Weather App

A few of the picnic tables are occupied, as dark clouds move in over the strip, temporarily eclipsing city traffic, sirens, air brakes, and muffler-less road bike noise. One man stands like a statue, his mobile phone aloft, aimed towards the sky. "60 mile an hour winds coming, & hail", he announces, accurately mimicking his weather app. We still have work to do, so I take his report with a grain of salt, not ignoring it, but not yet convinced. We see a lot of weather pass by, as gardeners. Much of it grazes us, some of it imposes volatility on the day, but it's rare that our operations come to a standstill. I take pride in my artful scheduling, despite the failures. The air is getting dense. Some drops? Yes. I look around for my crew. Nikki rushes over. She has experience with tornadoes, hailing from the mid-west. "I think we ought to pack up," she says, grabbing tools, and buckets, and heading for the truck. My gut tells me, she's right. Long story short, next thing we know, we're eating our sandwiches, two of us in the Chevy, two in the Toyota, pounded on by a torrential downpour. The big wind must have gone north, and no hail. Finally the storm begins to move out, and there is Nikki again, this time at my truck window. "On the house!", she mouths. I roll down the driver's side glass just in time, as an overflowing portion of hot french fries arrives, steaming & aromatic, only barely contained by their humble cardboard box. "Do you want catsup?" she says, her smile filled with excitement. I nod yes, and take two small dollops, housed in tiny, scalloped paper cups. Another day in the life of the gardeners, at Al’s French Fries. More soon, as the gardening season progresses, and the root beer floats keep coming.