Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet.
Not much as the heaven’s opening, but more like spitting a luggie in this part of New York, the sky has spoken with a vengeance. It overpowered both the thunder and lightening pounding Hook Road like a neighborhood bully during our third night as virgin residents 0n the east coast.
It had been a very long time since we had experienced the sheets of rain that fell through the trees driving the leaves flat to the rough limbs and tree trunks.
The sound was something that seemed foreign, coming from drought ridden Southern California.
We looked not much different than the wild turkeys with their beaks to the sky just a few yards in the thick woods beyond our bedroom window. We pressed closer to the pane of glass watching as if it was the first rain we had experienced in a lifetime.
The signs are plentiful throughout the area emphasizing these were summer homes and hunting cabins back in the early days offering relief from the city just some fifty miles to the south.
The weathered deer platform is covered by the thick green leaves in the woods behind the house, but the cold steel fur traps still hang from the home’s cellar wall. Now rusty and hard to pry open but still deadly with a slip of the clip.
As kids we trapped muskrat in the diversion canals that brought water of the Klamath River to the farms. The traps are brutal and rarely kill on impact but allow the animal enough time to drown or chew a foot off to survive…but only a short time.
There are some things of my youth I don’t miss.
The rain was mesmerizing and it crested the threshold of the basement door by morning’s light. With a bit of bailing, using a yellow plastic dust-pale and bucket, the water receded just as the shower’s slowed.
I shuffled around the car only to find that I had left one of the rear windows open throughout the night.
It allowed the flowing waters access to the back seat and floor drenching both, reducing the sound system to a blank screen on the dashboard….but who needs music when you can listen to the rain.
Into each life some rain must fall.
-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow-