Before we owned a farm, I never realized how important rain was, or how much time I would spend worrying about it.
Too much, too hard. Too early, too little. Too late.
I always loved a good rainy day. I chalk it up to my formative years spent in London. If you didn't appreciate a good rainy day there, then you were doomed to be unhappy a lot of the time.
But now rain has taken on a whole new meaning, when our plants and animals depend upon it. I somehow missed the memo about the rain due today (I blame the fair), and I woke up to the soft gentle patter with a feeling of relief and deep gratitude. This summer has been awfully dry so far, the kind of dry that makes me scream at TV screen when the weather forecasters say things like "it's another gorgeous dry day out there, not a rain cloud in sight!"
Don't they know our grass is getting crispy and we have lost two raspberry plants so far, with a blueberry bush in the final death throes?
Secondo is going to be a bit disappointed that the birthday party he is due to attend at the local baseball park will probably be rained out. That's OK. I'm sure it will be rescheduled.
Let it rain. Blessed, blessed rain.