Three days ago, the summer grasses were pale and so dry. The alliums had come up thickly on the hills, but a very dry August kept them from blooming in the profusion as they usually do. The land was feeling fragile. Then the clouds opened up.
August was a month of tease. The clouds would rumble but they always seemed to veer off to nourish another land. The Monday morning sunrise held a few horizon clouds reflecting the mornings’ dawn. It was a perfect start to the day. If the day starts with a good cloud cover, the ground stays cool, and thunderstorms seldom build. This day was blue skies until mid-afternoon when the first rumbles were heard, and the rounded top of the thunderhead came into view over the Black Range ridge to our west. It was speaking loudly and flashing brightly, and we thought, “please let the storm come our way.”
The winds began to pick up. The chimes were ringing and the leaves dancing in the strong breeze. Then the first raindrops were felt. We both said we were not moving until we were convinced that the rain was serious. A few minutes later, thoroughly soaked, we were convinced and ran to the house laughing with joy. It rained hard on and off into the dark finally easing up into a gentle rain.
Coffee was brewing the next morning when I eagerly went out to check the rain gauge. 0.79 inches was what I happily read. The feeling in the air was one of softness, nature relaxed. The Little Red Creek on the north side of our property had run well but even over 3/4″ of rain wasn’t enough to keep the creek flowing into morning. Maybe we were imagining a change, but the grasses looked a little less pale and everything looked fresh and perky.
Another beautiful sunrise with the sun coming up just a shade south of the pointed summit of Star Peak. The thin layers of altostratus clouds and a few tatters of cumulus were soon ablaze with the fiery touches of the morning light. It is one of the most peaceful moments, we find, to sit in the dark and sip our first cup and listen. Both mornings revealed the nearby calls of a hidden Great-horned Owl. Then soon a robin joined in and then our Yellow-breasted Chat began talking from the Alligator Juniper across the drive. Soon a neighbor’s rooster and a far-off hound dog both joined in, and the sounds of a good day were building quickly.
About 3pm we heard the rumblings again. We were hoping for a repeat. Sometimes it seems a strong storm uses up the rain for a day or two but this day the clouds had more to say, much more. The winds began, the thunderheads building quickly and soon the sky was roaring once again. This time the storm just kept talking in the way they do, wet and rumbly, and on through the night. When I woke at 4 am I could still hear a light rain playing a soothing melody on the metal roof. When I stepped outside in the dark, I could hear Little Red roaring to the north. To the south, Middle Percha Creek was running hard. It had been dry just two days before. Something we had never seen before in the 17 Kingston Augusts we had known.
It is always a gleeful moment when I see the middle tube of the rain gauge brimmed out. You know quickly that the skies had given up at least an inch of rain. I poured that wonderful tube of nectar out on a sunflower that was already well watered but didn’t complain. Then I poured the rain in the big tube into the measuring tube and joyfully added up the number, 1.8 inches total. That meant that in a day and a half, the land around our home had received 2.59 inches of pure water from the skies. A fun note to note: 2.59 inches of rain falling on our one acre means that a total of over 71,000 gallons of pure rainwater nourished the soils and plants. Try that with a hose.
We have a tradition we follow whenever the skies open and the rains fall hard: we hike up Little Red Creek Canyon. The creek bed is suddenly vibrant with pools of water, little but very vocal waterfalls, gurgling creek song, grasses with their glorious seedheads glistening with remnants of the nights drizzle, and in past years, tadpoles and their parent Canyon Tree Frogs.
So off we went up the canyon, accompanied by creek melodies which change with every bend in the canyon and every waterfall over glistening lichen clad boulders. It always amazes me how much sound an eight-inch waterfall in the creek creates. The voice is always changing. How much of this joy can a person absorb? I have never reached that point so I cannot say.
The picture I took this morning is of a special place of mosses and lichens, trickling waters and an ancient Alligator Juniper overhanging in protectiveness. The wonderful benefit of exploring our wild lands nearby is that there are so many of these special places. Each of you can be drawn to a haven of your choosing. Here is todays challenge: when the waters are flowing, go in search of your own special place.
Enjoy!