Saturday, May 24, 2008


Three-tenths of an inch of rain. Its a start. I had to just lean back and close my eyes and listen to the sound of it on the roof. Everything is freshened up and there is some hope in the air. The green in the grass looks like it is going to finally overtake the brown, and the tulips that I favored with 2 gallons of water this morning are breathing a sigh of relief. I too am breathing a sigh of relief that I can avoid watering anything, at least for awhile. Rain in farm country comes right after the Holy Trinity; and often, if not ahead of the Holy Spirit, it is neck-in-neck. Without rain there is nothing, and if there's too much, there is nothing. Life and livelihood on the great grassland prairie depends upon its good graces. There is little as demoralizing as a drought, and there is a sickening feeling in the the stomach when you watch the shaggy cattle in the spring fields grow gaunt and hollow-eyed when they should be getting fat and sleek, and the fields of grain wither and die. My livelihood does not depend on the rain; but I was raised here, the daughter of farmers, and I've spent enough time in the fields that I count myself a farmer of sorts. Many of the people I know and love do depend on it, and the rhythms of the land run deep in my heart. It is good to hear the rain.

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