Sunday, May 24, 2020

The Scent of Rain


Sabbath quiet on the east porch. Mottled sunshine over the garden, a drift of clouds, pale grey at the edges.
Whirring of wings as hummingbirds land on the hanging feeder.  Bluebirds fly into the fringe of trees that line the south ravine, dart back out of sight behind the house.
I move the heavy gardening book from my lap to rest against the arm of the rocking chair.  Clancy, the half grown kitten, has landed in my lap.
A light breeze lifts the perfume of the Old Vermont Pinks in the new garden below. The tallest spires of foxglove move.
I am lost in my book--English gardens, herbs, flowers, stately formal gardens, cottage gardens, rustic country plots.


The wind quickens, bringing the smell of distant rain.  Putting the book aside, I watch the tops of the trees swaying as dark clouds move in from the west. 
A muffled rumble of thunder and the cats who have kept me company exit the porch, scudding through the sun room and into the house.

Rain moves in fast, great sheets of it borne on the wind.
Through the porch screens I watch as water pummels the flower strips, splashes from the barn roof.

Picking up my book and a cushion from the rocking chair I follow the cats inside.
The shower is brief, but rather fierce, over in a scant 15 minutes.

Outside again trees drip, closer by, the eaves drip. 
The tiny tree frogs we call 'rain crows' make their distinctive creaking sound, call and answer from several across the lane.
A quarter of an hour's respite and again the thunder rolls, heralding another deluge.
Teasel-Cat and I settle for a chair by the east living room windows, the book again positioned to accommodate a cat



When the rain stops I shove my feet into boots and venture outside.
In the greenhouse a swallowtail butterfly beats against the wall, pauses to cling to a spray of tall grass above  the bench. I grasp it gently by one wing, release it at the door and watch as it flutters away.


The storms have moved off, leaving a steamy warmth. The peonies raise their heads.



The sky is brilliantly blue, clouds pillowy, pristine.


Walking up the lane to the mailbox I note that this shapely tree in the fence row has triumphed over the harsh freeze that stripped its first crop of leaves.


Our neighbor's barn lot, unused since the death last fall of his giant jack, has grown a cover of buttercup.


The dooryard shimmers, the air has a rain-washed freshness.



The grass of the meadow is nearly ready for David Beachy to hay again.



Willis waits for me in the shade where the lane bends past the garden area.


Willis takes his escort duties very seriously.


At twilight we walk out and notice that the rain and several hours of steamy heat have caused a veritable explosion of green beans poking through the wet garden soil.



It is nearly dark when I cross the yard to close up the greenhouse. 
A few seedlings need watering. 
Jim has set buckets to collect rain water, better for the young plants than the heavily chlorinated county water.
A frog balanced on the edge of a bucket startles me, plopping over the edge.

The night air is heavy with the scent of wet grass, pinks, pansies, wild blackberries.
The rain crows rasp, the birds have gone to their night time roosts.
We are--finally--at the edge of summer.






21 comments:

  1. Beautifully written, - I'm with you all the way!

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    1. Hildred; It was an afternoon for being aware of everything around me.

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  2. Beautifully written - I felt I was there with you. I am sure that Willis and Ghengis are related - they look alike and Ghengis too, is my shadow when I am in the garden.

    We finally had some rain and the garden has delighted in it. At least it saved us watering round for 24 hours. Love your Swallowtail butterfly. In the UK they are only found in one county - Norfolk. Tam has seen them in the Czech Republic when she's been there with Zane but we are lucky to see any common butterfly here right now.

    Hope your paeonies have survived the weather to put on a show this year.

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    1. Jennie; Do you ever think of the great number of cats the world over? Tweedy tabbies such as Willis and Ghengis; black and white 'tuxedo' cats, the grey moggies, calicoes--all 'catly' in common but each one a personality!

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  3. Thank you dear Sharon for another glimpse into your country life. Have a great week ~ FlowerLady

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    1. Rainey; I've so often thought that I would have dwindled away any place but in the country.

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  4. Your words are very descriptive, and although we have day after day of rain, you've made a thunder shower something wonderful.

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    1. Lil Hen; We have had too much rain! Impossible to set foot in the garden and plants developing a yellow cast. Thankfully the thunder storm was brief and not damaging.

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  5. And, you have described perfectly a fierce little rain storm that just passed through here. From your book's listing of different garden styles, it is easy to choose which is mine - Rustic Country Plot. I will no longer refer to it is a garden, but as a plot.

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    1. Mary; Any garden I've ever made was definitely in 'rustic' mode! 'Garden plot' has a very comfortable familiarity.

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  6. You mention the tree being stripped of its leaves. My eldest son lives in Scotland and has only just got off the phone and one of the things he mentioned was that his Beech hedge has had its first crop of new leaves stripped by one very cold night, no doubt they will grow again.
    Lovely post.
    Briony
    x

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    1. Briony; I began to fear that some of the frosted trees wouldn't recover this season. Some are much slower than others, but most seem to be pushing out a fresh crop of leaves.

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    1. Karen; Wouldn't it be lovely to have a group of friends sitting about with books, cats, and mugs of tea while the rain splashed beyond the porch.

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  8. It's good to see the results of a fertile, cleaning rain. I'm sure Willis takes his duties very seriously. Phil

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    1. Phil; Willis has always had a very exaggerated sense of his duties!

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  9. Poetry in motion. Rain is somewhat lacking here, and strong winds have put paid to a Japanese maple sadly. But there are always delights in a garden.

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    1. Thelma; Gardening seems to produce delight and frustration in nearly equal measure. Rain is so needed, and then there is the tipping point where it becomes a liability.

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  10. Summer arrived here in southwesern Vermont on Tuesday, continued into Wednesday with haze, heat (high 80's) and a generous dollop of hunmidity. Took all of us by surprise as it has been unseasonably cold; we had 6" of snow just two weeks ago. We've had nightly fires until last weekend, nearly fulfilling our promise to burn every stick of firewood rather than lug it back to the woodshed. Fewer than a dozen sticks went into the back of the RTV and the wood racks were disassembled and taken to the barn for the summer. Yesterday, in the heat, I replaced the storm windows with summer screens. Just now a male Scarlet Tanager paid a visit to my garden; such a beautiful bird!

    I love that you refer to wood frogs as 'rain crows'; I've never heard that nom, now I have! The sudden heat has exhausted my dear Red Buds and nearly every exquisite petal has gone to ground. I will close with the sound of the Wood Thrush singing his evening hyms.

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    1. Mundi; Spring in any part of the country is a season of forward toward summer and the inevitable look back at winter.
      We likewise moved out the stove wood, then brought some back inside for a few last fires.

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  11. Lovely post - so much information and so nicely defined.

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