I have a preoccupation with the weather. I blame it partly on my British parentage but it also has to do with two other things. Firstly, when we moved to McGregor, I ditched the tumble dryer. I don't want another and if we have a rainy winter, I have to be creative. But. I hate living in laundry lane. Secondly, thirdly and fourthly, the market. Where we set up is entirely open to the elements and while trees might keep the sun off one, they certainly don't stop the rain. At this time of year we watch for wind and rain. While we can and do trade when the wind blows - it's interesting - rain's another matter.
Last Friday I sent this to my market pal:
Usually that means that there's little chance of rain. Usually. On Saturday when I started doing my thing at 6am and ventured on to the cold porch, all seemed dry. Imagine my surprise an hour later and when I opened the curtains and looked down from the bedroom on to the road to find it bright, shiny and wet. The rain must have been more fine and gentle than fairy dust. We have a tin roof and we heard not a drip or a drop. I was convinced that by the time we packed to leave, it would be dry.
It was. But as we packed the rain started. Then it stopped. It poured as we headed down the road. And stopped. We all hovered and cogitated and then saw a patch of blue sky, unpacked and set up. It was a showery market until 10.50am by which time we - and our wares - were all drippy, sodden and grumpy. Things like bags and soap that should not be wet, let alone damp, were. Packing up was a challenge to ensure no further damage was done ...
Unpacking was a matter of emptying water out of things and spreading things out to dry to stop an even bigger, soggier mess before having brunch let alone counting the sheckles.
Well, when I did get to do that, I did get a surprise: the best gross sales of the month. Confirms two things we always say: the weather is not a predictor and there is ab-so-lu-te-ly no real pattern to market sales.
I had a list of things I needed to get done on Saturday afternoon, but no. Just as the eggs had gone into the pan for brunch a friend arrived. Unexpectedly. Uninvited. When he left I had half an hour to sort out the now dry market bits and head to my long overdue catch up with "the gals". It's not happened for a few weeks because I joined The Husband to watch rugby.
Yes, I came home with a pretty bunch of Swiss Chard. A gift. It had to go into a vase. That, too, was a gift.
Sunday was cold and grey and nothing much to report other than trying to get ahead of Monday and keep my promise of a Hive anniversary post. I am working hard on working on that long list of promises to keep.
Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa
Photo: Selma
Post script
If this post might seem familiar, it's because I'm doing two things:
@artywink
@hive.blog and Canva.