No idea if this is the rainiest summer on record, but it certainly must rank up there, and we are all sick of it. After missing much of last summer thanks to an out-of-commission pool (when every day was sunny and 90 degrees) we had such high hopes for this season, and it largely sucked. But still we made it work, still we made it through… still, there was beauty. And some beauty is only present when it rains.
All this water also made for a happy garden. Most summers, by this point, find the garden gasping for rain, and a good soaking to see them through any hot days that are to come. It’s a chance to put forth one final growth spurt, a last run at sending out some fall roots before the long sleep of winter.
My friend JoAnn and I were texting the other night about the lengthening shadows of August – and the fall about to arrive. Neither of us was exceptionally sad about it – there were other sorrows over which to ruminate, and the turn of the seasonal calendar is nothing to be mourned, even if it is the end of summer. A summer that never ends would not be summer at all.
And so we pause, quietly, for a day of August appreciation, even if it’s in the rain.
