grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Like the First Morning

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Finally. A soaking rain in Dallas. Complete with an impressive lightning display cracking and splitting the black sky into puzzle pieces, illuminating my late night bedroom. Lucy and Annabelle, having forgotten the sensation, burrowed deeply underneath the bedsheet, touching my toes. Sleeping weather.

This morning, an extra long walk, the temperature unexpectedly pleasant after the rain. Water puddled on the sidewalks and streets. Honest to goodness puddles capable of respectable splashes. Forty years ago I would have sloshed right through each water hole wearing bright yellow rain boots. 
The birds appreciated the rare rain. Joyful, chirping and chattering, sounding more like early spring than tired summer. Like the first morning, like the first bird.

The trees, relieved, stood a bit taller. For a brief moment, the entire city was relieved, fresh from the world.

An unseen squirrel scampering on an overhead branch doused us with rainwater from drippy leaves. On purpose I think. Forty years ago I would have shaken the branches myself, running underneath the shower like a backyard sprinkler. In my bright yellow rain boots.

The rain enhanced the morning smells, intensifying the dirt and grass and pollen. Underneath a neighbor’s cedar tree, the aroma was intoxicating, the peppery smell itching my nose, making me sneeze. Lucy and Annabelle rooted around like armadillos.
Nearly back home, I slipped off my tennis shoes and walked barefoot, my feet sinking into the sweetness of the spongy grass. Like the first day.
 
talya

Musical Pairings:

Rain

By

I awoke to clapping thunder and a downpour. Perfect dozing weather. Except in our tiny Fayetteville bedroom on the air mattress, it seemed the house would be whisked off to Oz. I was just being introduced to this home – its storm sounds new. The rain reverberated on the tin roof sounding like golf ball-sized hail. Nearby flashes of lightning illuminated the interior – partially painted, barely furnished. Lucy and Annabelle burrowed underneath the quilt thinking the end was near. It was peaceful.
Dallas rain from upstairs porch
The next morning back in Dallas, thunder and a much needed rainstorm drenched the already parched city. The weathermen were animated. Everyone breathed more easily.
One week later I spent my first evening in Piggott amidst a typical Northeast Arkansas tornado watch. The blackened skies immediately put me at ease, made me feel at home. With all my recent traveling, I was becoming a storm chaser. Or a storm magnet?
Growing up on a farm, there were many thirsty summers when no one dared look at Daddy or accidentally smile about anything, followed by days of rising flood waters. Mother Nature has a wicked sense of humor. We grew up studying the clouds and the sky, sniffing out wind direction and predicting rain by our achy bones. We did August rain dances, careful not to twist an ankle in the bone dry cracks splitting the front yard open. On Sunday mornings during the every-eye-closed-and-every-head-bowed part of Just As I Am, every farmer’s wife and child prayed for rain. The farmers did their praying out in the fields scouting for rain on the steamy horizon. 
Tate Farm (aka florida farm)
Spending the day out on our farm Saturday, I learned about new irrigation techniques and pumps, laser leveling to save water and increase yield, and the inner workings of center pivots. I can spot pigweed from the interstate. After a day of studying the slope of each field, I realized for the first time Mississippi County isn’t pancake flat. It started looking downright hilly by the end of the day as I noticed low spots around Little River and the built up banks along Kochtitzki. Even the topography has changed since Hernando De Soto explored the Mississippi River Valley. I wonder what Thomas Tate thinks about the  new fangled farm technology? Tractors drive themselves now…
electric pump Tate Farm
Leveled irrigated fields would certainly allow the farmer to sleep a bit easier during the long hot summer, if farmers slept. But they don’t.
When I water my herbs and flowers in Dallas during a string of 100 degree days, I can keep them alive. Barely. But if it rains, a steady slow soaking, they smile and grow. Nothing replaces the real thing when the heavens open and the rain falls. 
talya
Musical Pairing:
“Rain is a Good Thing”, Luke Bryan
The rain, rain, rain came down, down, down
In rushing, rising riv’lets,
’til the river crept out of it’s bed
And crept right into Piglet’s!  (Winnie the Pooh and the Blustery Day)

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

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