Rain, Rain, Stay the Day, Come Again Another Day

That I have different objectives than most of the people I come across is an abstraction that doesn’t usually manifest itself in an easily observable manner.  But this Friday, as I worked my rounds in a large office building , this fact was illuminated like the score lit up on an electronic board:  Everyone vs. Tamara

“Be sure to do all your outside tasks early tomorrow,” one woman kindly counselled.  “It’s supposed to rain all day.”

Others, grumbled such things as:  “We were planning a hike.”  “Now I’ll never get that grass cut.”  “Why does it have to rain on the weekend?”

I assured all we needed the rain — that ground was frighteningly dry, that we needed to get caught up with rainfall before the real heat came and stayed.  But their irritation would not be assuaged.

Rather than being doused by the prospect of the forecasted rain, all day my enthusiasm was growing like . . . well, like a morel, waiting just below the surface for cooling temperatures and gentle moisture.  This morning these folks may still be glaring outside their windows, wondering if there will be a break in the raindrops (much like my cat Bandit, I imagine), but I’m vibrating like the green of the newly budded leaves, anticipating the mysteries the forest will unfold the next time I make my trek.

Some times being an oddball totals up as a loss.  But this weekend, I feel like I’m on the winning side.

March Morel Madness

which has more creases -- the mushrooms or my hands?

Spring is so forward this year that I found these small morels almost 2 weeks earlier than I’ve ever found morels before.  Unfortunately, it’s also very dry, so unless we have a string of cloudy days and some gently soaking rains, there might not be many morels for Albemarle County hunters.

Morels are funny.  Minutes before I found my first one, I reminded myself of the joy I always experience finding it, of how beautiful it would be.  While it’s nice to find many, finding even one makes me feel privileged, as if the spirit of the forest was trusting me with her treasures.  Hours later and I still feel celebratory.

a post for March

apple blossoms blooming at Monticello

It’s almost morel season, so I need to stretch my blog writing skills.  Why I return to this universally ignored communication instrument, I couldn’t say.  Thinking of it as something Thomas Jefferson would do if he were alive today sort of inspires me, I’ll admit.  Being forced to have an expert’s knowledge of his garden notes reminds me that such recording of small things may be of use later.

It’s the first day of spring, an event I’ve anticipated for many weeks.  What with writing about stars, thinking about moon phases, and knowing astrology, the Sun’s ingress into Aries(tropically speaking) may catch me unprepared but not unawares.  In response to 2 weeks of warm weather that promises to persist for at least the next week, yesterday evening I  unpacked my circulating fan and stored my humidifier.  Despite my aversion to cleaning, I even gave the darn fan a thorough going over with a vinegar-soaked cloth.  When the process was almost complete, I realized that this ‘exchanging of seasonal electronic devices’ might be the only ritual I would make to celebrate spring’s advent.  Putting the grill back on the fan’s face, I looked for the first time at the wording stencilled in the center — “Aries.”

Life is quite the comic.