I Don't Mind The Rain
'Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall'. That was a hit song in the 50's by the Ink Spots. Then there's Annie on Broadway shouting, 'The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow'. Rain is an inspiration to song writers and composers. We have nursery rhymes, movies, songs of love and the blues. Rain in your life means downtime. Time to reflect and regenerate. Time for change. Just wait, like the song says, 'it's always a day away'.
Think of what Edison did with a positive and a negative. My philosophy is that rain and sun together, make a rainbow. Over the years I had the habit of giving names to my rains. Among them, is The Hard Rain, The Soft Rain, and The Porch Rain.
The Hard Rain
It was one of the hottest days of July. I was at my best friend’s house playing school, a much loved game for a 10 year old. She lived half a mile from me and we often walked back and forth on the little dirt road between her house and mine. A long hot dry spell had turned the dirt to a soft powder. It felt like silk under our bare feet.
On a whim, we made a dash back to my house. Her mother opened the screen door and yelled a warning, “You kids better hurry, it’s gonna rain!” That went in one ear and out the other. Peggy found a piece of broken glass and marked off some squares in the dirt and we played hop scotch. Cicadas were chanting their spiritual song so loud I covered my ears. My daddy said Cicada's could predict the weather. And he was right. A clap of thunder rolled down so loud, it rattled the trees. A whirl of wind picked up our dresses, spinning dust and leaves in a tight circle around us, sucking up the hop scotch squares.
We glanced over our shoulders at the dark purple clouds and a heavy rain was headed straight down the lane toward us. The drops hit the ground like bullets and the silky dust billowed in front. “Rain, I can smell the rain!” Peggy shouted. I shouted back, “I’ll race ya’!” We screamed to the top of our voice and took off running. It overtook us, pelting our backs, warm and invigorating like a hundred fingers. We jumped on the porch out of breath, laughing and exhilarated from the race. Then Peggy jumped off the porch and ran back out. Her sash untied and dragging the ground. Turning in circles, her arms flying like a windmill. Her head tilted back and her tongue stuck out catching the rain. Today she’s a school teacher, a mother, and close to retirement. He hair is turning a little gray around the temples, like mine. But to me she will never grow old. She is stuck in my mnd at 10. Turning circles, doing windmills in the rain and sticking out her tongue to drink heavenly water. I love her.
The Soft Rain
We never painted the barn. It was left to the will of the wind. It stood bold and beautiful, holding much more than the farmer’s bounty. It was open house for hoofs, a castle for mice and cats, a sanctuary for birds, and an island of adventure for climbing boys. For me, it was the hay loft.
Nothing could make me happier on a rainy day than to put on my boots and blue jeans and visit Mike and Jake, the horses. I’d stand on Mike’s back and lift myself up to the loft. Then lay in the new cut hay flat on my back and listen to a soft rain on the tin roof. A kitten would surely find me and chew my boots and walk all over me. Cats are necessary animals to any barn. They eat the mice that eat the corn that feeds the horse that pulls the plow. Hi Ho The Merry-O.
It was in this environment that I developed my country ears. Listening to nature, filled me with a peace that I keep in reserve, to call on in lean times.
The Porch rain
I was born in a two story country house my grandfather built. It had three porches. The back porch was lined with Mason fruit jars and baskets of every size for preserving fruits and vegetables from a half acre garden. The play porch was on the side with sport shoes and basketballs. The front porch was a social place with rocking chairs and a swing hanging from the ceiling. Neighbors would often stop by to ‘set a spell’ to hear the latest news of the grapevine.
Ours was a big family and a busy household. The chores were unending,but one thing that brought us all together was a rolling thunder , sure to bring rain. We gathered on the porch to watch the storm. Even the dogs found a place to curl up. Chickens clucking like old ladies gathered under the porch and sat quiet. The first rain drop hit the tin roof, then another, then quickly rushed to a downpour. Thunder rattled the windows and we waited. There was something calming about those rains. Across the fields you could see water rushing toward little ditches finding a level. Everybody was quiet and seemed to zone into their own thoughts. Maybe it was a form of meditation. When the rain calmed and the thunder rolled off into the distance, we broke ways feeling humbled by the great show of nature. I felt and respected the power.
The sun came out bright and everything was shiny clean. I loved to jumping in small puddles and writing my name on a piece of ground made smooth by the rain. Water dripped from the roof and small crevices, and into tin buckets gradually slowing to a stop. When everything seemed back to normal, the chickens would wander out cautiously and scratch the clean new canvas. I’ll have to say, the Porch rain was one of my favorite rains.
However, today the sun is shining! I think I’ll stop writing and go call Peggy.