Maybe I'll just post updates every time we have a disaster. That seems regular enough.
So I was getting a lift home with a classmate during the 5.7 and home for the 6.3 yesterday. That one did make me get under the desk. You hear poetic descriptions about houses bucking and plunging like rodeo horses, or boats on the sea, during quakes? Quite accurate really. The wee after-after shocks are ongoing.
Still, our place is once again holding together. The cracks in the walls and foundations have shifted a bit more but I reckon this place is as flexible as a bellydancer. We are also helped by the sheer good fortune of being on a pretty solid bit of ground here (very puggy clay as far down as we can dig). We once again had a bit of liquefaction in the drive and on the street but the garden remains okay. I'm hearing reports of friends who are inundated all over again, and I can only imagine their despair and fatigue this morning. We're ready with shovels if anyone needs a hand.
One of our two chooks has stopped laying for now (winter and moulting related I think rather than fright!) and it's very obvious which one. Concepta's comb has shrunk and lightened until she looks like a large pullet. It will be interesting to see if she starts laying again by Spring - I'm told the intensive breeds like shavers lay very well for the first couple of years and then production drops away very fast compared to older breeds.
I was to be starting my winter pruning class at the BHU today but both it and Lincoln are closed while assessments are carried out. All the libraries are closed too while the engineers go in again so I don't know what I'll be doing on Wednesday. We're on standby for library or welfare work. The staff who were on at my current work reported damage before they left but everyone's okay, we believe, so that's a relief. The Lyttelton timeball station has finished what it started in February and is now collapsed. The tunnel is open again though. Solid beast, that tunnel.
I am very grateful for online communications in these situations. In February, being without power and cellphone for even just a few days illustrated just how easily you can be isolated. I had no idea how my colleagues had fared in the central city for several days. My only clue was that Central Library had not been mentioned on the radio so I clung to the "No news is good news," hope. This time we were lucky and kept have and internet (though lost water).
Righty, enough typing. Off to see what the day brings.
Still, our place is once again holding together. The cracks in the walls and foundations have shifted a bit more but I reckon this place is as flexible as a bellydancer. We are also helped by the sheer good fortune of being on a pretty solid bit of ground here (very puggy clay as far down as we can dig). We once again had a bit of liquefaction in the drive and on the street but the garden remains okay. I'm hearing reports of friends who are inundated all over again, and I can only imagine their despair and fatigue this morning. We're ready with shovels if anyone needs a hand.
One of our two chooks has stopped laying for now (winter and moulting related I think rather than fright!) and it's very obvious which one. Concepta's comb has shrunk and lightened until she looks like a large pullet. It will be interesting to see if she starts laying again by Spring - I'm told the intensive breeds like shavers lay very well for the first couple of years and then production drops away very fast compared to older breeds.
I was to be starting my winter pruning class at the BHU today but both it and Lincoln are closed while assessments are carried out. All the libraries are closed too while the engineers go in again so I don't know what I'll be doing on Wednesday. We're on standby for library or welfare work. The staff who were on at my current work reported damage before they left but everyone's okay, we believe, so that's a relief. The Lyttelton timeball station has finished what it started in February and is now collapsed. The tunnel is open again though. Solid beast, that tunnel.
I am very grateful for online communications in these situations. In February, being without power and cellphone for even just a few days illustrated just how easily you can be isolated. I had no idea how my colleagues had fared in the central city for several days. My only clue was that Central Library had not been mentioned on the radio so I clung to the "No news is good news," hope. This time we were lucky and kept have and internet (though lost water).
Righty, enough typing. Off to see what the day brings.