Silver Queen and Peaches and Cream Corn

Wonky weather patterns have threatened the entire US this year, not just here in the middle of the country. Flash floods in Nevada and California, abnormally dry weather across the southwest, Hurricanes en route to Hawaii, severe storms in Florida.

Evidence of lack of rain surrounds us here in Western Kentucky where the red clay soil is stubborn as a growing medium as it is, not like the lush, silky black soil just east and north in the central part of the state. Grass is brown and crunchy. Tulip trees and dogwoods shed leaves as if it is October, not August. Crops are smaller, less abundant. Farmers at the market who rely on Mother Nature for water, not industrial machines, say in sad, sorry tones, “We had a small crop,” or “If only it would rain,” and worse, “We’re going to need to doing something else,” as if the aberrant weather patterns are their fault.

We’d all like rain, not just the farmers. Any form of rain will do. Jet-black cloud thunderstorm, a soft, slow patter, a steady soaking or a five minute downpour. Days of rain would be optimal, but wishing for it won’t bring rain. Prayers work for most everything, but I wonder about the nature of asking God for rain. It’s not as if we aren’t already praying to Him, asking for His help.

Mainstream media uses terms for the weather patterns, cough (climate change or global warming). It’s not rocket science-our current climate is in a rebellious streak. I liken our weather issues to an adolescent with a newly minted driver’s license who has also recently discovered swearing, smoking, cheap wine and raging hormones. Bent on doing what she is not supposed to do, whipping about like a tornado, intent on destroying everything in her path.

Summer rain does more than nourish the plants and clear the air. On a simple scale, rain makes summer feel like summer.

Organic Tomatoes in Bowl 2013

Nothing says summertime like fresh-shucked sweet corn, juicy, plump tomatoes, a page-turning book, a tall, cool beverage and a porch with a comfy chair. But rain is the essential element that makes this iconic summer pastime a reality.

Sitting on a bone dry, hot porch, or worse a sticky humid porch swatting flies doesn’t conjure up the sweet feel of getting lost in a story, sipping sweet tea and drifting into a nap on a long summer afternoon.

During the wait for rain here in Kentucky, we do with less sweet corn, smaller squash, wilting grass and fewer flowers. We read indoors, or under a shade tree, a fly swatter nearby. We have stronger respect for our local farmers and are grateful for what the land produces, even if it means less canned lima beans this winter.