By Dorothy Denne
I miss the summer rains of my youth in Southern Ohio. I remember when it would be so hot for days and days. The greenery would begin to wilt; leaves would curl and start to turn brown at the edges. The crab grass that covered our lawn was limp and brown. It crackled and crunched underfoot and scratched when you sat on it.
The air would get very still and heavy. The slightest exercise would bring perspiration. The sky would get dark and birds would cease to chirp. Only an occasional insect would buzz to interrupt the silence.
The rain would start slowly. The first drops were usually big and you could hear them hit the ground as individuals. The air was perfumed as water met dust.
Then came the pelting rain, often accompanied by thunder and lightning. Sometimes the whole sky would light up; other times we’d see streaks and bolts. Mom was frightened by the bolts. They could strike a tree or a building.
Usually it would only rain for an hour or two but sometimes the storm would pass and the rain would continue for the whole day. If the wind kicked up we would have to close windows on the side of the house catching it. If there was only a soft breeze, Mom would drape the curtains aside, lay rags on the sills and let the cool, fresh air into the house.
Sometimes we would sit on the porch and do some mending, write a letter, shell peas or snap beans, or just swing or rock and watch the rain.
When the rain stopped and the sun came out, everything sparkled. You could see the blades of grass begin to stand up. Daddy would say you could see them growing, so it was time to oil the lawnmower.
The dust was gone from the tree branches and the bushes. The air was clean and everything seemed new again – like a Spring day. We knew, with the sunshine and the humidity, we would soon be sweating again, but we had enjoyed our summer respite.
