SPRING RAIN

Rain like the rustling of fine garments— Luminous, whispering rain; Voice of the Spring, sibilant and frail. Rain like the fluttering of wings— The glad sigh of Nature awakened. — Chant of the Spring Rain, Ray Clarke Rose Yesterday was a dreary, drizzly day along the river—though that’s not a complaint. We needed the rain. The wildflowers waiting beneath the leaves and duff need the moisture. The frogs and salamanders and earthworms were thirsty for a good wetting. Even the groundhog needed the grass watered so it would be induced to grow tall and tender, thus providing him with ample good eats. There’s no question we’ve gone far too long in this season of growth and resurrection without the many benefits of a good spring rain. The earth hereabouts is decidedly dehydrated. I noticed just how dry last week when I poked and raked around various planting beds while giving the yard its initial seasonal cleaning. More than once I actually stirred up dust! And when I dug several inches below the surface, the soil at that depth showed little evidence of moisture. Perhaps worse is the river, which is so low it’s almost shocking. As a guess, I’d say it’s already down to something nearing late-summer levels. Gravel bars are dry, revealed to air and sun. The mussels can’t have survived. Large stones normally underwater are exposed half-way and more, their tops sticking above the surface like the backs of beached turtles. How can you have spring without the gift of sufficient rain? Why, the notion is simply preposterous! They are the co-joined twins of season and weather—inseparable here in Ohio. Spring is green and greening requires rain. So when the rain did finally arrive, I welcomed it by donning a light jacket from time to time throughout the day, and taking several quick rambles around the house and yard and along my hundred or so yards of riverbank. There were plenty of birds to keep me company—titmice and chickadees, goldfinches, house finches, red-bellied and downy woodpeckers, various sparrows flitting through the trees and bushes. Looking a bit bedraggled, it’s true—but not seeming to care in the least. Robins warbled from the hackberry branches. Cardinals whistled in the evergreen hedges. And a song sparrow which I believe is casing the brushpile behind the stack of firewood as a nest site, sang with unbridled joy. Such glorious birdsong is capable of lighting up even the darkest day. Along the river, the mallard ducks and Canada geese seemed perfectly happy—though why would a little rain rankle any waterfowl? Too, the kingfisher noisily working the pool downstream didn’t appear to mind the flat, dim light, though it must have made the task of locating a target minnow more difficult. Even the squirrels took the weather in stride and spent hours chasing one another as they gamboled through the treetops—though their normally fluffy tails did become soggy and trailing, rather unsightly, which had the detrimental effect of making them look more like scurrying tree rats. Still, what does self-image mean to a squirrel? Nope…a good rain is a good thing in the spring. Though that sunbathing turkey vulture from yesterday’s post probably wouldn’t agree…