The stillness of approaching weather sat about little farm yesterday. The clouds had slowly lowered about our heads like a tin lid, amplifying all the darkening sounds and tricking the crickets into early song. The birds gathered in heavy trees and went quiet. The big animals ate as fast as they could. Filling their bellies in case of a protracted pause.
It was calm. Eeerie almost. Though pleasant. We felt small and alone in the fields, the animals and I. But safe. Our day was good.
When the rain finally began we heard it approaching from far away through the corn.
Everyone’s heads go up, smelling the shower, imagining we might have heard something, shelter is noted. We sense the hundreds of miles of crops this band of rain has trailed its fingers across until reaching us. Snippets of stories it has seen. All middles with no endings. Wild eyes with no words. As it blows its cloudy urgent body through the countryside. Just on the other side of the field now, pushing through the leaves towards us. The approaching sound of the petals of raindrops hitting the drying leaves of the corn has a pittering sound, like a million boots tiptoeing on gravel, toe to heel, toe to heel. A barely heard rustle now that grows in volume, rushing towards us, announcing its sound, building its volume, pushing the wind ahead like a train in a hot tunnel, ruffling our hair and tails as a warning. Before finally the raindrops burst out of the wall wall of corn, and into our fields zig zagging across to find us and rain generously upon our heads.
It only rained for a short time but the rain in the corn is a different sound from rain on the green grass. Or rain on a tin roof. Or rain tapping the top of your hat. Or rain hitting the drying wash on the clothesline. Rain in drying corn has a playful timbre, it is a collection of slipping notes. As the shower moves across, then above and then beyond us the sounds change like a passing car, dropping a note, changing down a gear, trailing a descant of drips and piddles as we hear it entering the next field and rushing away. And though our feet are wet, we shake our hands and ears dry. Heads go back down in the fields. Mouths reach for washed clover. Tails switch. I pick up my thistle spade again and come out from under the colander eaves of the barn. Birds peer skywards through the leaves testing the air and the tin lid rises and floats off after the gamboling shower. A benevolent uncle of a cloud lumbering behind his charges.
Good morning. I hope you all have a lovely day. We might even get another shower, the sky is red in its dawn.
Your friend on the farm, celi
The Kitchen's Garden 
46 responses to “The Rustle of a Rain Shower”
Your heart is in this one, c, and it sings warmth and affection. Nice bit of writing.
Good evening to you and the farmy, c.
Love the rain. Glad you got some — and that you shared it all with us so beautifully. Hope North Texas gets a share this week.
That sounds like a nice, refreshing rain, though the clothes on the line must start all over.
Beautifully written. I miss that kind of rain. It reminds me of a childhood long ago, that I’m not even certain was mine. Thank you.
Lovely tale, C!
Wat a glorious symphony you have described, Celi. I love your weather posts, perhaps because I am British. I still remember the cold last Winter and how hard it was for you to work through.
Celi, that was quite poetic – absolutely beautiful, I savoured every single word. Thank you for starting my day with such a pleasant picture of the farmy.
Sounds like a delightful and peaceful day. I like the new chicken enclosure. 🙂
Frustrating [ 🙂 ! ] to come on 12+ hours after the other readers and find everything one wants to say already said much better than my morning imagination could! But you surely took me thru’ the pitter patter in the corn and elsewhere in a most real but lyrical manner . . . Oh, the piggies can’t keep away from the chooks, can they 🙂 ! . . .
You are so auditory! I love your sound pictures of the rain striking various plants and places on the land. Now I’m not sure if you will have found the message that I added to an earlier post, so will put it here again, with the link (the reply is available for only a week after the programme, ie till Friday 20, NZ time):
Here’s something extra for you Celi: a link to the Country Calendar that I’ve just watched, about an organic farm in Southland, where they have quite a few Woofers. I thought of you as I watched it:
http://tvnz.co.nz/country-calendar/hyundai-s2013-ep26-video-5574261
Reply
I don’t know if Miss C looked at the country calendar but I did! was very good
Oh I certainly did, it was marvellous and made me feed awfully homesick, i am going to have their sausages delivered when i am home next! c
Oh good, glad you watched it. I wondered if it might make you homesick though.
It also made me want to go and visit them! But it looked cold. and those shorts he was wearing made it look colder!! c
Your words today carried me away until I was lost in reveries, and had to re-read to grasp it all. The third time around I my brain fastened on the words “drips and piddles” and my reverie was lost in laughter – “piddles” is a word that reminds me of my Dad, and you are the only other person I’ve ever encountered that uses it. Ahh, wonderful 🙂
WHat a beautiful picture you paint for us of the rain, travelling its long journey to reach us. I love that feeling of waiitng for long anticipated rain and then its arrival – kind and gentle.
Celi, it is exactly like that, and your imagery is perfect. I’d never experienced rain like that till we moved here. In California most days rain is light or nonexistent . Here it marches in and comes down with intent giving you warning to seek shelter. Although on too hot days, if there is no lightning and thunder of course, I will stay out in it and keep working.
You’ve reminded me of when I was little and lived in a tile-roofed house; when it rained it sounded to me like the bubbling noise made when my mama was boiling macaroni and the little elbows knocked against each other in the kettle and spat out their little breaths of captured air.
Thanks for the description of the rain – nothing like watching/experiencing a storm approach and arrival. Sigh. Well written – I could just feel it