Facebook has been a great way to reconnect with high school and college friends who live in other regions of the country. Frequently, they post updates regarding their weather and how that affects their lives. One friend who lives in the Pacific Northwest recently commented about how much rain they had and how she longed for extended rainless, sunny days. After months of no rain and plenty of sun, I offered to split the difference with her to see if we could both be happy. After these days of spring rain during Spring Break, it looks like Mother Nature gave me a peek at what my Seattle based friend experiences regularly.
Though eager to see the sun again, I love watching every drop fall. Taking my glasses off and walking out in the drizzle to check the rain gauge highlights each day, especially as I see that collection line rise with each visit. When those drops totaled a half inch, I did a goofy little stomp my feet dance.
When they added up to an inch, I sang off-tune nursery songs about rain. When I woke up to more than a two inch total, my fifty-something carcass performed ballet jetés in front of that plastic container attached to a fence post.
Rain-starved folks tend to be grateful for hints of moisture, which would describe most of us in this area last week. The weather channel had predicted significant rain last week, and we got enough to wet the very bottom of the rain gauge. Instead of complaining, most of us gave thanks that rain/dust freckles punctuated bug gut scribbles on our windshields. While I was grateful for those reminders of heavenly blessing, I hoped to see more generous splotches or even a true mud splash looking like race car flames on the side panels of my Toyota. Today, those prayers came true.
While my Seattle friend has to work mowing in around the daily rain showers, we rarely mowed last summer. With a buffalo grass prairie yard, we mow when it rains. Other than a few weeks last year, our mower collected dust rather than grass cuttings. However, after looking at the green shooting through sere tendrils of dormant buffalo grass, we will mow at least a few times due to recent moisture.
Time to sharpen the blade, adjust belts and tires, do whatever my husband does to the fluid mixtures, and gear up for several hours of crisscrossing the prairie on the riding mower. During the heat of summer, it is hard to get excited about mowing, but after months of no moisture and little hope for growing grass, I may volunteer to trade cooking duty for mowing duty and enjoy every sneeze and cough grass-induced allergies provoke.