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Rainy Day Ruminations
Rainy days come whether we love them or hate them
I used to despise rainy days. As a teenager, I lamented that it would curl and frizz my hair. Later, it was more about the many inconveniences. Slick roads and slow traffic. Learning to love rainy days would take time.
Although … if I think about it, I once loved them for their splashy mud puddles. Mud pies and bright-colored boots. The sound of the rain falling on a tin roof or through the trees. Somewhere, I lost the love for it.
During the global pandemic, I decided to grow a garden. I had tried this before — mostly with terrible results. But I wanted this. I was determined to figure out how to make a black thumb green. My grandmothers could grow things easily. Why shouldn’t I?
In a few months, I accumulated a veritable forest in my living room. Houseplants thrived for the very first time. And out on my small patio, I had created a spectacular secret garden. Moonflower vines ran up the walls. The air was redolent of lavender, rosemary, roses, and gardenias. Tomatoes grew, and blueberries prospered.
The meaning of rain changed.
Gentle rainy days felt like a benediction. Those were the days when I didn’t have to worry about watering my outside garden. I could simply watch my…
