rain... rain... rain
Oh, this is a wet one. We’ve had a lot of rain this year. And still it comes. I dress for my walk, watching raindrops race each other along a crazy course down the window panes. Fine tubes of water fall from leaking gutters to drum on the lead roof. As the rain eases up, their manic drilling slows to an erratic heartbeat.
Outside, the clouds withdraw slowly and unwillingly. Occasionally they break, teasing me by showing a flash of sunlight on the other side of the firth.
I wade through fields where the grass is two feet high, and it’s like slushing through solid emerald green water. We’ll be lucky to make any hay this year. The rain has scattered its jewels on the wild flowers and grasses.
You come back with your jeans wringing and your boots full of water. It gives another spin to the idea of ‘forest bathing’. On the road up to the farm, I notice the verges are going berserk.
Since it is July, though, this is not the brutal, stinging rain of winter. It is warm as well as wet. We seem at times to live in the damp womb of an enormous cloud. It feels like the world’s breathes wet and cool on my cheek. I think I absorb it into me through my skin, where rainwater becomes part of my blood stream.
Snails, I notice, are in no danger of drying out. They wave their antennae about making sure it’s safe to move. Nor are the large black slugs suffering, as they take half a day to cross the farm track, untroubled by the threat of sun.
In the garden, some of the flowers collapse in a heap, defeated by the weight this wetness adds to their full flower heads.
We can’t mow the lawn very often. And hallelujah … as a result, the lawn has undergone some kind of rebirth.
So many species appear to celebrate its new incarnation – edible sorrel, speedwell, eyebright, daisies, clover, buttercups and ….wild orchids. I’m ashamed to say, I’ve never seen wild orchids on my lawn before. We put nothing on our grass – no moss killer, weed killer, fertilisers and so on. I am amazed. So- it’s been waiting for the kind of summer I moan about (a lot) to show us what it thinks it really is.
Left to its own devices – our lawn thinks it’s a wild flower meadow. So, rewild your lawn. Or perhaps a bit of it. Stake out your enchanted circle. Lie in front of whoever tries to bear down on your precious patch behind the flailing blades of the trusty Mountfield Self-Propelled. And wait and see.