Rain Dance

For the past month we’ve been watching and waiting. We pull up the radar and watch it light up to our east, to our north, and especially to the south.

Nothing comes.

I’ve gone outside and watched the garden, the one that took so much time and exertion, the one that I waited for for years, the one that I threw my back into literally- die. It was unstoppable. Watering, the measly amount we could do, provided no rescue. The air itself sucked the moisture from the plants. The sun, blazing hotter than any summer in my memory over fifteen years here, fried each leaf. The pumpkins were the first to succumb. Five beautiful, lush pumpkin plants. Dreams of harvesting for Halloween. I walked outside each day and watched them brown and shrivel until there was nothing but crunch.

The corn. The corn had shot to six feet tall. I watched the tassels explode, tiny ears budding along the stalks, and for some reason I connected to the corn more than any plant I’ve ever sunk into the earth. I talked to it. I stroked the leaves. Over the past two weeks I watched those leaves parch and curl. The green faded to beige. No Silver Queen this year.

And over the past week I became desperate for rain. I’d walk outside and beg the sky. I had moments of contemplating walking into the garden itself and slicing open my hand, letting my blood hit the dirt while praying hard to whatever or whoever listens to such things that some water would come. All that work and love meaning nothing. None of my efforts rewarded beyond five green bean harvests, a handful of tomatoes, and about twelve cucumbers.

I am grateful that Tomato the First ripened and provided me with the best tomato sandwich I’ve eaten in my life. A pink variety called “Hillbilly,” I will never not grow these again. The taste was deep and exploded with the sun. It wasn’t very acidic. It was like having those moments in the yard as a kid when I’d walk out to my grandmom’s garden, pull a tomato from a plant, and sink my teeth into it without even making it inside. Jersey tomatoes have long been the quintessential fruit in this country, and for good reason, but this gave them a run for the money.

The day before yesterday I walked outside, and the sky clouded over. The wind snapped. I stood there and four drops hit me. Then- nothing.

It was enough to make a person want to flip the bird at whatever or whoever notices such things.

But I didn’t.

I walked outside last night for a cigarette, and I saw lightning to the northwest in a star-filled sky. I watched the clouds for about five minutes, trying to get a handle on which way the wind was blowing. To the south. Maybe, maybe not. I came inside and flipped open my laptop, pulling up the radar yet again, and saw that the storm I saw was right below Danville, Virginia. Again, maybe, maybe not. Two days ago there had been a beast of a storm one county to our east, and it disintegrated before it reached us.

I went to bed.

I heard a rumble at about midnight. Big deal.

I fell back asleep.

I don’t know what time it was when I heard the rain fall. The house was getting pounded hard enough to wake me up, and I rolled onto my back and opened my eyes. The tension I’ve been feeling for weeks left my muscles, and I grinned like an idiot in the dark. I tried to get up, I wanted to see it, stand in it, open my mouth and taste it. Instead my eyes slammed shut, and I fell asleep again.

When Livvie came to wake us this morning the first thing she said was, “It rained outside!” I said, “I know! I heard it.” I followed her into the living room and saw the windows covered with wet. I started the coffee, and heard Jonas waking up too. I sent Livvie in to tell him I’d be right there, and when I walked in she was standing at his window. She said, “It rained.”

Yes it did.

It was less than a half an inch. I don’t even care. It’s the most welcome rainfall I’ve ever experienced in my life. I got the kids settled and took the camera outside. Everything was wet. Everything was beautiful.

It’s too late for the garden. I’m ok with that now.