A Rainy Invitation
The first fall rains of the year are very special to me. The rains signify the end of summer and the beginning of the slow process of putting the farm to bed for the winter. Aside from all the cover crops we are planting, we are also bringing in lots of winter squash and pumpkins from the field. We’re neatly stacking sack after sack of storage onions in a dry, protected shed. We’re grading garlic bulbs and preparing a field bed for garlic planting. We’re raking leaves for mulch and saving seeds for next year’s spring planting.
A few years ago, I wrote an essay called First Rain, and still, each year, I feel this same substantial shift:
“Rain begs to be heard.
One moment I was heavy with summer, the weight of every crate and commitment saddling my back, my hands, my head. The next, I was exhaling the last nine months. Slow breath after slow breath, suddenly I let go of all my efforts and desires, all my experiences and expectations. I felt as light as the ginger-red maple leaves falling near the barn. I let go of my clutch on Summer’s tree, holding faith that the shushing tears of the sky would soften the ground of my landing. This first rain was pure falling away and coming home.”
As I stepped into the farmhouse last evening, I had the urge to pull up a chair near the window, crack it open, close my eyes, and exhale into the night rain. I did just that, quilt pulled up around my neck, and sat, listening for the sheer pleasure.
Now I know that fall rain may not be anything but an inconvenience to some folks. I get it. Harvesting thirty different crops amidst deluges and mud isn’t effortless, I assure you. And yet, as I walk the fields this time of year, and sit by the window listening to the rain surge and the soften, there is a deep, deep sense of peace and gratefulness that overcomes me. It’s as if the tight hold, the fears and anxiety of the whole season– Can I fulfill my commitment to my families every week for five straight months?-- has loosened, been soaked through by the rains. Plus, all the expectations I had tightly clenched in my hands and heart, every last thing I’ve carried on my shoulders, I’m finally able to open and release to the skies above.
No matter how experienced I become, I still don’t take any harvest for granted. Every cabbage, every bean, every carrot… miracle, miracle, miracle! This is the week I celebrate the astounding truth that such a plenitude of vegetables and fruits and herbs have come to fruition.
The first fall rains invite me to soften into accepting fully what has manifested. They remind me to look up and to take stock of how this gorgeous, abundant, and incredibly nourishing place has unbelievably provided for us all.
Wet socks aside, what a gift. What a joy! ~AJ
“How beautiful the leaves grow old. How full of light and color are their last days.”