It was a bit of a surprise this morning to look out of the window and see that one of the hen houses was not where I'd left it last night. A gust of wind had not only blown it over once, but several times. It was down the field, belly up.
On reflection I think the residents, Mrs Scraggy-neck and the two Wynadotte bantams, were even more surprised than me. They, after all, were the ones bowled over in the night's terrifying windy darkness. I imagine them swept off their perch and floating in mid-air like birds in a space rocket, surrounded by hen-house detritus; a nest box, a grit hopper, clouds of shavings and wisps of hay - all suddenly and unexpectedly weightless. They emerged a bit wide-eyed and clucky but were soon mollified with a handful of corn.
So all's well that ends well. The hen house is now reinstated and I have ensured tonight's stability with a sturdy oak beam used flying buttress fashion. It's always good to see an architectural principle in practice isn't it?