You know you probably qualify as a “real” Pacific Northwesterner when too many days of “perfect” weather make you depressed.
For nearly a month -- from the later part of May through the first several weeks of June -- we had cloudless blue sky, sunshine, and no rain. The small pond on our property began to dry up and the wild ducks left to find a wetter place to swim. The gravel and dirt lane that leads to our house became so dry and dusty, I was reminded of trails I’ve hiked in Arizona.
Twenty-nine days passed with no rain. Finally, 11 minutes before the 30th dry day -- one day shy of a record dry spell for this time of year -- we got a beautiful, welcome, soaking rain that fell for hours and hours (I think I heard the plants on our property breathe a sigh of relief.) A bit more rain fell the following day, and we’ve had a few showers in the days since. The ducks have returned.
Earlier this week I was on a ferry crossing Puget Sound, headed home after a day of business meetings in Seattle. The rains had washed the dust and crud out of the air, and the evening sky was amazing. I went out on the deck of the boat to enjoy the light. Wispy clouds were above me, but off in the west it looked like more rain might be coming.
It feels so good to be back to our normal, beloved, crappy weather.
