It rained all day yesterday. A heavy, steady downpour, a kind of rain that took away August's humidity, like someone wrung out the whole big, wet blanket of summer in one day, and hung it out to dry overnight. Now everything is fresh, the air is cooler, the street air has a scent again. When you breathe, you inhale trees, leaves, and buildings, not the sultry steam of the pavement. When you feel something on your skin, its a breeze, a spider's web, not suffocating moisture. When walking outside, you notice the city, and the people instead of feeling miserable along with everyone.
I often think what this climate is like for the plants in my garden. I think how cold they are at night as little sprouts in April, and how strong they are to stand up to the downpours in May. I look at them from the window when the wind picks up in the evening, and if I wake up to a gust of wind outside I think of how they endure the weather, constantly, never having shelter. Tomatoes, baking in the hot sun, holding on to the moisture with their hairy stems and leaves. Cucumbers, gripping each other and their bamboo scaffolding as the rain washes away the soil under their leaves. Marigolds, sopping up all the water they can hold, taking in sunshine, and exploding with blossoms. Zucchini, swaying in the wind, loosing just a few giant leaves from the ends of their slender, water-filled stems.
If I spend a day outside in DC in this summer heat, I seek my air-conditioned bedroom in the evening, because all through the night, even as my body should be acclimated to the spongy heat, I won't be able to fall asleep with windows open in the sweaty, humid air around me. Meanwhile, the veggies outside have been doing it for almost their entire lives. From the first night they spent outside in April till now. As much as we liked the cool rain, it was really special for them. They all crawled through this miserable summer, and came out refreshed and rejuvenated after the downpour. They will be drinking this rain water for the next week, happily producing new flowers and fruit in the sun, and hopefully enjoy the next few days like the rest of us, without feeling like we're covered with a big, wet tarp.
