“Green,
Green, It’s Green They Say. . .”
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For the past three weeks it has,
indeed, been greener on the far side of the hills surrounding our parched
valley. Rains come in June, the local people tell me. And the rains surrounded
us, in Ahualulco, San Marcos, Magdalena, Ameca. We in Etzatlan sat high and
dry.
Our last rain fell in October. Every
day I scoop sand dunes off my floors. I worry. Is this a drought? June is
nearly done and gone. What will we do for water?
I grew up worrying about weather. I
learned from my Dad, leaning on a shovel at the irrigation ditch, scanning the
sky for any hint of cloud. I have too much history of the rains that never
come. Even twenty-five years in the Seattle area, land of perpetual drizzle,
could not—did not—cure my weather worry.
Our household water is delivered by
gravity flow. Each day the pressure dropped. Each day watering my extensive
garden took longer. Some blithering idiot went crazy planting flowers in pots.
What was the woman thinking? I walked around my casita and counted pots—95! I
am embarrassed. Perhaps my gardening obsession got out a wee bit of hand.
Our tiny colonia is situated on the
corner of Rancho Esperanza. Streets are nothing more than dirt driveways. After
eight months of no rain, dust devils are common. Yesterday I saw a rat in the
philodendron alongside my patio wall. Rats are moving in from the corn fields,
newly plowed and planted. Today I captured a rat in a bucket. Poor rat.
Dispatched.
Humidity climbed exponentially. One
day 4%. Then 34%. 51% seemed too much to bear. Next day, 67%. Moisture
saturated the air. Temperatures in the muggy high 90’s. Clouds moved in. Clouds
moved out. Clouds moved all around and about.
Until, Glory, Glory, “O frabjous
day! Callooh! Callay!”
The first drops evaporate on contact
with my concrete patio. Thunder rumbles. Sky lights flash. Wind delivers more
than empty promise. An hour later every leaf, every blade of grass glistens
with diamond flashes in the setting sunlight.
I go to bed to the music of night
storms. But I don’t sleep. I have a
strange mixture of emotions, hard to decipher. Apprehension when thunder
crashes overhead and lightning surrounds me in every direction. My little house
has wrap-around windows, no curtains, so I live open to the elements. I get up
and close windows on the east and north. Wind shifts direction. I get out of bed
again, close windows to west and south. Open. Close. Apprehension mixes with
joy, sheer exuberance that the rainy season is begun. Three times the rains
drop down blessings that first night.
My yard looks like a park. Every
plant has drunk its fill. Flower pots clustered on my patio are saturated. A
dozen kinds of birds are mining the grass in my yard for bugs and worms. No
need to drag hose from place to place today. Instantly the temperature dropped fifteen
degrees. I inhaled deeply. Why does earth wet with rain smell different than
rain wet from a sprinkler? Why are flower scents stronger today? Why do the
hummingbirds act drunk?
Late afternoon, clouds roll in, the
show begins, small rain. But in the night, a steady pattering, two hours, three
hours, soak. The green of grass and shrubs is so bright and intense that one
needs shades, even in the shadows. Two nights of rain and the land appears
rejuvenated.
By the third stormy night I’m able
to sleep through the rock and roll. I know each evening will bring sky activity
from now through October. The locals assure me. I believe. I’m so easy.
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
June 29,
2017
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