Playing in Puddles

Playing in Puddles

Saturday

Trees, distressed by rainfall shortage, are losing leaves, stripping themselves.  Leaves fall crisp and dry; skip chattering down the asphalt driveway.  The ornamental grasses at the edge of the garden are bronze, weary of searching for water.

All of nature aches for rain, wants to squeeze water from the grey sponge sky.  The soil is parched after weeks of inadequate rainfall.  A breeze shakes the leaves on the hedge; they make sounds like sheets of paper sliding to the floor.  A crow complains atop the neighbour’s poplars.

I close my eyes.  This heat-held air carries memories of Windsor, Ontario.  The fat damp air here is nothing compared to the suffocating humidity of Windsor in summers of my childhood.  I remember weeks upon weeks of stifling heat and humidity.  We played in the cool cement basement and sucked on pieces of ice to survive the heat.   And, waited for rain.

Rain.  The rain would come, heavy fat drops, a downpour, a deluge, complete with thunder and lightning.  After the storms, there were deep steaming puddles of water, warm as the bath on sidewalks and in yards.  My mother would put us outside to play; we, three small girls aged 2 to 5, dressed only in our underwear.  Our back yard would be full of screams and laughter of three little girls running, jumping and splashing in every puddle.  We played until the sun would return to dry the delight-filled puddles, and to begin again the work of building humidity.  We would return to days of playing in the cool basement.   And, to waiting for the next rain storm.



Sunday

This morning, I woke early.  Even before I was out of bed, I felt it.  Rain.  I opened the curtains and smiled to myself as the first sun peeked through the clouds; clouds spilling welcome rain.

I saw puddles in the driveway and on the street and remembered dancing in the warm rainwater as a child. 

Now, robins are here in the puddles, splashing and singing.

I remember how good it feels.

Red text includes hyperlinks that take you to other web pages where you can find out more.  All words and photos are © copyright Carol Steel.

Rain

Rain

Summer rain slanting,
blinds my eyes, slashes my skin.
and I bleed water.

Photos are mine.

Post-Tropical Storm Irene

This is a blog entry I wrote yesterday but couldn't post until today because of the storm.

August 29, 2011

There is no electricity in 56,000 homes in New Brunswick right now. The power went off early this morning; trees are coming down, but the heavy rain has stopped.

The house is rarely so silent.  Strange yet comfortingly peaceful without the hum of refrigerator and freezer, without the blinking lights from the microwave, computer and television.

The only sounds are the wind gusts twisting the trees, leaves turning inside-out, shaking like fingers anxiously tapping on the wind.  A garbage can rolls and dances on the street somewhere out-of-sight;  the sound of an empty plastic barrel thump-thumping scraping over the pavement.  A clock ticks in the kitchen.  Outside, a truck's back-up beepers pierce the wind-blown silence.

The cats are agitated sitting in their usual chairs by the windows, peering out at the fierce movement in the yard and meowing at me for an explanation.

The sky is smoky grey-green, sombre and malevolent.  Periodically, the sun breaks through for seconds or minutes trying its best to make the day seem more normal.

No one is on the streets walking.  A Town of Riverview truck is slowly patrolling this older neighbourhood, looking for more downed trees.

In the distance, I hear sirens of emergency vehicles warning of their approach.

Post-tropical storm Irene is stomping her way through the Maritimes.  Storm surges, pounding 10 foot waves and heavy seas are expected, as well as flash flooding from the rainfalls.

Though the wind still twists tree branches, yanking and pulling at limbs, a neighbour (with no large trees in his yard) is mowing his lawn.  Albeit slowly, having lost his ball cap to the wind several times.  He and his small black dog are oblivious to the flying debris racing about the neighbourhood.  Amazing!

That was yesterday.  Today, the 30th of August has dawned peacefully sunny.  We are left with only bits of branches and leaves to tidy up here.  We were so fortunate.  It could have been (and sadly was, for many) much worse!

Begonias and Calibrachoa

Begonias and Calibrachoa

Tonight the heated heavy wind is tossing the trees, pushing them, bending branches, turning leaves inside out.

The sky has gone dark; the way it does when something is menacing, slowly moving in—maybe rain? Or a thunder shower?

There is a smell of rain in the air, so I’ve taken my tuberous begonia baskets down from the pergola at the back door, and sheltered them safely on the deck.

Because I didn’t do that last time, I lost one of my hanging baskets.  It became too heavy with the rain’s additional weight and dropped, plummeted straight down, smashing into three pieces on the deck.

I rescued the deep red begonias, picked off the damaged blooms and dug the plants into the flower bed that borders the driveway.  Now, these showy, large blooms are safely seated in the earth.  There was no saving the hanging basket’s shattered husk!

Then, there was the dilemma of three spaces on the pergola to hang baskets, with only two baskets to hang.  Returning to the nursery didn’t help, as tuberous begonias were sold out.

Solution: I bought a basket of bright red calibrachoa and hung it between the other two.  Calibrachoa is a trailing petunia with smaller blooms. It makes a great hanging basket plant as it spreads and cascades, and is a healthy bloomer. 

I chose bright red, though it comes in many other shades, because I love red and because the red calibrachoa will attract hummingbirds.

Now the entrance way is cheery with vibrant scarlet flowers in all three baskets—a welcome greeting for all!

The images of begonias are mine.

Gary In the Storm

Gary in the Storm

After supper last evening, Gary left to go for a short ride on his motorcycle; met with his riding buddy, decided to head for Sussex and a coffee and chat, their usual routine.

All went well until they turned back toward home and ran into a quickly moving lightening storm near Salisbury.

Like all seasoned bikers, they stopped at the first sign of rain under the canopy of a service station and discussed the need for donning their rain suits.  They waited and because the rain appeared to have stopped, they decided “no rain gear” and headed again for home, a distance of 25 kilometres.

Summer storms move fast and can come up suddenly and violently.  Last night was no exception.  They heard the thunder and saw lightening rolling through the clouds over the city, as they approached.  And they got wet, very, very wet.

It rained nearly 30 millimetres in a brief time.  Forced to drive slower than one-third the speed limit because of water on the roads and visibility challenges, not to mention the discomfort of being literally soaked to the skin, it was a most unpleasant ride home.

At 11:15 pm, I saw him driving at the bottom of our street and ran to open the garage door.  Slowly, slowly I heard him navigating the floods of water pouring down our street; finally into the garage he came.  Everything was dripping!

Gary was cheery as usual, exclaiming that it had been an adventure!  And wonder of wonders, his saddle bags didn’t have a bit of water in them; everything in them was totally dry—even his rain gear!

These photos are from Gary’s clothes last night, after he took them off in the garage.  Apparently, his waterproof boots aren’t waterproof.  Note the puddles on the floor after he dumped them out.  He hung his shirt over the garbage can to drip; it too made a puddle.

After a warm shower and a rum and coke, he was fine again.  His leather motorcycle gear—well, that’ll take a few days to dry and return to normal.  However, his rain gear is all ready to go again!