Waiting for the Rain

All was silent as before —
All silent save the dripping rain.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The calendar says June. I missed posting in May. I'm trying to piece together what happened to the month. Here's my excuse.

As many have read, we've had great rains in Texas the entire month of May. I've refrained from posting on Facebook or in my blog as my heart has broken for those swept away in the flood waters. I can't imagine the grief that has wrought.

As I thought of those in such pain, I wasn't just watching the rain fall. We'd made some changes out at the lake cabin the past couple years. We hired out to add a crushed granite driveway and a stone walkway and patio. The patio had previously been dirt and the walkway a haphazardly placed potpourri of steppng stones. I often called it The Drunk Test.

Our Central Texas drought had not really afforded an opportunity to know how the new additions might fare in rain. If the makeshift French Drain tunnels we had added ourselves on the other side of the house could accommodate downpours, let alone massive drops.

The driveway and walkway/patio fared well, but our own handiwork did not.

Back when we had rain, the house across the street was an old place like ours built in the early 1960's.  That house has since been torn down and replaced with a mini-mansion. Built higher than most homes on the isle, its slanted-toward-the-street-driveway had no trouble funneling the rain to my house creating a large buildup of water in the driveway.

Combined with our lack of gutters, suffice to say, the drains couldn't handle the overflow. I'm now quite adept at manning a shovel and broom in the midst of a lightening storm. I spent over $200 on barriers that grow when they get wet. By layering those I was able to create a more contained running stream -- one that kept the rain in the garage and running down the side of the house rather than in the downstairs TV/bedroom/Green Bay Packer Hall of Fame. My neighbors helped greatly with shovel work as well, digging the rocks out of the trench to allow more movement for the water.

This is after it was flowing and the rain had slowed way down. Back by the gate is where the water built up. I never took a photo of that. Perhaps I was too busy?

Each day, I awaited the rain. My husband works in town so I was the babysitter of the homestead. As I sat on the dock watching the clouds and the radar on my phone,  I felt like I was Waiting for Godot. Unlike that play, I could time the storms approximate arrival and try to assess the severity. I'd gather my candles and flashlights. A can of tuna and Melba toast. Box of leftover Cheezits. Bottle of wine. Liter of water. I'd hang out in the TV/Packer Hall of Fame room, listening to local weather, until the wind and rain took out the satellite.

Prepared, but not too excited about it all, I willed myself to not be scared of the tornadoes nearby. Or worry if I would have to again venture out into the storm to move my barriers or dig a little more. I took deep breaths and just went for it. Raincoat clad and swim shoes on my feet.

Some days it hardly rained. The air instead hung heavy with humidity. The neighbors and I would gather in the street or on the dock. Stare at the sky. Wait for the next round.

Memorial Day arrived.  And the crowds wanting to boat and play in the mud-filled water. We had  a few visitors as well.

What to do on a rainy day. We started out on the dock and then moved inside when the rain came. Was pretty peaceful as everyone found something to do while we waited.

And then came the rain.

That dog was snoring. Snoring. Now that is bored.

Ended up in the downstairs due to the tornado warnings. We had a plan that all nine of us, plus three dogs, would harbor in the ten by four foot closet if need be. We do not have basements in Texas.

Water gushed into the garage and we manned brooms and shovels once again to detour toward the lake.

When the rained lessened and the tornado threats abated, several of the kids headed over to a property where my oldest son and daughter-in-law, the Texas Aggies,  were invested in newborn baby cows. You had to figure how that was going to turn out.

Stuck Truck

Fence Fixing

One of those young people visiting was new to our cabin. He sat down to dinner after the land/truck/fence adventure and remarked that he had Australians coming to his work the next day who thought that all Texans rustled cattle, fixed fences, and drove tractors. He, a native Texan, was planning on debunking that cliche as he had never, ever done those things. Now, he would have to admit it might be true.

Meanwhile, the lake is a mud pit. Limbs of trees and debris have been running by the cabin for days. Bloated fish unable to breath in the muddy water floated past. People's trash.

I know y'all wanted to see the dead carp.

A view from downstream (I couldn't believe people have their boats out there with all the debris.)

It will take a few days for the rivers flowing into the lake to finish depositing their loosened fare. Hopefully by week's end the water will clear and I can get back in the water and read while floating. Oh, wait. I mean aqua jog for hours to get in better shape. Yes, that's what I meant.

Sorely in need of rain to fill the lakes and aquifers, the storms did help to quench that thirst. They also provided a few pleasures at day's end.

A Monet. Right there in my own sky.

The rains have passed and none are forecasted for a week or more.  Although I love to hibernate at the lake, I normally know it's time to come home when I start understanding what my duck friends are saying to me. By the end of the month we were having long conversations and I was enjoying their stories.

I came home yesterday.

A quick perusal of my garden proved most disappointing.  I'd hoped for a bountiful display of tomatoes-to-be, but the tomato plants had been eaten by dirty little buggers. The eggplants hadn't moved in their height or blossomed, nor had the peppers. The gladiolus blades tilted parallel to the earth.

I did, however, come across a beauty. The first Dahlia of the season. I cut it, brought it inside, and placed it on the table beside the chair where I live. So pretty.

My husband and I try not to think of the smile on our new contractor's face when he gets paid after putting up gutters and fixing that drainage situation at the cabin. (No, we aren't tearing down the new house across the street. We just look at it with more disdain than usual.)

My babysitting the rain is done. Today I sit.

We hope the searchers have all the equipment and stamina they need to continue looking for those still not found in the flood waters. We pray for the families that suffered such great loss here in Texas and throughout the world. 

Lulled by the Rain

Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby.

Langston Hughes

Rain has returned to Central Texas. After months of drought and knowing a lit match tossed carelessly to the ground might cause the entire region to succumb to flames, the haunting ruse of a landscape lost has expired.

Even though the flow of the hose or use of the sprinkler once a week kept my plants clinging to life, nothing compares to the fall of a few day's rain to bring them back to life.

Everywhere the flowers bloom. Lantana, Mexican heather, plumbago, zinnias, and more. My warm weather plants are putting out that last effort before winter's rise. Adds such beauty into the world compared to the dried up death of our rainless, hot summer.


As many of you enjoy the colors of fall, we wait. The green of summer reactivated before the bulk of our deciduous trees change in December. I don't mind the wait. My tomatoes, planted a couple of weeks ago, gained great height in the rainy, cooler weather. Tomorrow I hope for a blossom.

And a better post.

Even the cat had nothing to offer today. No lizards. No roll in the dust. Nothing.

My poor impatiens finally get to bloom and not just survive.

Mushrooms growing on one of my trees.

Go buy some pansies, Julie. Leave me alone.

The Long Hot Flash of Summer Tends to Twist the Mind

What dreadful hot weather we have! It keeps me in a continual state of inelegance.

Jane Austen

By the time August rolls around in Texas, survival is the name of the game. Sweat on my brow and under my pits in spite of my deodorant are simply facts of life. Now that I'm in hot flash hell, I've significantly added to the number of times I soak myself during the day. But no matter, this too shall pass. Right?

There was a time in my life when sweat wasn't the norm. In my days of living in the North, East and West, I believed sweating occurred when my face turned beet red and I thought it might blow up. I had no clue that little beads of perspiration could turn into flowing rapids down my back or that wiping my eyes with the back of an equally moistened hand to clear the flood from my brow might become a rote act. I prided myself on perspiration etiquette.

No longer.

I recall an afternoon, soon after moving to Texas. While digging holes to plant my newly purchased shrubs, my face began its usual red blowup, then something popped. The sweat paraded down my back, legs and face. I joined the ranks of the dripping sweat mongers.

Of course, my ability to sweat like a pig allows me to cop an elitist attitude with my mom and two of my three brothers - who still believe if you crack a sweat it means you're overheating and need to sit down. I'm so glad I've evolved.

As we embark on our 40th or 50th or 500th day in a row of 100+ degree heat, and my 22nd summer in Texas, no longer do I have to dig shrub holes to work up a sweat. In a few minutes, I'll leave the confines of my home to walk to the mailbox. Perhaps I'll stop to grant the pathetic looking plants in my front garden a few sprinkles of precious water - just a sip, however. A long swallow would only soften their reserve and restrain them from their ability to survive in the sweltering sun. The tomatoes in pots, I'll bypass. They have led the battle well, but lost.

Truly pathetic, isn't it? Droughts are so not fun.

When I finish, my bra will be sweat laden so I'll run the warm ground water from the hose on my feet and return to the let the air conditioning cool me, before I venture out for the next sweat trip.

Oh wait, I'm getting one just sitting here. Ain't midlife great?

But I must admit, come August, the heat tends to twist me. Puts me in rather a funk, I'd say. Makes me think of sledding down hills while my snot freezes in my nose. Makes me eager for motion beyond the elliptical at the Y. Perhaps the reverse of cabin fever in the dead winters of the north only similar in that I want to do something fun, something wild. Something with rapid, wake-me-up movement. I am bored with the boundaries of the heat. Stir crazy, as they say.

Tomorrow's my birthday. I want to ride on roller coasters. The kind that end up in a swimming pool. I hear Schlitterbahn calling. Just what every tomorrow-to-be-53 year old body needs. Falling down a slide and hitting the water at full force. Something exhilarating to get the heart pumping again. That'll work.

Don't forget to look for the Perseid meteor shower tonight. 2am is the best viewing. Lie spread eagle on your front lawn.