Gustave Caillebotte: Paris Street; Rainy Day (1877)

"Cabin fever reigns while rain falls."

The low pressure preceded the rain's arrival, then hung around as it settled in. Yesterday morning dawned sunny. Today's slipped in unnoticed behind a thick cloud veil. I heard the distant dripping through the brief night, downspouts hardly even amused at the trickle coming off the roof. The snowball bushes have almost lost their blossom for this season. They sometimes grace us with a second blooming in the early Fall, but it's not at all clear why. We're moving beyond the damp season now and into the desiccating one. We live by a single principle here, that we never complain about moisture in whatever form it appears. We must at least pretend we're delighted by its presence, however unpleasant its persistence.

My to-do list stretches to new lengths. Grounded for the day, I must populate my schedule with alternatives. I might manage to slip out between rain drops and complete something of substance, returning sodden from kneeling in damp grass. The lawn, which needed no encouragement, grows with abandon, heedless of whether the mower might manage to make it through its growth. I'm reminded again of the absolute necessity of removing much of the lawn, if only to ease the mowing burden, and the water. Few plants seem as thirsty and unforgiving as lawn. Lawn's insistent.

Along the Columbia River system, early June has traditionally seen the last gasp of Winter. Memorial Day, as if to usher in the mini-season, tends to bring rain to dampen those attempted first picnics of Summer. The following couple of weeks, which seem as though they should bring the end of Spring, often bring the rainiest weather of the year. Portland's Rose Festival features a parade traditionally watched in the rain and a mud wallow carnival along the riverfront. In the old days, pea harvest would start with the fields muddy and workers damp. The first week of camping season offered ample reason to reschedule for later in the Summer, after the Summer finally came.

YetAnotherRainyDay. No surprise, yet I still feel compromised. A slight delay won't make much difference. In the long run, it won't matter if I proceed tomorrow, the day after, or today. Only my sense of rhythm's broken, my flow disrupted, my expectations interrupted. I will recover my losses once this latest front passes, and thank the Gods for the moisture in whatever form it came. Cabin fever reigns while rain falls.

©2022 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #Reconning, #PureSchmaltz