RAIN, MORE RAIN, RUMORS OF RAIN

The view out my deskside window of a rain-soaked landscape is becoming all too familiar. It's been raining briskly all morning. The prediction is for the rain to continue—today, tomorrow, next week, possibly forever. It rained yesterday, and rained the day before that—Independence Day. It has rained for, well, I don't know how many days. Weeks? Months? I think maybe it began raining in February or could have been March. Perhaps it only seems that long. But it's been raining almost daily for what we've had of summer to this point plus most of the spring.

Oh, yeah, sure, there have been days of sunshine interspersed. Not whole days, mind you, not most of 'em. Partial days. A few minutes, a few hours when it wasn't raining or ominously overcast with dark clouds and looking like it was going to rain the next instant. Still, our rain-free periods during the last couple of months have seemed too brief and somehow cruelly tempting, akin to waving a cheesburger in the face of a starving man.

The good news is that while the majority of recent days it has sprinkled, drizzled, rained, and poured down 20 out of every 24 hours, the river is, oddly, not up by more than a few inches. Muddy, less than picturesque, but in otherwise good shape.

Daytime temperatures fluctuate between the low-80˚s and mid-60˚s F. Which doesn't sound bad until you factor in the humidity. Lows feel damp and cold. Not cool—cold. Highs feel hot, muggy, sweltering.

Last year was the driest on record. This year…well, we've turned into a sort of Midwestern rainforest. I'm sure the bullfrogs are ecstatic.

Me? Not so ecstatic. Though honestly, I'm trying to not complain too much. Therefore, I'll simply leave you with a few random reportorial observations:

The bedraggled hummingbirds continue to visit the bergamot except during the heaviest downpours—a case of get soaked or starve.

For the Fourth, I had to "grill" our traditional hotdogs and sausages in the kitchen. Possibly an improvement.

Haven't yet heard a single cicada ratcheting.

Come dark, there are more lightening bugs flashing their love-codes inside the cottage than out in the yard.

I have to keep a stack of towels by each door for drying off Moon-the-Dog after she's made a hurried trip outside.

Our bed linens feel clammy, reminiscent of camping in the tropics.

Crackers, chips, and dry snacks placed in a bowl lose their crunch in minutes. Not an improvement.

The clothes dryer requires two cycles to dry the towels, which otherwise come out steamy.

I'm absolutely convinced there's mold growing in places and on things which I haven't yet thought to check.

When the sun does temporarily reappear, I grab a camera and rush off somewhere nearby to make a few photos, as the landscape is particularly lush and green—even the prairie patches—and everywhere all a'dazzle with blooms. I made today's post image between showers.

I wonder if my neighbor's hip replacement is rusting?