I hear the thunder overhead and the house rattles with the booms, the sky is grey and the passing cars are punctuated by that unique splashing sound a wet pavement gives. I love rainy days.
After the beautiful summer-like weather we had last week I’m probably one of a few people who think this is a wonderful way to start a spring break. As a kid being raised on a farm I knew the need for rain. The pasture might be over grazed, the pond a little low. The corn was curling in the hot dry summer. A good year of well-timed rain could mean good third and fourth cuttings of hay, an assurance we wouldn’t have to buy expensive hay for the cows.
My dad was an independent roofer. He worked out of our home, and rainy days often meant the phone rang. Mom would answer the ringing phone, the family would quiet as she'd answer; she’d take down phone numbers and addresses and make appointments for estimates. The family would smile at the messages she would take, people who wanted Dad to come right now in the driving rain, in the thunder and lightning to fix their leaking roof. Rain kept both family businesses providing for us.
Rain, the giver of work and prosperity also caused Dad and the whole family to have a relaxing day together. Unless there was an inside barn project Dad would be in the house with us, he wouldn’t be working in the field, and he wouldn’t be putting a roof on either. A rainy day was a joy in many ways.
Now Dad is gone, and my brothers answer the phone calls. The land is still farmed, but now it gives Mom a yearly rental income. I’m a teacher with students who need to go out to run off some energy on the playground. Rainy days are not quite so relaxing and calm with 26 kids who’ve just watched a movie instead of playing hard.
Today is the start of spring break. I have a cup of tea and a quiet house. I love rainy days.