Wednesday, July 19, 2023

It Rained

The entire month of June was dry.  That's not how it's supposed to be.

Half of July passed, and still there was no precipitation.  Things were beginning to look dire.  My two year old desert willow was becoming unmoored from its home.  Animals had taken up residence beneath its root ball, as evidenced by the multitude of holes dug around the tree line.  Without sufficient rainfall, the tender new roots were shriveling up.  The upper branches were still green, but the leaves were brown.  If I could reach them I'd pluck them off; I do not like dead foliage trying to draw nutrients they don't need.

The leaves are the little engines that could.  They are the factory that changes sunlight and CO2 into oxygen and sugars to fuel the planet and the plant.  Without them, there's not much that the branches and the trunk can do.  My newbie was struggling, mightily.

But yesterday afternoon, the 40% chance of rain was moving closer and closer to actual clouds overhead.  They were big and dark and accompanied by fierce winds.  Hours passed.  The wind kept blowing, tossing the eucalyptus bark from the neighbor's tree to fill my pool and my yard and my roof with detritus.  

How do I know it landed on the roof?  When the heavens opened and dumped a torrential downpour, large hunks of eucalyptus bark came flying out of the rooftop scuppers.  The water was fire hose powerful.  The wind stopped and the rain fell straight from the sky.

I was on the phone with my littlest grandkid, Honey Bunny.  Her mom props the phone in front of her face and we video chat.  She talks more to Grampa than to me, but I am rarely at a loss for words so it's all fine. When the rain started I must have yelped in surprise because I was rewarded with what I think of as her Confusion Face.

There's a lot that's new when you're 3 months old.  Watching your grandmother cavorting in the rain was certainly a novel experience.  I danced and gave thanks to whatever deity sought fit to send us wter from the sky.  The baby watched carefully.  

I was in heaven.  Walking around outside when the rain stopped, TBG and I reveled in the ionized air.  He's not crazy about the smell of the creosote bushes that exhale after it rains, but I can't inhale enough of it. Once I was done, I went inside and did my allergy inhaler.  There is, apparently, too much of a good thing.

 Some of the plants were still perky this afternoon, surviving triple digits once again, ever thankful for whatever moisture nature decides to send.  The temps are still much too high, and there's not much hope for more rain this week, but I'm holding the memory of dancing in the rain - it's all I have left.


  1. How I wish I could share some of the rain we have been having in Vermont.
    Hearing about the weather related disasters around the world, I have resolved not to complain about having to dance in the rain -- AKA walking my dog.

    1. It's one thing or another... and, as humans, we are so rarely satisfied.

  2. We have had no measurable rain here since May. It has been beautiful, not scorching hot like there, but we know wild fire season is coming.

  3. Just read this: enjoy this summer, it may be the coolest one you will have in the next decade. Such ominous words.


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