We need the rain. As a farmer, I just have to be philosophical about the weather, because there's no changing it, for good or ill. So, we make or adjust our agendas for the day based on what's going on outside.
Fortunately, our friends Bunny and Brett got to stop by and visit the lambs this morning before the clouds really opened up. Bunny has a similar dream to ours - property and animals for fiber and companionship, and a wood shop for Brett. I'm happy to help stir up the dream and keep it alive.
Then another line of thundershowers blew in and ended the farm tour. I'm inside now, tending to the list of things that can be done from the shelter of the house, for as long as we have electricity. I'm thinking about all the folks who are dealing with fires or the aftermath, and grateful that all I have to deal with are a few downed tree branches. I'm very grateful that my friend Jose was able to get the property mowed and trimmed before what promises to be several days of sporadic storms.
My heart is a little heavy on this dark, rainy day as I think of some of my fellow fiber farmers - Cyndi, who just lost her new baby alpaca, Peggy, who just lost one of her two adult alpacas to a dog attack, and my friend Susie, who has struggled with a very difficult lambing season--battling the dreaded White Muscle Disease in her lambs. We've all experienced this grief and mind-numbing exhaustion that sometimes comes with raising animals, and it never gets easy. I'm praying for you all, farm sisters.
When I look at the radar map to try to predict when the next hammering storms will pass over, sometimes I look at the areas not covered with red and orange. I realize that people in those areas aren't seeing our storms - they're looking at blue skies. And I remember that soon, those blue skies will return to my part of the map before I know it.
It's true: this too, shall pass.