Rain Will Make the Flowers Grow

In Texas, praying for rain is a national pastime or, in this case, should I say, a state pastime.  When it does come I get as excited as I did for snowstorms on the Cape.  Yay, plants that won’t need watering for a while but, when I am traveling, not so much.  And yet it seems to be a recurring theme with me, that whenever I launch off for some long distance adventure, I seem to take a major weather system along with me.  And this trip has been no different.

I am heading to Maine, for the birth of grandchild #3, due on Memorial Day.  How festive and how perfect for this New Englander to have the great fortune of being called in for Nona-duty in the month of May.  Could there be a more beautiful time to drive through this verdant country when everything is in bloom and the greens are at their greenest?  No, and I have been treated to the lush views of waist high grass, an abundance of flowers and crops that are up and looking extremely healthy.  But I also have also been closer than I would want to be to the other harbinger of spring, tornadoes. 

Leaving my daughters house in Killeen before dawn, the radio crackled with news of “first responders” and “devastation” and “watches for the following counties….”.  And here is a serious pet peeve of mine, could they just once mention town names for we travelers who haven’t memorized the counties of the state we are passing through?  Or just give us a hint, north Texas or western Arkansas or something a little more descriptive.   Not knowing if I was in the county they were talking about but having a black, black sky at my back with lightning shooting out of it, helped me keep my pedal to the metal trying to stay ahead of it.  No dice though, each day, this storm has caught up with me while I slept and watching the weather forecast for VA today I see, what a surprise, “thunderstorms, rain, heavy at times”. Of course. 

However, I could look at another way.  I hate the heat, I have a “might work, might not work”, air conditioner in the car, but with all these storms I have been kept cool.  Cool to the point of putting on a jacket at times, a jacket I thought I wouldn’t need until I reached Maine.  While meanwhile, back in Texas they are breaking records for heat. My husband claimed it was 105 in San Antonio, I think it had been 70 the day I left.  So, I won’t complain about the rain.

And the other plus side is, when you go to take a gander at some famous spot, you just might have it to yourself if it is pouring; just me and the spirits of the prehistoric Indians at the Toltec Indian Mounds outside of Little Rock.  They are kind enough to lend out umbrellas but after mine turned inside out for the third time, I thought I just might as well get wet.  It was a warm gentle rain and the swallows were swooping over the open field searching for sodden bugs and when I got my sandals covered with mud there were plenty of puddles to wash them off in.

It poured so hard in Nashville where I had stopped to see, not the honky-tonk bars, 

 but Vanderbilt, that I decided spending an hour or so in Starbucks seemed a better idea.  Lovely.  Just the break I needed from looking at the world through swishing wipers. 

 And last night, I decided against one motel, for it was on the top of a hill and just as I pulled in, a bolt of lightning came down so close that I thought I might see this place go up in flames. I quickly turned the car around and found a better choice on lower ground. 

Now, as I write this, the Weather Channel is on and the map is dotted with bright red and orange splotches.  The poor folks of Kansas and the entire Midwest look like they need to seek shelter. 

 But my route?  That would be, you guessed it, rain and thunderstorms.  Still I see temps in the 70’s while Texas goes for more record highs.  So, again, I won’t complain. For that matter, if I want to look at this biblically, I could take the role of the Israelites being led by the Shekinah glory, a pillar of cloud that kept them cool by day. 

My destination today, Baltimore and my youngest daughters lovely apartment in Little Italy, where with some imagination I can pretend I am in Italy, right down to the ringing church bells and by this time of year, swifts swooping over chimney tops.  And rain did make the flowers grow but that is a story for another day.  Now, back on the road, singing to the tapping of the wipers.