Last night we sat out on the porch until well after midnight, strategically poking, every few minutes, the temporary tarp we’ve erected, trying to keep ahead of the downpour that threatened to bring the whole thing crashing down. Water gushed from every corner for long enough to worry but, I’m glad to say, both tarp and garden are still in place this morning and ready for the 4th.
Even though I only lived full time in California for five years, I got used to the fact that in the summer, rain would never, ever come and in the winter, its behavior proved always uneventful. No thunder, no lightening, no dramatic clouds. Just hard rain for hours at a time (at least before the drought). And so it is still a surprise and delight when these East Coast thunderstorms blow through, lighting the sky and bending the trees, here for a time and then as quickly gone. You can see them coming through small openings in the woods and sense their approach by the behavior of the birds. We are enchanted.
We probably would have lingered under the eaves even if the rain had passed us by and the tarp had not been threatened. On nights heavy with humidity but no sign of rain, the lightening bugs and the sound of quiet woods are enough to make us linger in the dark until the mosquitos drive us in. But as it was, last night we stayed a tad bit longer, listening to thunder as good as any fireworks, and poking the tarp until the runoff nearly drowned our newly planted flowers. This is our summer. This is our life. It is enough. And more.