The Umbrella Brigade
"Pitter patter!" falls the rain
On the schoolroom windowpane.
Such a plashing! such a dashing!
Will it e'er be dry again?
Down the gutter rolls the flood,
And the crossing's deep in mud;
And the puddles! oh, the puddles
Are a sight to stir one's blood.
But let it rain
Tree toads and frogs,
Muskets and pitchforks,
Kittens and dogs!
Dash away! plash away!
Who is afraid?
Here we go,
The Umbrella Brigade.
~ Laura E. Richards
Once upon a time, it rained and rained and rained. Puddles formed in places where the people didn't know there were places. Snakes were seen to don brightly colored rain slickers and gather together under overhangs to discuss the weather. Birds complained openly and some flew to the Pacific Northwest in search of a drier climate. The people, who were lost without their constant companion the Sun, grew pale and squeaked when they walked.
So, we've had a little rain and looking at the forecast above, we're expecting it, oh, every day for the next 10 days. I awoke at 3 AM to a din of thunder. By 6:30 AM, I cared enough to see if there was a spectacular lightning show, which others, who care less about sleep than I do, had described. All was quiet but for the steady drip of morning drizzle.
The sun rose on dripping leaves and puddles of brown. Our pears, looking freshly showered, gave me a hearty hello as I passed. They have gathered in groups this year, to our delight, seeing as the past few years were we lucky to be visited by more than one.
Green is in this season. All of the plants are wearing it and shades vary from the red-green of blossoming youth to a haunting grey, usually only fashionable in moors. There are few accessories, short of a brightly colored blossom here or there. They are holding out for a spotlight.
There is a buzz opportunity for growth and expansion in our area, so new residents are sprouting everywhere, lining up and looking for a chance to put down roots in a place of their own.
Some of our residents are too entrenched in their way of life in this location to make a move northwest. The fresh, wet environment has allowed them to branch out and expand their holdings. Today, I mentioned to Cypress and Redbud how I truly enjoy their work together to cover an entire area and create the atmosphere of a secret garden. Cypress lifted with pride and swept the sky like a graceful dancer, his heavy arms lifting and falling in the wind. I have a wonderful spot, low in the field where water gathers in droves to put his children. One day, I will sit on a porch and watch them also dance in the rain, remembering this place.
Lily, a contemplative girl, has the joy of the secret garden to herself now. She has invited friends but she was the first to arrive at the party. I asked her how she was doing. "Just peachy," she replied and went about her business.
The roses put on an intoxicating show this year but they have all gone except for one. Despite bringing a few buds with her, I think this is the last rose of the season. Rain brought disease and many have been cut off for their own good. This one is disease-resistant and I will be taking her on a trip to give her a new start.
"How's the farm?" you ask. Green. Muddy. Pond's full. Walking across the property requires rubber boots to the knee and a wench to pull you out at the end of the day. There has been no movement, except for that steady flow of water across the surface since the snow melted.
We've been waiting to put this baby to work. It's our new rock picker. (New to us.) I'm our old rock picker. (As in former.) Two things need to happen. The land needs to dry out and Craig needs to recuperate from his 5,000 surgeries in the last 3 months. (We can rebuild him.)
Some things are changing - the last baby bird is leaving the nest. {{Boot}} Sawyer is moving to college station in August to attend Texas A&M and study engineering. My writing room is overrun with housewares. "Look at all this stuff," Craig says. "You live in a pigsty." I noticed. "But," I say to him and Sawyer as we discuss college plans. "Let us not forget the most important point of all of this. I'm finally going to have my own bathroom." Woohoo!
So will Sawyer, in his college apartment. It's good to be Sawyer.
All grown up and ready to say, "So long, suckers," to the old people who pay his bills. It's all good, honey. We'll come see you when we really are old. Make lots of money, we'll need it. Bwahahaha
I happened to mention to Bertrand, the French chef who oversees my kitchen and a big fan of my orchids, that I wasn't sure Craig and I would know what to do with ourselves after the baby moved out. He said it would look something like this.
"Wait a minute", I say. "Wasn't I going to get my own bathroom?"
Happy Spring!
