raining

barbara kingsolver begins animal, vegetable, miracle with a perfect anecdote. kingsolver's family of four (plus dog) are in a quick-stop convenient market just outside the city limits of tucson, arizona. they have packed up all their belongings and are driving east, to a farm in southwestern virginia, to live a year (or more) of what kingsolver magically calls "food life."

at the time, it had not rained in tucson for over two hundred days. so when the sky suddenly darkened, kingsolver, her husband steven, and the young cashier at the quickie-mart took notice.

"dang," the cashier said, according to kingsolver, "it's going to rain."

"i hope so," steven replies.

the cashier, a "bleached-blond guardian of gas pumps and snack food," scowls at steven and says, "it better not, is all i can say."

"but we need it," kingsolver says.

cashier: "i know that's what they're saying, but i don't care. tomorrow's my first day off in two weeks and i want to wash my car."

eeks.

yesterday it rained at stonelake farm. it wasn't a torrential downpour, but neither was it a wimpy drizzle. it was a beautiful rain and it lasted nearly the whole day and evening. the rain watered buck mountain, the trees, and the surrounding fields of grass, some of which, as a result, has turned from hay-like yellow to grass-like green. naturally, the rain also watered the garden.



i spent most of the day in the coopala, dividing my time between reading kingsolver's book, listening to the rain fall, and being mindful.


that night melinda, francis, sarah lewison, and the two interns, montana and kelson, joined me in the octagon for dinner. the whole meal was delicious, especially the centerpiece, a fresh salad made from at least ten different greens from the garden.


all of us were, i am sure, more than thankful for the rain.