|After the storm.|
Well, I've decided to do something about ending the drought. I'm going to paint my house.
I spent all of last summer languishing from the desire to paint my house, but we never had a dry enough stretch to do it in. It didn't help that I was also insanely busy, but it was easier to blame the weather. This year has been nothing but bright, hot, sunny days in an unending progression. Perfect house painting weather. Unfortunately, I'm still insanely busy, so all this perfect painting weather has passed without a single brush stroke threatening the complacency of my chipped and peeling paint.
So I knew that all I had to do to end our nation's drought was begin painting my house. Little did I know how powerful the mere thought of painting would be....
It has been weeks since it has rained. Everything is dry and hot and dusty. The wheat fields---those that aren't harvested yet---are golden perfection waiting to be combined. Farmers work from dawn to dusk, and sometimes beyond, trying to get their crops in before it rains. Did I mention the dust? As someone who lives out on 8 miles of gravel road, the dust is something I tend to notice.
Yesterday I was out watering my pumpkins when I noticed a small storm off to the west. It wasn't very dark, but I could see a fringe of rain along its base. Good, we might get a few sprinkles, but I was going to keep watering anyway. No way we'd get enough to satisfy those thirsty plants!
I began to worry for all the wheat fields around my house. Sure, my pumpkins were happy, but I don't depend on them for my living. (Good thing, too, those slackers!) Once wheat lies down it can't be harvested, and that rain was giving a pretty compelling argument for flopping over.
But since nobody I could see suffered complete economic annihilation (most farmers have crop insurance anyway these days), I could rejoice in the beauty of a world washed clean from its choking cloak of dust.
Since I hadn't actually started painting, the storm was only a small, localized one. The roads by our house were muddy messes, but 8 miles north, they were dry and dusty. I guess maybe I'd better hold off on even THINKING about painting my house until after harvest. I don't want to get lynched by an angry mob of farmers!