Torrential rain slapped against our windows last night, making sleep hard to catch.
I lay there wondering why things bother us more as we get older. Rain never bothered me as a child. I suppose the potential water pooling in the basement is one culprit; it is now our responsibility to fix it rather than turning a blind eye while our parents deal with such things.
Last night, I needed sleep after a particularly long day, so I forced myself back in time. I listened to the rain & the thunder as I pictured myself in the house my parents built out in the country.
This was not the house I grew up in, but my little family frequently stayed the weekend with them because it felt like a mini vacation just an hour outside of town.
The house was no bigger than our little Detroit home of a thousand square feet, but it sat on ten acres of land, half of that land being dense woods. The other half stretched out a beautiful view of a swimming pond dad designed and had dug, his prolific vegetable garden, some brand-new fruit trees and flowering bushes hugging the brick perimeter of the house.
Dad made us feel like we were staying in a small-town B & B as he enjoyed making breakfast for the family. We would wake to the aroma of percolating coffee, homemade waffles seared on an old-fashioned iron, and bacon sizzling on the stove in an iron skillet. Mom laughed as she remarked what a job she would have cleaning up afterward, for he seemed to use every pan and utensil in the kitchen.
I’d saunter up to the bar stool while dad set a plate on the counter before me.
“Good morning, Sweet-Pea,” he’d say as he poured the coffee.
Growing up, we didn’t have breakfast together very often, for his work travel took him out of town for weeks at a time, so this tradition during his retirement is a treasured memory.
My girls were quite young, but they remember the aroma of Grandpa’s waffles with pure maple syrup soaking them through. They also remember the menagerie of animals and birds around this property. The sounds of the country so different from the city. The hoo-hoo-hoo of the morning dove waking us in the early hours.
When it rained here, we just rested in the steady pitter-pattering of drops on the roof—like white noise we might play these days to help our little ones fall asleep.
Rain was welcome because we knew Grandpa needed it for his garden. The tomatoes’ red would deepen, and the cucumbers off the vine would be supple and flavorful, quenching our thirst. The grass cascading down the hill at the side of the back field would display such a bright and vivid green. And if we were lucky we would catch the trumpet-shaped four o’clocks shaking off the excess water after a good drenching and blooming a bright fuchsia in the late afternoon.
No one worried about water pooling in the basement, for dad designed the house with preventions in mind. Plus, it was situated on a little hill. No one paced the living room looking out the window to make sure tree limbs were not littering the front lawn. No one stayed awake, fearful of the storm back then.
We had made it through many storms no worse for the wear.
That’s the feeling I was trying to channel last night—take some deep, calming breaths. Close my eyes as my heart rate slows and picture myself under the sturdy shelter of the home my dad built.
It can withstand the rain.
[In all authenticity, I admit I am struggling with imposter syndrome. Always a pretty confident person in the past, publishing a book is such a new endeavor that I sometimes feel like a storm is brewing. I’m gearing up for it, donning the protection of shelter, or at least an umbrella. Maybe it will just turn out as a soft, misty rain, and the rain “never bothered me anyway.” The rain nourishes.]
If you can relate, remember that you can build some safety measures in place too if you plan ahead for the storms that will come. You can wait out the storm and then step out into the cleansing rain. That’s what I’m planning to do. That’s what we did in the picture below. A few friends & I sat in the car during a quick storm, and as soon as it calmed a bit, we raced out to this beautiful spot for some pictures.
It was worth getting wet to experience such glory.
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I hope you stay tuned for my book that will take us through a storm to a strong shelter.
“Though the storms may come and the winds may blow, I’ll remain steadfast” (A beautiful song featuring Joe L. Barnes for Maverick City Music).
I was taken back in time to the many rainstorms where I am secure in my environment. I would bury my worries in its calm and tranquility. But now in my older age, storms sometimes incite my deepest fears, especially flooding predicted in the forecast.
Thank you Shell! 🌧💧💙
Beautiful post, Shell. I grew up in an area with very little rain, so we went out and danced in it when it did come lightly!! An occasional big storm sometimes brought tornadoes, but we all knew how, where and when to take shelter, so those were infrequent and dealt with calmly by the entire town, believe it or not! I love how you detail those great memories of sweet times. Thank you for sharing with us all.