Rain and Bourbon and Cabbages and Rain

There has been no continuity in the summers since we moved here. Nothing from one to the next that you can count on.

The first year was mosquitoes and wildfire smoke.

The second was wildfire smoke and drought.

This summer has no mosquitoes (on our deck, at least) or wildfire smoke or real warmth. This summer is all about the rain, never-ending rain (I’m ignoring the obvious covid-19 issues here, ok.)

None of these summers have been conducive to much relaxed time outdoors.

The strangest thing is that I don’t even care. It’s so incredibly strange to me that a summer could be like this, and I take it in stride.

Today is raining? Well, what’s new. I will do things inside then.

Today is sunny? Well, that makes me smile. I will work outside today, maybe sit on the deck and watch the creek go by. We’ve built quite a lovely little garden out of junkyard finds and online give-aways this year.

I find myself sitting on the deck in the rain, as well as the sun. Whatever. It’s just weather. There are worse things.

Of course, my garden hasn’t suffered much for the rain yet, so, there’s that. My neighbour has lost all her cabbage to the moth larvae, I got mine sprayed it time (because

of her dire warnings. Thank you, Deb!) But I wonder if my onions are holding up as well as I think they are. The mountain ash tree that I planted in June had to be lifted and replanted in a mound above ground because it was drowning. But I’ve actually been sitting here in my studio room, writing, listening to the rain outside my window and enjoying it. What?!

Have I evolved? Have I grown as a person? Or have I given up and depression taken over as the new normal? Does it even matter at this point?

I’ll tell you what, any day that I don’t read/watch any news, very little social media snark, and no one gives me attitude for wearing a mask when I go to the hardware store (nothing more serious than a wide-eyed look, anyway), I think “it’s all good. It’s enough.”

But then again, I just poured a finger of bourbon over an iceball and swirled and sipped while I made dinner and listened to Amos Lee. The gentle patter of rain outside my open window is like a benediction for that scenario.

Yes. It is enough for today.