Some days I permit myself to wonder if there is a perverse fate at work in my life, taking my days off and turning them into large puddles of moisture. Yesterday was one such a day. I got home before dawn, thanks to the blessings of daylight savings time and when I awoke at lunchtime the scene outside the bedroom window was one of gray clouds and rain dripping from the eaves.
We had our cold front earlier in the week with sudden plummeting temperatures, cold north winds and lashings of rain. The progression then leads to crisp sunshine and cool temperatures as the land dries out and the waters try to warm up again. Instead I noted with some profound irritation that on my two nights off this week, Wednesday and Thursday, the weather forecasters predicted a fifty percent chance of rain. Chance would be a fine thing; this was a certainty and down it all came, watering the trees, around my house:
The barbecue on my rainwater cistern that acts as a deck:
And my reading chair which faces west across the salt ponds, from where I can look up from my book and watch the herons and ibis hunting for dinner among the mangroves. Chance would be a fine thing, and no chance for sunshine on a rainy day like this:
Rain is a splendid thing because this is the dry season around here and plants need watering. Naturally we need more rain on the mainland because our water piped to us by the Aqueduct Authority comes from the aquifer being sucked dry under Miami. But when my roof gets wet the fresh pure rainwater gets funneled under my deck:
Where it is stored in a 12,000-gallon cement room waiting for me to filter the water before pumping it into my house and using it. My home was built in 1987, one of the first in a subdivision that had no electricity, the house came with gas lanterns built-in on the walls which my builder took out saying they were dangerous and the system is hidden by modern clean Sheetrock now. The street was unpaved in those days but now its black with smooth tar. My house is supplied by the Aqueduct these days, but I only use that when I run out of my own supply of rainwater hidden behind the whitewash that springs the odd leak when the water levels rises high enough. Built in 1987 out of necessity, my cistern still works perfectly to original specs supplying the whole house with clean water:
I'm glad to drink the rainwater and shower with the rainwater and wash my Bonneville with the rainwater. I like to use rainwater not only because it tastes good and is, in a manner of speaking, free; but also because I have an historically ambiguous relationship with rain..
Rain has always represented cold to me, because I lived where it rained in winter. Rain meant being stuck indoors, or in a car, rain meant limitations on my daily life. Rain meant being cold and feeling lazy and lumpy, rain meant dealing with mud and damp and smelly dogs. Rain has always been through the half century of my life, an imposition. Even yesterday when I had to go to school at the college I took the car, out of sheer laziness and a lack of desire to wriggle into and out of my motorcycling waterproofs. My nicely tarred street is wide enough at least for my Maxima.
I needn't have gone so far as to drive to school, but I knocked off a couple of chores for my wife, one ironically enough was picking up some water for us to drink, out of bottles from the discount store. It would have been hard to haul six cases of fizzy San Pellegrino on the Bonneville. So my motorcycle stayed home, under the house as the rain dripped down.
By the time I finished my mid-term exam the rain had eased up and the skies were looking a little lighter, with a feeble attempt at sunshine trying to break through. Highway One on the way home was dry in places, the temperature was hovering comfortably in the mid 70s. Lots of places in the country would have called it a warm day, an excellent day for a ride. My consolation when I see the cold rain come down here, is knowing that elsewhere people are fighting snowdrifts and blizzards. I'm churlish that way but as pretty as it may be, rain is limiting:
I need to get a fresh perspective on rain. It remains warm around here, especially as most rain falls in summer and despite raising the humidity a solid thunderstorm can bring temperatures down far enough to just about make me shiver in August. Rain gives life to plants and takes lives on the highways where people freak out when they are forced to drive in the rain, ignoring all that strenuous research to bring them the best tires humans have ever known. Rain is good, it brings variety to the seasons, and it barely impacts my life though I whine about it all the time. Its just another great thing about the Keys- here it rains when its warm, and when it rains it doesn't last very long. Here it rains and as I watch the drops splat I know they will be gone by lunch time, or tea time, or bedtime and pretty soon the skies will be blue once more.
I needn't have gone so far as to drive to school, but I knocked off a couple of chores for my wife, one ironically enough was picking up some water for us to drink, out of bottles from the discount store. It would have been hard to haul six cases of fizzy San Pellegrino on the Bonneville. So my motorcycle stayed home, under the house as the rain dripped down.By the time I finished my mid-term exam the rain had eased up and the skies were looking a little lighter, with a feeble attempt at sunshine trying to break through. Highway One on the way home was dry in places, the temperature was hovering comfortably in the mid 70s. Lots of places in the country would have called it a warm day, an excellent day for a ride. My consolation when I see the cold rain come down here, is knowing that elsewhere people are fighting snowdrifts and blizzards. I'm churlish that way but as pretty as it may be, rain is limiting:I need to get a fresh perspective on rain. It remains warm around here, especially as most rain falls in summer and despite raising the humidity a solid thunderstorm can bring temperatures down far enough to just about make me shiver in August. Rain gives life to plants and takes lives on the highways where people freak out when they are forced to drive in the rain, ignoring all that strenuous research to bring them the best tires humans have ever known. Rain is good, it brings variety to the seasons, and it barely impacts my life though I whine about it all the time. Its just another great thing about the Keys- here it rains when its warm, and when it rains it doesn't last very long. Here it rains and as I watch the drops splat I know they will be gone by lunch time, or tea time, or bedtime and pretty soon the skies will be blue once more.For some people in the Keys its going to be a long time before the skies go blue again, if ever. The State sent down some hatchet women yesterday to officially close down the PACE program (Practical Academic Cultural Education) for at risk girls. Just like that the program is gone at the end of the month, the Key West director was fired with no warning and the juvenile jail is probably next to go. They say Key West got axed to send a message to lawmakers currently in session in Tallahassee: no more cuts or facilities will close. Too bad the small town programs in Key West, where they make a real difference have to be killed off. Our at-risk youth will soon face a new education among the hardened young criminals in metro Miami where they will learn how to be real crooks and bring their new skills home to Key West. Budget cuts always hurt the poor first and load the land of unexpected consequences in ways we have reason to dread, even though we can't yet know the full ramifications of this fiscal shortsightedness.
A rainy day is nothing by comparison to what our leaders are wreaking upon us.
