Song of The Rain – Gardening in November in The Northwest

  After day after day of record breaking heat, even into what was supposed to be fall, there was a time in late summer that I began to pray for rain.  After the long hot summer, the forests got drier and drier and roads got dustier and the garden had to be watered much more often.  It was time again for rain.

     Finally in late October, the day came, and the air was filled with that special scent, and the liquid plunk, plunkety-plunk sound of raindrops on the tin roof brought with them a distinctly pleasant feeling of joy.

     While living on Southern Oregon a couple of years back, I would read about the celebration of seasons in more Northern climes, and savored in memory the pristine beauty of brilliant sunshine glistening on newly fallen snow; the icy crispness of the air, and the icicles turning cabins into ice palaces.  Now I live in Northwestern Montana and now I miss the milder clime, with its mist cloaked landscapes, the evergreen backdrop of trees, and distant hills moving silently back and forth through the early morning fogs rising out of the sloughs below.

     There are many faces of rain, from the sweet, barely damp mist that lends a dewy moistness to the skin, to the seventy mile-per-hour wind driven hail that will flatten anything left standing in the garden.  Rain renews, washes away the dust, and freshens up the spirit.  It is the essence of life.   Not one seed can sprout without the tender life-giving raindrops.  Squalls driven in from the Pacific bring their own form of excitement to the doldrums of winter, with earth moving rain one minute, dazzling sunshine the next.  Night storms are even more frivolous.  First you hear the roof pounding, shingle –lifting hail, then enter – stage left – a heavy mind dazzling moon, dashing rapidly through the immense grey clouds etched in silver.  Lofty sails blow across the continent, crystal starlight winks brilliantly in their wake, shards of moonbeams turning bare trees into phantom ballerinas tip-toeing across the shining wet grass.

     In the Pacific Maritime Northwest, there is the monotonous, steady, settled in for weeks, type of rain.  All you can do is turn up the lamps, light a fire to ward off the dampness, drag out goose-down comforters and tuck you feet into cozy lambs’ wool slippers.   It is time to get out the slow cooker recipes for stews, filling them out with the squashes, potatoes and root vegetables that you have saved from summer’s bounty.  Time to dig out the soup recipes ( there’s nothing like a big bowl of hot and fulfilling squash soup) and time to indulge in the other comfort foods that one saves for the cold winter months.  It is time to put on the kettle, make a good pot of tea, and settle in to devour the stack of gardening magazines that  here has been no time for,  and that have been begging to be read for the last six months.  Now, one has the time to sit, dream, and plan for next year’s garden.