I remember well the rainy days of summer in my childhood years. Almost all were spent in the village in Poland. With my sister and my grandmother. My grandfather was an elusive presence, roaming in and out of the village all the years I would stay in the house he helped build. Those cool wet days were plentiful and my sister and I would search for ways to keep ourselves busy. Not much in the way of toys, not many kid books around, no libraries of course, so we'd pick up the occasional magazine before it made its way to the kindling box. Kobieta is Zycie (Woman and Life) ranked high. They had a column that posted funny things little kids have said. And tips on keeping your hands from drying out in the winter. More serious stuff too, but in those summers in the village, I avoided the serious stuff. Newspapers? This was so called Communist Poland. Newspapers were poor sources of information. Still, they'd keep you busy for a few minutes. No TV, no films to stream, not even a radio to offer up some music. Just the sound of rain outside.
The rest of the time we spent on drawing. Maybe a few village friends would stop by if they were feeling brave. (My grandmother did not like kids messing up her well scrubbed spaces. She'd greet them with a frown rather than with a plate of cookies.) We'd quickly scamper off upstairs to the attic bedroom -- a vast space where we could spread out and take out sheets of paper and shared colored pencils. Some of us had talent, most of us did not and still we would draw because, well, what else could you do when the rain pattered rhythmically against the roof above us.
When the showers and storms let up, we'd go for a walk to study the puddles formed along our dirt road. Sometimes we'd go to the forest to pick mushrooms. Sometimes we would ride our bikes, enjoying the spray of water we deliberately created as we pedaled the bikes into long stretched of wet rivulets forming along the road.
I thought of this today as I woke up to rain. I thought how different my life is now! I opened up my laptop and checked the forecast, noting that the rain would stop by 9:15. 9:15!! I can now tell almost to the minute when it will rain, when it will not rain, when the sun will come out, when it will hide again. As a child I functioned with none of this information. When will the rain end? I don't know. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow. That's the best I can tell you.
So I have a couple of hours of rain, gentle rain, much needed rain, and I dont need to go out to feed the animals until it tapers off to a low drizzle. They can wait. The coop door will swing open for the hens at 7:45 (unless it gets stuck in the dampness), they'll go out, I'll stay in. For now.
What do I do in those early hours? Cut up fruit for myself (always the gray bowl), for the two kids who will be here this afternoon (red bowl, white cup). [It used to be for Ed as well, but our garden has been overproducing melons and so he is off the line-up for now, cutting off endless chunks of melon for himself.]
(Sparrow is not a fruit guy but I insist. He chose apples and strawberries. Snowdrop cleans her big bowl of every fruit I put in it, every single day that she is here.)
Then I bake muffins. Yes, for here, but also to send back with the kids. Getting them to eat breakfast is a challenge. But at least one of them never ever refuses one of my "best ever" blueberry muffins.
And now the rain has calmed down. I go out to feed the wild brood of cats and chicks.
Finally, breakfast.
Having put in 18 solid days of good movement, I do not want to stop now. Here I am, 70 rather than 7 or 17 years old, taking out the bike after the rain! But avoiding the puddles. There's no joy at this age in splashing the world on a cool September day. It's only 60F (15C) out there and already I'm wishing I had brought along gloves for the ride. Are my biking days coming to an end for this year? Ed will keep going until there's ice on the road, but Ed's blood is made of different material than mine. So what will replace biking? I think about it as I pass the wet and beautiful landscape.
(so often they walk in pairs...)
And in the afternoon I pick up the two older kids at school.
A good school day today. You can't hope for that every time you pick them up, but I am pleased as anything when no one has any mean kid behavior, or great disappointment to relate.
And now they are home and I am home, feeling a little like I have to dodge bullets for the next two weeks. My mom developed Covid (second time for her) at her assisted living facility. She is vaccinated and boosted, so we expect her infection to run its course without issue, but still, I checked the data: there's Covid in our community, that's for sure. Ed and I have avoided it thus far and we'll double down on precautions before we get our next vaccination (end of this week!), but still, we wont close off the world. We're not at that level of concern. Heightened, but no cold sweat or pounding hearts! Kids are here, I'm planning to travel in October. Lots. With a packed supply of masks once again.
At the farmhouse, the colorful lights I wrap around the stairs for year-round cheer have gone out, as have the ones on the porch. It's a reminder that the holidays are around the corner. Time to start thinking about hyge once again! I've bought a candle that promises to give us the slightest scent of a boreal forest. I had found the scent in Copenhagen, so it's about as Danish huge as you can get. We have three full freezer bags of corn kernels and forty bags of tomatoes in the ice box, waiting for those cold weather chilis. We are so ready for cozy farmhouse moments!
