A Summer of Glimmers

Yup, we've got gray.  

A few minutes ago Bill came inside and said, "Well, here's that nice weather Tom Sherry promised."  

Yes,  the sun did find a hole within the clouds to give us another glimmer.

This has been the summer of meteorological glimmers, I've decided.  

A few days ago I was praising Tom Sherry, the KREM weather anchor, for his accuracy in predicting that if anyone wanted to go camping this year, plan for the last week of July and the first week of August.

That was Saturday, one of our glimmer days.  Not a cloud in the sky and reasonably warm all day long.  Same went for Sunday.

And, I was in a really good mood cuz I kept looking at all the weather graphics, and most of them showed ten days of nice weather.  Not too hot.  Not too cool.  Just right weather.

Well, so far, it's rained every day this week.  And, I'm betting the campers at Priest Lake have gotten wet.

Last night the KREM weather forecast called for a clear night.  I had lawn to mow, and got started right after dinner.  Halfway through the mowing, I could see a storm rolling over the mountains.  

So, I put the lawnmower in to high gear and managed to finish off that patch.

A few minutes later, the skies opened.  The drenching downpour lasted about 20 minutes.  I stood inside the barn and watched a rain-soaked Bill returning from the woods with the wet dogs.  He had been out spraying weeds. 

He sat in the motor home while I sat in the barn watching huge water-loaded drops pelt and then bounce off the aluminum roofs on two sheds across from the barn. 

When the downpour was over, I walked outside the barn, dodging puddles that had formed in the lawn. 

"Well, there goes a spike in the hay prices," I suggested to Bill as he came out of the motor home.

I feel sorry for the farmers who are trying to harvest hay this summer.  They've been working on a wing and a prayer during the glimmers. 

And, sometimes the glimmers don't last long enough to get those huge fields of hay into the barn.  I saw a hay loader truck zipping by a couple of times last night, and I'm betting that person was trying to outrun the rain.  

Harvey, our harvester, says he waits to make sure from weather forecasts that his hundreds of acres' worth of winter feed won't get wet.  So, he waits to cut. 

My sisters said yesterday Harvey may still be harvesting hay when the snow flies.  

Maybe the glimmers of hope that good weather will last for more than two days will come more frequently, and maybe one of these days we'll get three days of sunshine.  Maybe not.

I was telling my cousin Barb yesterday about the gray, gray, wet, wet weather we've endured since March 2010. 

I even surprised myself because my telling of the situation wasn't even in "gripe" mode.  Just a fact of life in this area these days, and our "gripe modes" have lost their luster through overuse.

Barb was empathetic as I told her how we seldom can plan outside events more than a day in advance and that we've been severely short-changed on our ability to enjoy the outdoors. 

I had almost finished with my commentary on our life of weather glimmers when it dawned on me that my cousin was a gracious soul to be so empathetic.

She lives in Phoenix where the blistering heat suffocates any thoughts of enjoying the great outdoors for months.  And, if that isn't enough, a dust storm might even come along as a reminder of who's really in control.

When I thought about what those poor folks must have to do to tolerate the season we so love every year, I changed the subject.

As I wrap up this morning, I still see gray out one window and diffused gray out the other.  The sun is doing its best.

And, that glimmer is enough to sustain us through another period of hope. 

In the meantime, some aspects of summer stay right on schedule.  Turkeys have their young and show up at the Lovestead every July, rain or shine.  I just snapped this photo out the bathroom window and noticed that Lily doesn't seem to mind her entourage of gobblers.