Monday, July 20, 2015

Five Good Things

Even if it is a Monday morning, sometimes it's easy to think of five, or more, good things.
1. Rain.
2. Heavy rain.
3. Two days of rain.
4. Summer rain.
5. Lightning, thunder, and rain.

See what I mean?

I kept pinching myself, all weekend long, because I feel we've had about the most interesting and satisfying weather one could hope for, in summer, in a drought. Saturday morning found all of us, cats, too, in our bedroom and watching the lighting, squealing to the thunder, and thoroughly thrilled with the copious amounts of water descending from the heavens. And for once, it was a real rainfall, and lasting, so we had to take measures. Taking measures is when you close your car windows, cover robots, find umbrellas, and check on your goats.

Poor Goats!

Poor, poor, poor, poor goaters. They want Hunter boots. They want LL Bean ensembles, and raised walkways. They cried for umbrellas of their own. In fact, Ada left the garden cottage and followed me back to her cottage when I came out with an umbrella. Dear Tasha inspected my umbrella, even testing it a bit, but she did not budge from the tiny kitchen shelf in the tiny garden cottage. There must have been a small lull in the deluge, because eventually, I found her in the chickens' cottage, and Ada beneath the chickens' covered roost.

Here's the thing: We built this marvel of suburban farmdom, our goat and chicken run, in the midst of a serious drought, when rain is so rare, we think succulents are actually incredibly beautiful garden plants {Yes, they are beautiful, but it's with some measure of disappointment that I forego lush beds of thirsty flora, berries, and ferns. I cannot deny this.} We call it an "open-air" barn, because the only thing going through it was air! There is no roof... just rafters, and hardware cloth. And that's been fine. It's been great, but when it does rain. Heavy rain. Two days of rain. Summer rain. Lightning, thunder, and rain. When that happens, mud happens. Mud. The kind of mud that makes a slurp-sucking sound and threatens to remove your shoes. The kind of mud that holds puddles. Muck mud. Dirty farm mud. Smelly mud.

Okay. I gotta stop... I am grossing myself out. Sorry about that.

Sorry, Tasha. Sorry, Ada. They hate the mud as much as the rain!

I really do intend to jot down some good things, but just bear with me... I need to say 1. Chickens are not bright, and maybe I am not either, because I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to convince them to roost in shelter, instead of in the absolute wettest spots. This exercise left me utterly soaked. 2. Humidity and heat are not good, and neither is cleaning out an open-air barn when it is hot and humid, and muddy!

Good Things...

1. Everyone was home, and we were together to enjoy a full weekend of fun and unusual weather.

2. The air smells good. {Away from the open-air barn.}

3. Sitting and stitching and laughing and sharing, with Diana and Maya.

4. Dropping Maria off for her first day of tech training, so she can be a technology expert and helper in school!

5. Beginning to appreciate that next week we will be on the road, visiting institutes of higher learning, while also enjoying the redwoods, and fern filled canyons, seeing elephant seals, playing Pink Martini CDs, and making happy discoveries.

Here comes the sun. Are you ready for the new week?

1 comment:

nikkipolani said...

I heard about that record-breaking rain in your neck o' the woods -- Isn't it delicious? Even the most-un-California-like-humidity. Well, not if there's a barn to muck out...