Saturday, July 30, 2011

Summer Rains

As my wife and I drove home this evening, we saw lightning flashing off to the east of us. We crave any rain we can get here in the desert of Arizona.
Growing up in Florida, I never remember rain being something one had to wait for.  It seemed to come fast, furious and regularly. Many say you can set your watch by the afternoon rains there during the summer. Probably one of my favorite remembrances is that of watching the Florida sky turn to a steel blue/black. That dark backdrop made the colors of everything else pop in your vision. The pastures or sawgrass or celery fields flashed brilliant green. The grey trunks of the oak trees would sway in the oncoming wind, shaking their gray, bearded spanish moss against the deep green of their leaves.
But what soars through my memories most is the flight of the snowy egrets as they seek shelter from the approaching storm. To this day, I can still see these graceful birds with their flowing white feathers as they rise in a smooth arc circling the pond and heading for the sanctuary of the stands of cypress trees along the river.

I remember, too, some rainy days in my old Sarasota neighborhood. My mother taught me well not to walk in the street where the  cars may not see me. I obeyed. . .to a fault. As I walked home from school, a deluge insued. Not to worry, Mom had a bright yellow plastic raincoat--you know, the heavy ones that lasted much longer than your current height or sleeve length would. I donned my raingear, tucked my books inside and trudged toward my house. Mom would be so proud of me, walking knee-deep in the gutter so as "not to get in the street or traffic."

In my high school years my siblings and I would spend many summer days in our little sailboat (see "Christmas" post.)  We would sail up and down Sarasota Bay, soaking up the healing powers of the salt, air and sun. We would sing, tell embarassing stories, swim, fish occasionally, and just be boys, friends, pals! More than once we would see the skies begin to darken and, just as we were taught by my father, we got to a safe place and got our mast down so as not to attract lightning.  There was a small spoil island at the mouth of Hudson Bayou that was a favorite place for us to put in. We pulled the boat up on the white sandy beach, near the mangroves, on the south side of the little 20' by 60' atoll. Rapidly we took the sail down and flipped the boat up on its side. We leaned the boat rail against the centerboard and then spread the sail over to complete our shelter in the storm. We continued our telling of tales and laughing. Every sizzle and crack of the lightning and boom of thunder made us jump. Rain pounded so hard on the boat and sail that we really could not hear ourselves talk. Finally the rain would slack off, the wind soften, and we would scurry from the lean-to and prepare the rigging for the last leg back to the house. This was just a quiet time of reflecting on the day and listening to water lap against the hull of the "Snowflake."  As we rounded the point, we could see our port, our house. . .we were home!

Please take a moment to share your rememberances of a summer rain or growing up in Florida.

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