The Rains

We are incredibly blessed, in California, to have sunshine all year long. The fabulous winter consists of crisp mornings and bright sunny afternoons.

The funny thing though, is that I feel sentimental about the rains from Ohio. April showers did, in fact, bring May’s flowers in Gallia County, and those showers came like they were just off the ocean some days.

The air was somewhere around 40 degrees Fahrenheit, with dense clouds reaching all the way to the ground and a misty spray all about. Sputtering and spitting the finest of droplets that collected on every available surface (including each and every one of the hairs on your head). It could chill your bones if you were in it for very long.

We also got that kind of rain in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving.

The drops grew fatter in May, and by June they were nice and plump and often warm. Early summer rains were expected and very welcome. Every pasture and lawn seemed to rally itself with a splendid burst of new growth after a June shower.

July and August – they brought the Thunderheads. Gulley washers some people called them. Cumulonimbus unleashing their fury.

Occasionally I would get “stuck” in a barn when one of those babies showed up. I remember the tremendous din of ten thousand drops hitting the tin roof. The goats and cows would enter the barn also, and together we watched the winds whip the branches of the maple trees, and the sheets of heavy rain, one after another, washed over the pasture.

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