Where I grew up in California’s San Joaquin Valley, the farmers and cowboys measure their rain gauges by the hundredths of an inch. The sprinkling of a quarter of an inch can become an event, even pausing a work day, while locals sip coffee, soak in the moisture, and simply talk about the weather.
Out here in the Pacific, I’ve got a bit more precipitation. These past few days, we’ve been hunkered down due to what the local paper’s headline declares as a “Deluge!”. The mayor has officially announced the island to be in a state of “disaster.”
Yes, we are quite wet. We’re talking 17.5 inches in 24 hours on Kauai’s north shore.
The Hawaiians say rain is a blessing and it appears that we are on the receiving end of some serious bestowing. Though some here are not necessarily feeling gifted. Vacationers didn’t quite have this weather in mind when they saved their pennies to come for some sun and a mai tai. And shelters are opening around the island for those that are flooded from their homes or without power.
As the wind blows the rain at a slant outside my window, I feel blessed to see steam collecting on the glass. Hot soup is on the stove with the beets from our garden. An apple crumb is in the oven, warming the house with scent of cinnamon. The Bohemian and Jeb and I are piece together a puzzle and listen to jazz on the local station.
We’re safe and warm and thankful. Outside on the balcony, that bowl – our only rain gauge – stays perpetually full.