After what seems like a lifetime in lockdown with hour after hour spent under blue skies, the rain has finally returned. If ever there was a sign of getting back to normality I’d say that here, in the U.K., it’s a June day of 12°C and drizzle.
When I went to bed last night I was filled with the excitement of a child on Christmas Eve. All the forecasts on my numerous weather apps (I have five) agreed that rain was due to arrive during the night. The prospect of rain pitter-pattering on the roof is a true comfort noise for many like me.
Currently I am delighted that the rain has arrived as I now tend not one but two allotments. The last few weeks have seen me watering daily the rapidly growing crops. Having worried that I am prone to under-watering plants (I had an allotment many years ago when I was less knowledgeable than I am now) my watering regime has been considerable. I’ve spent about one and a half hours per day watering (from setting off from home to getting back, plus all the bits in between). So over the last two weeks that amounts to almost 24 hours of my life spent ensuring that the things that I want to live don’t die. The current rain has given me the gift of time.
You may know that rain helps to keep crime down: “PC Rain does more to deter crime than any other task force”. PC Rain will no doubt help to encourage social distancing with people choosing to remain in their houses rather than congregating in the sun-baked public spaces. The current rain is helping to keep us safe.
As a child I had a real love of rain even though my older brothers and my dad did all they could to scare me when it rained, especially with thunderstorms. I remember as a young boy of about 7 years old being pushed outside from the house when the rain started. The door was locked and my brothers would shout “send it down Joah” (an attempt to ask St Joseph or “Joah” to make it rain). I was terrified and would bang on the door to get back in; more water fell from my eyes than from the sky. How they laughed!
Yet I found rain to be a positive changer of worlds when I was young. The streets became deserted so I could go out without any interruptions. Our house was very cramped so it was nice to find a place to be by myself without my brothers doing what older brothers do and try to permanently wind-me-up. We didn’t have a garden, just a shared yard with an outside toilet (this was moved indoors when I was about 2 years old). The rain provided no relief from having to water the plants as we had no plants to water.
Instead the rain made our cramped house seem even more cramped. I’d like to think that my going outdoors when it rained was a charitable act to allow the house to be temporarily less densely populated. However I know it was because I loved being in the rain.
One of my favourite things was to play in the rain-induced stream that ran down the side of the road outside our terraced house. I would play pooh-sticks with tiny bits of rubbish that were on the rain-soaked ground. Some of those things would sink, some would float. The one that floated best and won the race was allowed to race again. The loser would either remain submerged or would go into the grate at the end of the road. I remember how the water would make the side of the road appear alive; it was like staring into a very elongated rock pool where the starfish were matchsticks.
The water helped to magnify those things that were immersed in it. The rain magically transformed a small lifeless world into a dynamic super world where things were capable of racing, of winning and of losing. And of being magically propelled. I could select who raced and from where they started and finished but once I had let go, they were off. I would build barriers in the stream in the gutter to see how things coped. If they got stuck, I would benevolently intervene. Looking back it’s easy for me to see how my actions then align with my way of being now. I like to see how things cope with challenge. I expect there to be competition. I expect there to sometimes be a benevolent intervener. I expect to see opportunity where others see none.
It’s possible that I’m reading too much into my childhood games but I know that my way of playing was unusual on our street. When the rain came, almost everyone went indoors. I was pushed back outdoors and I found a way to enjoy my exile. I found out the sort of person I was to become.
When life gives you rain, find out who you are.
#Pluviophile
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