Thankfully, we received a nice little spring rain a couple of days ago. Looking out my office window, I notice our yard greening up nicely and, surprisingly, find myself looking forward to mowing the lawn. (Just give it a couple of months and that attitude will change.)
The rain was badly needed and welcomed. I love a nice, warm, slow spring rain. This past dousing did not exactly fit that description, however. It wasn’t warm, but it was nice and slow! We had gotten all our oats in just before the rain, and I was so grateful waking up the next morning to realize that God had graced the good earth with a much-needed soaking. Transforming the fields into dark, rich soil, the beneficial rain turned the dirt supple and nourishing to accept the planted seed.
I love a spring thunderstorm, complete with soft, low, rumbles of thunder and a quiet rain. It makes me feel settled and content. I know I’ve mentioned it before, but as we were growing up on the farm whenever it would storm, my dad would always come into the house and sit until it passed. We’d all be there together in the kitchen, the hubbub of the farmhouse, waiting the storm out. I’d feel so loved and protected there with my folks and brother and sisters. The smells of farm, moist air and warm, sweaty bodies scrunched together was not unpleasant and in my small mind, signified everything would be OK as long as we were there, facing it together.
After a nice soaking rain, the sodden fields build up with nourishment, the garden plots waiting to be worked up received a good drink, as well as all the lawns. I’m sure there were plenty of people smiling, as they welcomed life-sustaining rain.
Our aerial friends benefit from a good spring shower, too. As I’m working at the kitchen sink, I watch the birds splash and play in the puddles in our yard. They seemed especially frisky and looked like they were delighting in the fresh rain. I think about them occasionally, wondering when it’s very dry where do they find water?
My mom always had a bird bath filled, especially when she and Dad lived in their house in town. They had a screened-in outside deck and Mom had numerous bird feeders hanging about, easily attainable just off the overhang of the roof so they could watch them. The feeders were always filled.
Mom had created a little oasis for the birds in her backyard where they could socialize and take a bath, fluttering their wings furiously. To accommodate any and all visitors, she always placed a small stone in the middle where her feathered friends could perch, not only at the edges of the bird bath but also in the middle. She always loved cardinals and named one “her little red bird.”
She was very impatient with chipmunks, calling them chippies; not affectionately, but with frustration. They’d steal (or try to!) the bird seed, and she did everything in her power to foil their attempts. She was very creative in her efforts to counteract their efforts.
My sister recalled our mom also had no fondness for squirrels as they would try to rob from the feeder, and Mom hung up a shiny owl as a deterrent. The effervescent owl would sway slightly in the wind, giving it a realistic look, enough to create terror in the heart of a would-be, bushy-tailed thief.
Spring rains bring back fond memories of my folks and benefit not only our fields, garden plots and lawns, but the birds, too! Oh, I’d like to hear a soft, low rumble of thunder right about now. Wouldn’t that be nice?
(“Let us know; let us press on to know the Lord; His going out is sure as the dawn; He will come to us as the showers, as the spring rains that water the earth.” Hosea 6:3)
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