Monday I spent in the office in Providence, catching up on neglected tasks. Today I spent at home assembling notes from the Ohio trip. I ranged outside only to cut some hay from the overgrown yard for the guinea pig - and bring in a load of not-too-damp firewood to burn away the chill of the house. At a glance, I saw that at least one row of the potatoes had come up and Monica had let the asparagus bed get completely away from her. The rhubarb, as usual, bolted immediately, despite Jane's pruning.
It is now nighttime, and pouring down rain, and the rain is pouring into the spouting and then back out in a long loud sheet, probably because the pine tree has clogged everything with fallen cones and needles. The basement entryway is a waterfall, but I'll trust to the sump pump to deal with the inflow, because to not trust it means climbing a ladder in this cold drenching night rain. If the lightning doesn't knock the power out -- we should be OK until morning.