Baby's first hail storm
The one thing we hate to complain about on the mountain. Negative words are taboo. And in fact, we truly do love it. Every glorious, precious, life bringing droplet. Almost.
It’s our love/hate relationship. As intimate as any of them. Close and cherished at times; then exhausting and reluctantly annoying other times. It’s been about 10 days now. Seems like a long time, sometimes…
With the first promise of spring rain, I planted my garden. My summer crops are your spring crops. Lettuce, chard, kale, spinach, carrots, beets…
After two days of afternoon rains, the ground was softened. I planted the trees.
For a week now, the garden has been gently watered, the trees have been blessed with a healthy soaking. The pasture has been getting 100% coverage and the ditches spill over. No doubt, I appreciate this gift for what it is.
We have rain gear: boots, slickers, chaps. We don’t melt. We try not to get chilled. We don wool socks and down jackets and wonder why we didn’t keep our long johns on for another month… Weren’t we warm just a couple weeks ago? We are more thankful than ever, I sometimes believe, for the heat of the woodstove, which dries wet denim and revives chilled fingers better than anything else.
Except the sun. But he’s hiding right now.
For those of us with solar power, we resort to the generator for charging the batteries. The hum in the evening from the generator shed is a regular sound on the mountain now.
We manage to get our work done in this weather. The horses learn all about the surprise of a rumble of thunder, and the focus needed for proper footing when riding down slick trails with the added weight of my soaked garments and the drip, drip, drip on their backside or withers from the rain pouring off the rim of my hat.
The foal keeps himself warm with extra calories. We keep mama Canella well fed, a few more groceries to insure production for the needy foal. He is damp. But always warm. We feel the heat generating from his matted, red hair. He enjoys having his dripping coat scratched by our gentle human fingers.
We know the water is precious. Our fears of an early dry season, brought on by the rapid melting of the snow covered by the red sand that blew in at the end of our winter, are relieved for now.
As the leaves continue to flourish on the pale branches of the Aspen, the pasture thickens with native grasses, and the high country begins to take on a green hue where was once all white, our gratitude for the rain expands. We spill forth with joy for this lush wet land while we can!
