Welcoming the Rain

My backyard Rosa Glauca this morning after the rain

I don't know how many days it has been since we had a nice rain, but it pittered and pattered on the roof all through the night--a generous half inch. Then we had another inch or so this afternoon, accompanied by a little thunder--the kind of rain that puddled, and spilled over my gutters which were once again clogged with flying seed pods and other tree junk.

I could almost hear the parched earth breathe a thank you and the sky answer "You're welcome."

Rain on the plain of our farmland in South Dakota was almost always welcome. I think the corn would have all been planted and growing by now. We always said "Knee high by the 4th of July." Rain was so important back then because our livelihood depended on it. I loved the violent lightning and thunderstorms which I woke up to watch through the upstairs bedroom windows of our old farmhouse.

My more romantic associations with rain have probably been acquired along the way through songs and films and poetic literary references. I don't seem to have the right words to reflect my feelings about rain--words that don't sound totally trite. And my feelings are mixed. I do imagine that the ground is soaking up the droplets with a great thirst. I imagine that all the plants are sucking up the soft nitrogen-infused rain water with sweet delight.

My world has instantly become greener and fresher--a happier place.

Baptisia australis, heavy with rain, just off my backyard deck.

Many seedlings (especially the maple trees) are sprouting from the ground this spring--with profligacy. I spent some time today transplanting annual flower seedlings, until I had to retreat from the afternoon thundershowers. Rain is for transplanting, if you are a gardener!

I have a rain gauge which I checked at least 3 times today!

But more rain means more mowing and more growing maple trees. On the other hand, I finally will have a two-day respite from checking on the watering of the new plantings at the church garden. I have lost one alyssum and two lobelia to dryness and a rabbit lunched on the flowers of a couple petunias. Hundred of other flowers are surviving--and after today, settling down happily.

Rainy days can be dark, indoor days. They can be humid, grossly moist.

How do you feel about the rain? Are you a romantic? Are you soothed by the pitter-patter of rain on the roof? Are you just glad when it doesn't rain on your tennis or golf match?

Are you raining on the inside like that old Amy Grant song? Someone said they like to walk in the rain so that no one can see them crying.

Like I said, I have nothing both personal and profound to say about the rain.

Rainy days can be sad days.

But today I was just happy for the rain.

And if indeed (as I claim) I can think like a plant (and if plants think), I think my plants are happy, too.

Rieger begonia (Dragone Champagne) needs a new pot home, along with two friends!