One time, when I was in my teens, I woke up in the middle of the night and went upstairs for something to eat. When I got to the ground floor, I realized it was raining, which it hadn’t done much of all spring. I didn’t think much about it.
On my way back downstairs, I noticed that my Dad, who tended tends to fall asleep watching late night TV, was standing out on the deck.
“Hey.”
He looked over at me. “You’re going to be tired in the morning.”
“You’re getting wet.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes that’s all right.” I think he might have been smiling a little.
I figured it was a farming thing.
Last night, for the first time this spring, we had a really good rain that lasted all night long. Not a downpour; just a solid, comforting rainfall that gradually soaked everything. This was great news for us, since we’re trying very hard to get lawn healthy after the shoddy way it was treated by the previous owner — doubly difficult since the sprinklers are completely frelled up.
On my way to bed, I let Dizzy out and stood on the deck for awhile, watching the water come down all by itself, with no input from me.
When I went back in, I was wet.
But that was all right.
