Raindance
Monday brings the prospect of rain. Weeks without precipitation and the grass is dormant, the shrubs appear thirsty and dull at the end of a growing season. Some trees are shedding leaves, without any retrograde movement of temperature thus far. Does anyone pray for rain? I know that my grandfather did.
Granddad owned a small farm outside of Smithfield, North Carolina from which he made his sustenance. One midsummer when I was a kid I remember a Sunday afternoon. Outside under the big oak, the heat was stifling, hot. Grandfather head bowed, stood with a circle of family members while my father voiced a prayer to the deity (believed to be all powerful), requesting rain. Did prayer work? Eventually it does rain,…
I understand that a long dry spell provokes existential crisis. Corn stalks, grown to maturity, stand in dry rows, long leaves curling, and soon will be yellowish brown. Life hangs in the balance. Existence depends upon water. Extreme measures are demanded, when you’ve got everything to lose. A prayer meeting is called in the front yard.
Weather forecasts today a half inch of rain on average today for us in the Fox River Valley.
No need for a prayer meeting, — not just yet.
But I remember the ritual.
