September 27, 2010 raindrops keep falling on my head

for the first time in what feels like forever a substantial rain has fallen.  in mid summer it seemed like the rain would never stop, and then just in time to get what we wished for, it hasn’t rained since.

bed rows at the vegetable farm are cracked over and crusty.  pork chop hill has a dust cloud swirling over head.  and the grass.  well, let’s just call it thirsty.

all day today, the crack pop of thunder and the drip drap of rain lulled the town to a hushed pace—singing lullabies with the wind and painting the sky a heavy grey.

today made me recall a quote i once read in a piece a friend recommended.  “to know a place, first get out in all weathers.  walk the land at least; at best, work the land.  in this way the subtleties of place become familiar.”  words by brian donahue, from reclaiming the commons—words that deserve another read. 

so i did just that, and i walked.  the cow pasture came alive with the sudden reappearance of water, it’s once familiar companion, and for the first time all month the ground gave a bit as i squished out to check the cows. 

just another day at the office for these boys, though.


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