Rainy Days Ramblings

I spend so much time hoping for rain that I get a little shocked when we actually get a couple of days of good soft rain. I know I can count on at least one good down pour during state fair time (I don't know why that is) and really look forward to it; it's usually still hot.
This year,though, the rain is providing me an added service: offering time to reflect. So often, we get the monsoons--moisture that builds most of the day, lurking on the horizon. We hustle about to finish up jobs or errands before the torrents force us inside for an hour. The monsoons actually add frenzy to my life. But today, as I sit in the tin box office, listening to the rain pop like corn on the roof, I have to bide my time. Not much will happen today--no customers, no sales, too sloppy to run the tractors in the yard.
Rains like this remind me of home. Long winter days and nights of moisture. I laugh to myself when I recall how we used to curse the moisture that would mould our towels, render newspapers unreadable, drip through the rafters, chills us through to the bone after weeks of trying to battle it. It would affect our soccer practices, our shopping routines, our dress code. Yet it would also bring the snails out for which my dad gave me .25$ per full milk jug. I would love the foam and sizzle produced from the 1/2 cup of salt we layered into the jugs to kill them; a sort of snail melba. Or my dad would get up on the flat roof and clean the oak leaves from the downspouts. If I wasn't careful below, I could get a good dollop of wet leaves across my shoulders as he'd throw them down. I learned to monitor his whereabouts by keeping track of his tobacco pipe or cigar smoke mixing with the wet air, swirling like a little chimney from roof-corner to roof-corner. Sometimes we would traipse the half-block to the park to watch the creek rise from a dribble to a stream to a torrent. There was a sense of danger standing on the bank that as a child I didn't quite understand but relished nonetheless. I guess I felt proud to be old enough to be trusted with peril.
When I lived in town not too long ago, the boys and I would rush outside to splash in the gutters or to watch elm leaves race each other down the block. I know that the neighbors were watching us and feeling that happiness people feel when watching youngster's pure joy.
Nowadays it seems that when it rains, I have to just stop. Just stand by the door and watch the rain fall into puddles. I try to think of words to describe the sound or feel of it. What else does that little plop resemble? If I were talented, then that little plop would resemble a deep breathe. And in that river of warm air as it exits my body would be my bills, my attitude, my sore muscles, my chores, errands, and obligations. My parents would be young again, and my wife happy. My spirit, anxious to be cleansed, would float on that deep breathe like a leaf in the gutter, and dance between each rain drop. Or it would raise it's weary head and catch just one on it's tongue.

For me this is time well spent.

A Good Day Ruined

The other day was one of ups and downs. The first good thing to happen to me was commencement on a project that I had been putting off for quite some time. I am building a work bench. Sounds simple but it has proven not so. Most of the difficulty comes from the importance of the project; once I get the work bench built, then I can effectively use my planer and router, allowing me to build my gates to the south courtyard. Once the gates are built, it will be winter so I can focus on making and eventually installing my recycled pine flooring. I determined that I can work on the bench in the morning before I go to work. The garage is far enough away from sleeping quarters that the noise won't disturb the sleeping members of my family. But I digress.
So I got to the compost site feeling satisfied with a good mornings' work already. I haven't figured out how to work in the morning on the building projects and still keep up with work on the garden but I wasn't letting that bother me just then.
A good cup of coffee and an extra spirited future planning meeting at the office bode well for the day.
I should have known things were brewing, but we never do, do we?
"The boys" showed up to work. On their way in they had hit a hawk by car. Evidently the bird swooped down in front of the vehicle leaving no time to avoid it. It was a beautiful bird, one that we had all watched grow up with his siblings over the last couple of years.
Then, we decided that Misch should do some meet-and-greets while the weather was hot and business was slow. So we plotted his route and sent him on his way. (With some trepidation, I might add. Everytime Misch leaves, some piece of equipment goes on the fritz.) Without much phone traffic in the office, and the computer tied up, I decided to tour the ditch that borders our property. We battle thieves down here routinely and like to monitor suspicious activity when we can. Driving down the ditch, I noticed some large tractor tires, used to build up the ditch bankas a barrier, had been moved to create a passageway for a small vehicle. It looked like there were tire tracks going into the yard. I determined which company was affected and went over to notify them. (As a side note: have you ever noticed the reaction of people when confronted with someone that wants nothing from them, just to help them out, unasked?)Once they realized I wasn't trying to sell them land in Florida, they were very appreciative and had the breach repaired by the end of the day.
But by the time I got half way down the return road, things started to unravel.
I got a call from the office asking about a commercial tipper; what's their billing routine, etc. I thought they were a reliable customer, and explained it as such, but by the time I pulled in they had tipped and gone with out payment. The driver was not able to communicate with our office, so we were left holding the bag until I track down someone with authorization to pay.
While dealing with that, Phillip comes into the office to state that the our delivery truck is broken. "What do you mean broken?" I ask. Apparently, they broke the clutch (or the transmission, or the axle) trying to pull a full load out of the loading pit.
Within the following hour, our water pump quit. Just stopped. It had been leaking oil and we've had issues with the pull-cord but we could always nurse it back to operational. Not so today.
Before noon that day, we were completely incapacitated, dead in the water. Without our screen (down for regularly scheduled maintenance) we can't process product for sale. Without our delivery truck we can't deliver our products. Without our pump, we can't make product.
I like to say that in the compost business, if it gets done in six month, it is fast-tracked. Small hiccups here and ther are not really a problem in the long term scheme of things. If we can't get to it today, then we'll find something else to do and get back at it next week. Equipment fails, that's a fact of materials production. But there is something unnerving about being stopped suddenly on so many fronts.
So we all had a long lunch and will look forward to a better week forthcoming.