Rain, a saunter ...

© 1999 by J. Higgins-Rosebrook

Sky overcast at 1600', visibility 8 mi, temperature 35f/1.7c, wind out of the west at 10mph gusting to 17, rain.

Rain, the first real rain I've seen since November. Rain, not snow. Well maybe a few chunks of ice in an occasional drop but rain nonetheless. It's not snow. I will continue to be able to see out the windows and even better, I'll continue to get daylight in the windows.

In a book I read once about the Mevlana, Jelalludin Rumi, it said that in Farsi the word for rain and the word for grace were the same. Books often say that one word and another are the same when what they really mean is that they have the same root in Latin or Greek or even Sanskrit. Kian? Kathryn? which is it? even if it's just the same root, the image is just right for that land of harsh realities where he lived and wrote his grace-full poetry. And just now, rain feels like grace to me. A benediction promising the end of this truly awful winter.

Rain, temperatures above freezing, wind blowing, why the snow will be gone in no time, don't you think? On the snowfield it measures 97 inches down from 161 in March. It looks to be melting more quickly around the buildings and anything that can retain and/or reflect heat but out there in the middle, it mounds up and retains depth. Depth but not substance. It's doing that house of cards thing it did a couple springs ago where it stays the same depth but when I walk on it, I sink up to my knees. It's like every snowflake has left a shell that crumbles underfoot.

It retains still 42 inches of water. That's a lot of water. Maybe it should melt a little more slowly than I'd like.

As it melts away pentimento-like, layers of events from the past winter resurface. The tracks of the two skiers from the Mountaineers who left a sticky note greeting in Norsk but never knocked, the tracks of the mental giants on snowmobiles who thought it would be fun to ruin the snowfield, the pop cans the kids from Easton High tossed into the snow they were shoveling from the roof, all the food I tossed out for critters that they didn't eat, the footprints of whoever it was who peered in my bathroom window in the middle of the night, the remnants of the trash pile I burned several weeks ago all have resurfaced.

The April Fools bunches of silk tulips have fallen as the faux planter I built of snow has melted. A few people noticed and we got a laugh out of the tulips again for the fourth spring running.

It's the messy time of year, now while the snow melts. The petroleum byproduct residue from snowmobiles concentrates on the ridges in the snow and makes it look dirty. Soon the snow algae will bloom and make bloody looking puddles in the snow. I forget which Roman general it was whose footsoldiers mutineed when they encountered snow algae, was it in the Zagros Mountains? They thought it was real blood and ill omened. He had thought he might be emperor.

It has been sunny and clear for several days and as is my wont, I've been baking up a storm so to speak. As you know, it's difficult to get bread to rise at this altitude, so I do my baking when the sky is clear so there's no added moisture to further complicate things. This time it was quite a successful exercise. I got good tall loaves, plump honey/fruit rolls and a loaf of orange bread. While I had the oven going, I made a smoked salmon terrine with dried tomatoes and a couple cheeses and fennel and a `Greek' lasagne with feta and Kalamata olives and spinach and more dried tomatoes. The tomatoes were from my garden here and from Lanne's garden in town. The gingerbread turned out a little dry but I'll serve it with applesauce or ice cream and it will be OK. Everything is packaged in single portions and in the freezer. The hand hardly looks burned tonight.

What else I've been doing is moving the plants up from the basement to the front porch `greenhouse' pro tem. No Mary and Doris, I haven't brought up the big tubs of geraniums, just the small stuff - no sweat ;-} besides, there's only this little knot left in my back and it responds well to the Traumeel and ice. The plants did need to come up because they're getting ready to bloom. A big mystery to me is how do plants under lights in the basement know it's spring? Bulbs come up, new shoots spring out, flowers bud and the one tiny window is buried in snow! How do they do that?

Being held captive in town that extra week by the Subaru that wouldn't go lost me several plants that I was sorry to lose. I have only one tomato still going. It's the one that had a couple small tomatoes when I put it outside last June. It's in the office and vining all over the place. I really think I should cut it back but I'll wait until it's time to set it out again to harden off during the days. That will be when the snow has melted away from the south tunnel door enough that the sun can come in there. I'll put it on the floor of the tunnel and open and shut the door as the sunshine warrants. Right now, it looks so darned optimistic and that's good for me.

It's hard to guess what will survive up here. Geraniums generally, although the Martha Washingtons don't thrive. Pelargoniums do. The rose geranium from Charlene's kitchen window sort of does OK. The hibiscus has taken a rest after four years of continuous bloom but is sending out buds again. Cactus and succulents do well. I bring the cactii and the aloes in. The one aloe does splendidly but the aloe veras that I got from Uncle Don that he said he got from Julie are not growing as rapidly as I'd expect. The spineless cactus I cut from the one in Joanna's window last time I was in San Francisco has bit the dust. Dang, it was doing so well in that old cauldron Jack dug up down in that ghost town - Weston? New Stampede? somewhere.

It looks like time to take geranium cuttings again. Selene, I *will* send you some. I also need to get some going for Sidney and Lanne's gardens. It pleases them so to know that the geraniums I give them come from cuttings from cuttings from cuttings from Grandpa Hunt's plants. Heritage plants is what they are, just like the Christmas cactus I have in the brass spittoon that came from a cutting of the plant Mom has that was Grandpa's or the Angel Wing begonia that's a cutting from the plant Aunt Lola gave me when I was about 14 years old. Now of course, the orchid cactus cuttings that Uncle Don gave me will be even more cherished.

Soon, the snow will melt far enough away from the buildings that the first hopeful strawberries will bloom. By mid June, the yard will be a carpet of shiny little rubies and every step will raise the smell of strawberry. I tried one year to pick enough for a batch of jam. The jam was the most intense flavor ever but the berries are sooo small. I leave them for the critters and an occasional taste for myself on pancakes or by the handful.

When the snow melts enough for the road to be plowed, I'll head for the lake with my big garbage bag in hand to be filled on the walk back with snowmobiler trash. I'll rake up the food the critters didn't eat and put it in the compost bin and I'll rake up the leftovers from my trash fires and add them to the ashes in the firepit. Can't wait for an evening when I can sit out by a fire with a friend and some wine. Maybe I'll toss on some of the last few fragrant bits of bay laurel branches if there's a soft westerly.

The coyotes have been by and I heard them day before yesterday singing down near the magical glen on the trail where I found the chantrelles last fall. I just ate the last of those this week, with noodles and chevre.

A couple more warm days and I'll catch the smell of cottonwoods budding out new leaves. A new, green healing scent, Balm of Gilead for sure. It will be mixed with the sharper greener smell of the alders opening until they are full open and their sticky sap will take on a soft scent of roses until they dry in the summer winds.

Loud sing the birds, coo coo...............