Morning after A Rain

Side yard with Secret Garden room--so green after the rain

According to the U.S. climate data website, the area where we live now gets an annual average of 11.82 inches of precipitation, with the highest monthly averages in July (2.44 inches) and August (3.03 inches), the "monsoon" months. What a difference between here and where we were two years ago, where the annual average of precipitation is 63.58 inches, with the highest monthly averages in January (5.75 inches) and July (6.65 inches). This past week, Louisiana received much more rain at once than usual: thirteen rivers broke flood records and thousands of homes were flooded in areas that had never flooded in human memory. One town received at least 31 inches of rain in 48 hours. That amount of precipitation here would probably cause mudslides on mountains.

Here in northern Arizona yesterday, rain began falling before noon and fell off and on most of the afternoon. I had just enough time to mow the side yard (leaving patches of wildflowers) and then to gather corn between rain showers. Then I spent a couple of hours shucking corn, cutting corn off the cob, and cooking the corn for dinner. 

Cutting corn off the cob--Tom planted an heirloom corn, Golden Bantam. I think we'll try a different one next year.

fresh corn cooking on the stove--I added milk, butter, a couple of serrano peppers from the garden, salt and pepper

Every morning the cats, especially Cassie, pester me to go outside, and this morning after the rain was no exception. The grass was still wet when we ventured out, and everything was clean and bright.

Side yard, with apple trees, Secret Garden room, greenhouse, and patches of wildflowers

apple ripening

morning glories and scarlet runner beans along the garden fence

cowpen daisies along the fence that separates our garden from our neighbors' garden

Peace

In her book, Dakota: A Spiritual Geography (which I read 20 years ago), Kathleen Norris quotes a saying of desert monks: "If a man settles in a certain place and does not bring forth the fruit of that place, the place itself casts him out."

I don't know what would be the "fruit" of the volcanic fields at the foot of the White Mountains on the Colorado Plateau, but in cultivating wild flowers and providing space for local pollinators, I guess I'm bringing forth the fruit of this place. And I'm adding fruit of my own in the gardens we grow--with what little rain a valley in a rain shadow can provide.

Lagniappe:

tomatoes fresh from our garden--more canning this weekend

Persey walks in the bright, wet grass

I took this photo of Cassie two days ago. The cats and I prowl our yard together.