The Back Forty

Good gravy! Didn’t I just blog?!?
Nine more posts will complete blogging for Every Damn Day December.
(I may take January off!)

Our property here extends beyond what’s within the yard. Beyond our fence, we own another acre, which we refer to quaintly as, “The Back Forty.” Apparently not everyone understands this phrase, but it’s an old expression for the least productive area of land on a farm, but it’s used to describe a far off place on a property, even sometimes, parking lots.

Our back forty really is undeveloped. I have visions of goats and garden patches, not together of course, but for now, it’s just lawn and a few other oddities; scraps of wood and branches for bonfires, a horseshoe set-up, and the burial place of one unfortunate run-over squirrel.

Right now, it’s “The Back Floody!” I’d bet it’s knee-deep in some places. Yes, my knee. Yes, I’m short — but still! Shows me where I won’t be planting…

Kinda hopin some ducks will show up.

Last night, my phone sent off an extremely loud and scary alarm, to let me know that there was a flash flood warning.

This gave me a serious fit of anxiety. I’m not afraid of flash floods, but I’m easily startled by sudden loud noises.
(You’re so glad you don’t have anxiety disorder.)
I made a cuppa herbal tea and waited for my heart rate to return to normal, while my friends led me to the settings that would make it impossible for my phone to scare the shit out of me ever again.

Our house is not in the flood plain, our ground is a bit higher on this side of the street, and our house is on a crawlspace, so floods aren’t really anything to worry about.

The people on the other side of the street are living on houseboats, it seems. No damages, but certainly inconvenience. Someone joked about building the ark, but I thought it was raining far too hard to do any sort of outdoor woodwork…