Rain, Rain Go Away

By Susan Brown

 

I tried to garden, really. I put on my water repellent coat,​​ rubber​​ boots, and a​​ stunningly unflattering​​ baseball cap that has seen much better days.​​ Nothing could stop me from my attack on the​​ winter dregs​​ in the garden. And​​ I have it on good authority that​​ despite the freezing temperatures and sleety rains,​​ spring​​ will​​ come.​​ 

 

I intended to be ready.

 

But so far, there is nary a hint of​​ that gentle season. I saw one bee a week ago when the temperatures​​ reached​​ moderately sub-arctic for​​ eleven​​ minutes. My daffodils are sad, stunted little things that sit in the cold mud with no blooms in sight. I can just hear the old daffy-down-dillies telling the little narcissi about the good old days when a hard-working bulb could bloom in February.​​ In those times, when spring came on schedule, there used to be dances of daffodils across the garden;​​ they were the golden envy of all the weaker flowers.​​ 

 

Not any more.

 

Today, the temperature hit 42 degrees (is this a cosmic reminder of the meaning of life?) so I trudged out to the mudflats once again. My boots squished through sodden grass that lay limp and beaten in the once proud lawn. The​​ rolling​​ clouds​​ above​​ had​​ become​​ choky, grey cotton. The air taunted me with that cool, humid,​​ we-can-turn-your-lungs-into-moss-and-​​ sprout-ferns-from-your-ears kind of morning.​​ 

 

My​​ dogs, who​​ see​​ all weather as a chance for an insane frolic,​​ galloped​​ through the grass and churned up the pond.​​ With​​ a​​ sigh of martyrdom,​​ I got down on my knees and began​​ decimating​​ the 4,921,780,206 buttercups currently invading my garden.

 

And then​​ a change –​​ the rain started, a soft, drippy cold that ran down my nose and muddied up my fingers.​​ When I looked​​ measuringly at the sky, rivulets streamed over my cheeks.​​ 

 

I can do this,​​ I told myself. It’s only a little water.

 

But then it became a lot of water. Monsoon level water, blowing​​ nearly​​ sideways in the spring “breeze.” It drove down my neck,​​ flowed​​ into my sleeves,​​ sloshed up my pant legs.​​ 

 

And my dogs sat beside me, fur plastered like a gelled-up teen, brown eyes begging. They would not​​ abandon​​ me to die in the cold cruel world, but their​​ pleading​​ eyes kept shifting toward the​​ house – the warm, dry house.

 

It was for the dogs. I am a dedicated gardener and would have simply laughed off being battered to pulp by the elements. But my​​ devoted​​ dogs…I gave it up for them.

 

And now we are toweled, treated and​​ cozied​​ up.​​ Let the weeds sit out there in the mud and freeze their​​ little​​ roots off.

 

Spring will come back to us​​ – someday.​​ And I’ll be ready.


About The Author

I love to write! And I love to write for teens. Since I was a kid, bored with school, I’ve been making up stories. Eventually I became a journalist, got married, had kids, adopted dogs and started writing books in earnest. Three followed, plus two more co-authored with Anne Stephenson.

I’ll be publishing a half dozen new books in the next year or two, some fantasy and some realistic which I hope will appeal to teen readers – I’ve had quite a few kids read them and gotten a thumbs up! Check out my website at www.susanbrownwrites.com