Have you heard the term “perfect storm”? It’s sort of like Murphy’s Law, which states that, “What can go wrong, will go wrong.” But, the perfect storm is more about having a variety of separate mishaps converging to create havoc.

Historically, “the perfect storm” occurred on Nov. 1, 1991. This true story involved a commercial swordfishing boat named the Andrea Gail, based in Gloucester, Massachusetts, and its ill-fated attempt for one last late-season fishing expedition. It went beyond its normal fishing grounds to a spot where the crew pulled in a massive haul. That’s when things started going wrong.

First their ice machine quit, so they needed to hurry to shore with their catch. Then two strong weather systems impeded their way back to port. Extremely rough seas broke off their radio antenna, just as the two weather systems converged into Hurricane Grace above them. Another ship radioed a Mayday call for them and a New York Air National Guard rescue helicopter responded, but was unable to accept a mid-air refueling and ditched into the ocean.

Forty-foot waves caused a loose anchor to ram a hole in the side of the ship, and two crewmen were temporarily thrown overboard. The ship finally managed to turn toward home, but a huge rogue wave capsized it, trapping the crew below deck. In the end, all were lost in what became known as “the perfect storm.”

While I don’t live near an ocean and even writing the foregoing makes me feel seasick, the compounding of events beyond our control is a scenario that sometimes afflicts all of us. Such was the case when Dennis and I were attempting to get two bays and a hay mow in the upstairs of our barn presentable for the neighborhood gathering I mentioned last week.

What seemed like a manageable task proved to be unexpectedly challenging. We discovered there was a lot more to it than pulling the tractors outside and sweeping the floors. Foremost was getting rid of the considerable accumulation of hay and straw remnants.

We decided to shovel these scraps out through one of the little double doors in the front of the barn and into the barnyard below. From there, our tractor’s bucket could load it onto the dump truck for disposal. Handling the chaff this way was relatively easy, though it did make a lot of nasty dust, so we wore masks to keep from breathing it in.

Removing the hay and straw was not a one-day job, which wasn’t a problem until our barn painter arrived. First, we couldn’t have the barn doors open because of the initial pressure washing to remove loose paint. Then, after the painting began, we couldn’t risk the dust getting stuck to the paint. Our solution was to sweep the remaining hay, straw and other biodegradables down one of the hay holes and into a recently vacated stable below.

As the painters were applying paint to the barn one afternoon, I heard a concerning noise outside in the field across the road. I investigated and saw our farmer and his crew had arrived to combine our soybeans. That’s always a dusty job, but especially so this year, when drought conditions have made for particularly parched soybeans. When I saw the combine creating a serious dust storm, I started to panic. Fortunately, the weather vanes atop the barn showed the wind was taking the dust away from the barn, so I heaved a sigh of relief and went back to clearing cobwebs and restacking pallets upstairs in the barn.

At day’s end, I was relieved to see the combine parked across the road for the night. With our early soybeans harvested, I figured the crew was planning to move to our neighbor’s soybean field the next day.

In the morning, the painters returned and began applying another coat of paint and then blacking the hinges on the barn doors that were already completed. I was working upstairs in the barn when I heard the combine start up later that morning. As I peered out an upstairs barn door, I was dismayed to see they had switched grainheads on the combine and were apparently preparing to harvest our corn— a small field directly from the barn and a much larger one surrounding our house on three sides. I trotted across the road to express my concerns about remnants of corn husks gluing fast to our new paint. Fortunately, the wind was again in our favor, and the painter explained that the paint was quick-drying.

With two days left until our neighborhood barn party, Dennis and I had big plans for wrapping up the barn cleaning in plenty of time. But that was before we took our ailing dog Tillie to a veterinary appointment, where we learned she had a life-threatening condition that required an immediate trip to an emergency vet clinic. We willingly spent the rest of our day transporting poor Tillie to a facility in the Philadelphia area, where she would spend the next five days.

With only one day left before the party, we redoubled our barn cleaning efforts and lowered our standards. All our neighbors seemed to think the barn looked great anyway, and Tillie started showing signs of improvement, so at least our perfect storm that week had a happy ending.

Columnist Sue Bowman finds some interesting tools as she prepares for a barn gathering.

Orange shows up in many forms in the fall, including some new four-legged friends.

Columnist Sue Bowman finds that her goats enjoy dining on some leftovers.

Sue Bowman is a freelance writer in southeastern Pennsylvania.

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