll join them for a 30-minute siesta, before resuming my stint at the computer screen. It’s that kind of day.

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