At last

A little after 11:00 last night, it started raining here in Portland. And more than a drizzle. The rain is supposed to be here all weekend.

I've never been gladder to see it. It hasn't rained here nearly at all in three months. The last year has been the driest of the last 20. And it's been hotter than normal, too – at least, the old normal.

I've never spent more of my summer watering plants than I have in 2021. The Mrs. and I were pretty diligent about it, and so the yard has done pretty well despite the long drought and the scary record hot spell we had. But when September arrived, I ran out of gas on the garden hose duty. It took only a few days before a lot of the green started browning out.

We did get tomatoes and peppers out of the deal, though. They dug the desert scene. And the rose bushes didn't fall victim to the molds and mildews that usually haunt them all summer. They were happy, as long as they got their water.

But now Mother Nature is taking care of all of those chores with her Oregon rain. The gurgling of the downspouts, the faint hiss of the drops kissing the leaves and landing in the puddles, the smell of the wet plants and pavement, they're all extremely welcome. If we end up with a dreary nine-month rainy season, I won't be complaining too loudly. 

Okay, I'm lying, maybe starting around April I'll be kvetching. But we should be so lucky as to get enough precip to gripe about.


  1. 1977 was a dry year, but it started later and ended later. We had spring rains that year, but the first true fall rain was December. This year had a freakishly dry April and May instead.


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