Rain Aftermath

      Some years ago, in another real dry spell, we stopped one Friday afternoon at a truck stop in Burlington to grab a bite on our way to the farm.  While we were there, it began to rain.  Among the customers were several locals, some with three-year-olds or younger, and a couple of truck drivers from Indiana.

     As the rain drops began hitting the windows, many of the diners turned to look out the windows.  Some of the parents even took their children to the windows to watch it rain.  There was an audible expression of wonder and joy.

    The two truck drivers stopped their conversation, not to watch it rain, but to watch in wonder the folks who found rain so amusing.  Noticing the truck drivers’ amusement, I said to them, “Boys, we haven’t seen this in a long time here.  Those kids there have never seen it.”  They pretended to understand.

      There have been a few rains during this dry spell, but few enough that rain is still a wonder.  The actual amount we received while Northern Colorado was flooding was 2”.

     The rain had an effect on the golf game.

     Will the real golf ball please stand up?  The imposter mushrooms found the rain life-giving.

     Time to dig a few potatoes.

     In this lazy man’s way of raising potatoes, “digging” means pulling the hay away from the plant, being careful not to rake away any spuds with the hay.

 By Thursday, it had dried out enough to think about planting wheat. 

    This year, getting the drills ready to go didn’t take nearly as long.   The seeding mechanism turned easily.  I had planned to try it on Wednesday afternoon, but the fates interfered.  I noticed one of the tires had developed a bulge.  Well, it might work, so I aired it up.  When I got ready to go Wednesday afternoon, had the drills greased and full of wheat, I noticed the inner tube was beginning to protrude between the bulge and the wheel rim of that tire.  By the time I got the tire changed (finding a suitable tire in the bone pile took quite a while), Neighbor Lee showed up.  He didn’t stay too long, but it was too late to start anything now.

    So off I went Thursday morning and made a few rounds.  I had to put the toys away at noon, pack up and head off for Colorado Springs for our annual September family meeting.  Perhaps the fates were on my side this time.

    We arrived at the gathering place Thursday evening after a bout with the Garmin lady who probably previously had a job with the Sirens directing sailors to their deaths on the rocks.      

  

     Five couples stayed here, each with their own bathrooms, and a swimming pool.  Sister-in-law Julie always finds good lodging.

     Some of us took a horse ride through Garden of the Gods on Friday afternoon.

    It was ok to have the horse doing the walking.  All we had to do was hang on.  Friday evening we all attended a melodrama at a dinner theater in Manitou.

    Saturday morning, some of us took “the cog” to “the top of the mountain blue”, Pikes Peak.

     Political note:  The quarrel over what is causing the globe to warm is chaff.  We need to clean the atmosphere, regardless of whether the greenhouse effect is legitimate or not.  When I was a kid fifty-plus years ago, you could see clearly to the horizon where the earth curves beyond sight.  Not any more.  The permanent haze in the atmosphere limits the view to a few miles (the cog rail line is a little over eight miles long), not the hundred miles of yore.  The permanent haze limited the view from Mesa Verde the last time I was there, too.  This here is Colorado, not Los Angeles or Chicago or Mexico City or Shanghai or any of them places.

    Down from the Peak, we had lunch at a brewery.  Saturday afternoon was time to laze around and enjoy the beautiful day.  Following supper, a spirited game of Farkle happened.  A few tunes on guitars and fiddle by the siblings drove the in-laws to their beds.

  Breakfast Sunday morning, pack up and depart.  We took the Black Forest Road to gawk at the “burn scar”.  We saw denuded tree trunks standing black against the blue sky.  A lot of the ground vegetation has recovered, although there are still many bare slopes that have nothing to hold the rain water.  We saw very few charred remains of houses.  Most along our route have been cleaned up, leaving a vacant lot beneath the charred trees where somebody’s beautiful home once stood.

     Home to the planes where I can get back to wheat planting.  But wait!  It’s raining again.  Dang!  No wheat planting this week.  And what I have planted will probably have to be redone (the reason "somebody" interfered and wouldn't let me get started on Wednesday afternoon) .  And the neighbors all have their hay and prozo millet windrowed and some corn to harvest. 

   What a country!  Always does just the wrong thing.  Last June and July when we needed the moisture it couldn’t squeeze out a drop.  Now just look at it when folks have work to do!

     Woops.  The farmer in me is coming out again.  We need all the moisture we can get.  Maybe I won’t lose so many trees.  I won’t have to water them for while any way.  The subsoil needs a good recharging and. . . .