A spring long ago … It rained and rained. And then it rained some more. The rain gauge brimmed and our yard turned quagmire. It rained so long our Boston terriers couldn’t walk. We thought they had tick fever. A plump bloodsucking tick wasn’t the problem. A fungus had rendered the areas between their toes raw and red. The vet told us to soak their diseased paws in bleach. My father and I stood them in a basin of Clorox as they howled. If we’d cut their feet off, it would have been more merciful. It’s a memory I want to forget, but you cannot kill memories, and we readily summon up seasons when Mother Nature turns extreme.
Seems every so often I’ll say, “I’ve never seen it rain so much.” I’m saying it now. My pilgrimages to the rocky shoals spider lilies keep getting rained out. That’s not happened before. I fear this mini-monsoon-like season is a lost cause. “There’s some things in life you can’t explain, so I’m talking to God, praying for rain,” sang Henley. The prayer is working. Don’t you know, though, come July-August when corn is burning and dust devils spin across fields, when lawnmowers sit idle and Copes gray tree frogs mute, we’ll wish we had some of this rain that keeps on keeping on.
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