When the clouds come in and the rains start, it’s so familiar to me. I know the smell, the feel against my face and the droplets on my hair as I try to walk through the day unaffected, un-noticed. That’s how it was for me in Seattle. The rain comes but rarely hard, mostly light and misty. You don’t carry an umbrella, it’s a hassle, and it gets left places, because it does stop raining sometimes and when it does, the umbrella gets left behind.
I really don’t like the rain or the cold so I don’t know what possessed me to live in Seattle for most of my life. I guess I really didn’t know the difference so I just lived with it. It wasn’t until I started taking vacations to warm sunny places until I realized how much I loved the sun and hot humid weather. Florida, Sicily, Alabama, Oklahoma, these were places I didn’t want to leave. Oklahoma seemed the best idea at the time as a place to live, and still does but I could have easily ended up somewhere else. But I’m glad it was here.
That’s something the rain does to me. It gets me thinking about the past and curious about the future. In a melancholy kind of way I go to this place in my head where everything and everyone has deep profound meaning. The colors are bright but silent. The earth is soft and full. I can tell the goats don’t really appreciate it, but the sheep seem pretty happy out grazing. What a beautiful sight that is. Sometimes I can’t believe the beauty my eyes are able to take in.
Spring for a farmer can be a blessing and a curse. I mean we usually get a lot of rain in April which is good in so many ways. The flip side is, it makes the place muddy and not so pretty. It’s hard to get into the fields and plant or harvest or weed but you do it anyway, its warm but you still need to put on your rain pants and rubber boots, so it’s sticky, your sticky. But the grass and leaves on the trees sparkle and dance. The birds sing loud and you’re out in it, a part of it just as much as the frogs, birds, grass blades, leaves, wet hay, bark, the warn paths through the pasture. Here we all are together as one living breathing earth. These are the moments I try to keep fresh in my mind, melting away the sadness and frustration of the morning news stories on NPR. Spring rains and the unfolding life in front of me smoothes out the ragged painful memories of the past and spring rains always promise a future.