THE SOUND OF RAIN
There is nothing quite as peaceful and soothing as the sound
of rain falling outside your window.
Unless, of course, it is the heavenly scent of rain - petrichor. They announce to your soul that all is well
with the world. That plants will grow,
that we will have shelter from the trees and food from the fields and gardens,
that animals will be fed and watered.
That our lives will be filled with abundance simply because water falls
from the sky.
We woke to that sound and smell this morning. It wasn’t a surprise, the weather people had
been telling us it was on the way for several days, but it wasn’t quite as much
of a blessing as we would have liked. If
the predictions are true this rain is too early and way too much.
At first they were talking about only a half inch for
today. That would have been perfect for
the middle of May. Seeding has been
going great guns for two weeks – some farmers are almost done, some are
halfway, and some just nicely started. A
half inch would give them a day of maintenance time for both human bodies and farm
machinery, but the downtime would be short-lived. They would be rolling again in no time.
This newer forecast of 4 inches over 5 or 6 days is a whole
other matter. That much moisture will
stop fieldwork for two weeks; you can’t plant in the rain or in the mud, and if
we get 4 inches there is going to be a lot of mud. Everyone in our neighbourhood worked late
last night trying to get as much planted as possible. If this plays out as predicted there will be
two distinct harvests in the fall of 2025 – the crops that were planted pre
rain, and what went into the ground after it was dry enough to go again.
Farmers weren’t the only ones pushing to get done though –
gardeners play by the same rules for the same reasons. Knowing that the rain was coming I put in
some long, physical hours to get my garden tilled and planted. Except for tomatoes I can call that job done,
and I have the sun/wind burn and sore muscles to show for my work. It’s not perfect and I got a little
devil-may-care rebellious with my farmer’s expectations of straight rows toward
the end. Heat and wind and mosquitoes
(who knew that all three could exist at the same time?) weakened my give-a-damn
on all rows after the onions. He can worry
about perfection on his own rows. It’s
hardly a level playing field though - he has GPS on his tractor and my method
and tools pretty primitive in nature; two stakes and a length of bale twine.
It's not raining at this moment and the little voice in my
head keeps telling me that I should be out getting some bedding plants and
dahlias planted. A slightly louder voice
insists that if it rains 4 inches that flower bed will be under water for a
week and everything will be drowned out so my work and the plants will all be
wasted. I’m listening to the loud mouth
because I just want to be lazy today. I
anticipate regretting this decision at some time in the not-too-distant future.
Instead I will spend my afternoon happily tapping away at my
keyboard and then make an actual sit down meal for supper where we eat together
at an hour typically associated with the evening meal, and then have the dishes
done before bedtime.
It’s funny how it’s the little things that make a person
happy.
Like waking up to the sound of rain gently falling on the
roof and the scent of petrichor on the wind.
It’s not the desired amount for this moment in time, but the
sound is still soul-cleansing and the smell is divine.
