At some point in January, the local weather forecaster on
one station declared that Tennessee was experiencing a drought. I hope that
after the last month that he will now declare we’re caught up on the needed
rainfall. Downpours have made yards soggy and floors muddy. Most of us are over
it and ready for at least a little dry spell.
When we were children, the rain rarely proved to be a bad
thing. We found indoor activities to keep us occupied. Jim and I would flop on
the floors and play cars for a while. That activity was followed by attempts to
build cabins with Lincoln logs. We’d spend long periods of time trying to
construct things, but those attempts always ended in frustration. One reason
for the bad feelings was that we just didn’t have the natural talents to put
together what was in our minds with what lay before us on the floor. Another
cause for consternation was the discovery that vital pieces of logs were
missing. We always assumed that someone had stolen the things without
considering the possibility that our own failure to pick up the toys and put
them back in the can led to their disappearance.
In warmer weather, we took up residence on the front porch.
Our arms were filled with toys, and we also had our guns. Those items ensured
we’d have plenty to do. When the toys bored us, we took up six shooters and
played cowboys. As “Hank” or “Tex” or “Bart,” we took cover behind columns and
mowed down outlaws or Indians. Each shot was accompanied by sound effects to
imitate the firing of the guns.
In summer, a steady rain offered cooling relief from the
heat. No air conditioning was available in our house, so playing in the rain
substituted for it. Jim and I often found a mud hole. We scooped the stuff up
in our hands and then patted it out on the grass. Before long, we had a dozen
of the things laid out, and we’d pretend they were pies or cookies but never
sampled any of our own creations. Before long,
The rain wasn’t always welcome. Summer swimming meant trips
to Concord Pool. The trip was planned several days in advance, and because
adventures like this were infrequent, we stayed all day. Picnic baskets were gathered,
and we boys readied our swimsuits and any toys or water masks that we might
need. If rain wiped out our trip, bottom lips hung low with pouts and moods
were less than merry.
The same ill attitudes occurred when our baseball games were
rained out. Mr. Wright hauled all of us to the old ball fields beside Karns
Elementary School for contests. I visualized my catching fly balls or smashing a
homer and rounding the bases, both things that were mere pipedreams. A sudden
shower would steal my delusions of heroic performances and leave me having to until
the next week.
I don’t mind some rain. In fact, sitting on the screened
porch and reading a book is especially nice on some sweltering summer days.
However, I still pout like a six-year-old when precipitation pre-empts my plans
for mowing the yard or swimming in our pool. Yes, I know that it’s somewhat
ironic for rain to postpone an activity that includes dunking my body in water,
but keeping towels and books and snacks dry is impossible in a downpour. No one
ever wants to experience a drought, and I’m thankful for the rain; it’s just
that too much of it at one time drowns plans and spirits.
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