Do you think about rain? Do you ever worry about it or miss it when it isn’t directly related to your personal discomfort? Do you use hating it as a conversational inroad or bandaid for an awkward too-long look at a stranger? As a person who grew up mostly in western Washington State (and occasionally northwestern Oregon) I often find myself missing that specific, seemingly omnipresent grey-blue almost-mist that absorbs into you like you're a hapless piece of chalk, no matter
I study climate change (specifically, how human societies are adapting to climate-related disasters) so I think about rain *all the time*. In particular, I think about how we *don't* think about rain, as a society - we don't think about what it does to our buildings, we don't think about how it recharges our fresh water, we don't think about how it can create floods in places where rivers don't exist. We're so used to being rainproof in little sealed boxes that the idea of adapting to rain in the first place - let alone changing rain - is a foreign one. I live in Oak Park right now, land of Frank Lloyd Wright houses, and you know what? Almost every single one of them has drainage problems. Because FLW cared more about the aesthetics of a flat roof than he did about about making his buildings livable - or lasting. I find this an apt analogy for a lot of things right now.
Is there anything better than walking in the woods while being drenched by a warm summer rain? [Besides, maybe, being rained on in Joes' Field at MassMoCA during a summer concert surrounded by music and the thousands of new friends joining and enjoying the moment. Yes, I'll be doing a metaphorical rain-dance the afternoon of 23 July!]
I get real mad at people who interpret the end of "Red Tide" as you saying YOU hate the rain. It is the opposite! It is about being tired of people showing up and complaining about our lovely rain!
I live in the Lake Superior basin. Like much of the rest of the country we are in drought times. But just a few years ago we were getting fisted by what people were referring to as "hundred year rains" every two years. Like you, I love rain. But it has become the most dramatic exclamation point of climate change for the upper Midwest. This year, we are parched. Anyway, beautiful writing, Neko. I am really enjoying what you are posting.
I recently moved up to the Asheville NC mountains partially because I was tired of the ever increasing heat and humidity in the central
part of the state, as well as the politics, but I digress. It rains a lot more up here and is always about 8-10 degrees cooler. It has absolutely made me happier and more content. Sometimes when I want to go down to the pool and it’s been raining off and on for days in a row I feel the vague need to complain or whine that “it’s ALWAYS raining up here.” I can see that the rain is more precious and important than laying around by a chlorine filled pool any day.
You beautifully described the monsoons of the southwest. As i was reading i found my nose pulsing, trying to search for the smell. Today I taught an art class on zoom with kinder/1st grade in the SE part of the state. One by one as they were showing me their drawings, I started to notice clouds and raindrops. Even the little people are enchanted and understand the gift of monsoon season. It was great to see them drawing the rain on their own. The teacher eventually told me they had a ton of rain lately.
Neko, the first time I saw you perform live was at Zoo Tunes in Woodland Park. You sang “Buckets of Rain” and the skies opened, as though you had invited the clouds to join in. Being a PNW musician, you kept singing and playing while the audience crowded together under any available barriers (picnic blankets, grocery bags, an unzipped sweatshirt) because of course no one had an umbrella. I got soaked to the skin and made squelching noises when I sat down on the bus on my way home. It was glorious.
I am in Northern California. We are in a drought. Rain truly feels like a privilege.
Today I was in Scottsdale, AZ and I woke up to rain in the desert. I was jealous when my friend mentioned there was a large thunderstorm overnight and I had missed it, not waking up as they had done. I would have slept outside on the patio to feel every roll of the thunder.
When I was very young, I would sit on my grandmothers covered back porch at night, pull the rag rug off the back of the wicker rocking chair, wrap it around me like a blanket and wait for thunderstorms to roll in across the skies of Michigan. The more lighting, the louder the thunder, the happier and more alive I felt.
I lived in Seattle for two years, many years ago. I remember the bone chill in the winter. The strange rain that was not strong enough for an umbrella but without a rain coat, you were soaked all waking hours. I now romanticize those days.
Rain is powerful. I miss it everyday in California as I watch lakes and rivers dry up.
All these memories.
I never knew how much I missed rain till it was gone.
There's strong magic in rain, I'm convinced. In the middle of a Midwest thunderstorm extravaganza that's lasted two weeks already. Bring it on ⛈️⛈️ beautiful post 😊
I’ve never missed and loved the rain more than after living in Phoenix. Seven years in, and now I feel almost obsessed with it, and scroll through pics of rainy windowsills on Pinterest. It’s almost pathetic, haha. But this morning, at 5am, I woke up to soft thunder and rain on with windows. I’m savoring every minute. Turned the AC off so I could really hear it.
In Southern Australia after a hot day a storm brews and lashing rain comes and goes rapidly filling our noses with petrichor , a deep smell of the moist earth after rain.
Beautiful to breathe from your lung again Neko beautiful writing , enjoy the rain.
The drier it gets here in Burien, the more I think about and miss the rain. If I sit in my yard, close my eyes, and still my breath, and can almost hear the plants whispering softly their request for moisture (when the airplanes aren't rudely interrupting).
This is my first summer back in Tucson after 21 years. Last summer was deemed "nonsoon" because not one one storm came down. For the last week there have been multiple, epic storms. It rained, blustered, and hailed for hours last night, ending with 1-2 inches across the area; a tornado watch was in effect from Sahuarita to Nogales. Loved every minute of it and I live for petrichor.
I study climate change (specifically, how human societies are adapting to climate-related disasters) so I think about rain *all the time*. In particular, I think about how we *don't* think about rain, as a society - we don't think about what it does to our buildings, we don't think about how it recharges our fresh water, we don't think about how it can create floods in places where rivers don't exist. We're so used to being rainproof in little sealed boxes that the idea of adapting to rain in the first place - let alone changing rain - is a foreign one. I live in Oak Park right now, land of Frank Lloyd Wright houses, and you know what? Almost every single one of them has drainage problems. Because FLW cared more about the aesthetics of a flat roof than he did about about making his buildings livable - or lasting. I find this an apt analogy for a lot of things right now.
Is there anything better than walking in the woods while being drenched by a warm summer rain? [Besides, maybe, being rained on in Joes' Field at MassMoCA during a summer concert surrounded by music and the thousands of new friends joining and enjoying the moment. Yes, I'll be doing a metaphorical rain-dance the afternoon of 23 July!]
I get real mad at people who interpret the end of "Red Tide" as you saying YOU hate the rain. It is the opposite! It is about being tired of people showing up and complaining about our lovely rain!
I live in the Lake Superior basin. Like much of the rest of the country we are in drought times. But just a few years ago we were getting fisted by what people were referring to as "hundred year rains" every two years. Like you, I love rain. But it has become the most dramatic exclamation point of climate change for the upper Midwest. This year, we are parched. Anyway, beautiful writing, Neko. I am really enjoying what you are posting.
I recently moved up to the Asheville NC mountains partially because I was tired of the ever increasing heat and humidity in the central
part of the state, as well as the politics, but I digress. It rains a lot more up here and is always about 8-10 degrees cooler. It has absolutely made me happier and more content. Sometimes when I want to go down to the pool and it’s been raining off and on for days in a row I feel the vague need to complain or whine that “it’s ALWAYS raining up here.” I can see that the rain is more precious and important than laying around by a chlorine filled pool any day.
You beautifully described the monsoons of the southwest. As i was reading i found my nose pulsing, trying to search for the smell. Today I taught an art class on zoom with kinder/1st grade in the SE part of the state. One by one as they were showing me their drawings, I started to notice clouds and raindrops. Even the little people are enchanted and understand the gift of monsoon season. It was great to see them drawing the rain on their own. The teacher eventually told me they had a ton of rain lately.
Neko, the first time I saw you perform live was at Zoo Tunes in Woodland Park. You sang “Buckets of Rain” and the skies opened, as though you had invited the clouds to join in. Being a PNW musician, you kept singing and playing while the audience crowded together under any available barriers (picnic blankets, grocery bags, an unzipped sweatshirt) because of course no one had an umbrella. I got soaked to the skin and made squelching noises when I sat down on the bus on my way home. It was glorious.
I am in Northern California. We are in a drought. Rain truly feels like a privilege.
Today I was in Scottsdale, AZ and I woke up to rain in the desert. I was jealous when my friend mentioned there was a large thunderstorm overnight and I had missed it, not waking up as they had done. I would have slept outside on the patio to feel every roll of the thunder.
When I was very young, I would sit on my grandmothers covered back porch at night, pull the rag rug off the back of the wicker rocking chair, wrap it around me like a blanket and wait for thunderstorms to roll in across the skies of Michigan. The more lighting, the louder the thunder, the happier and more alive I felt.
I lived in Seattle for two years, many years ago. I remember the bone chill in the winter. The strange rain that was not strong enough for an umbrella but without a rain coat, you were soaked all waking hours. I now romanticize those days.
Rain is powerful. I miss it everyday in California as I watch lakes and rivers dry up.
All these memories.
I never knew how much I missed rain till it was gone.
Your description of rain in the desert southwest is everything I’ve felt but never knew how to express.
There's strong magic in rain, I'm convinced. In the middle of a Midwest thunderstorm extravaganza that's lasted two weeks already. Bring it on ⛈️⛈️ beautiful post 😊
"and they brand their explosive titan where they touch down to us". Oregon is my favorite place. AND THAT IS MY FAVORITE IMAGERY
I’ve never missed and loved the rain more than after living in Phoenix. Seven years in, and now I feel almost obsessed with it, and scroll through pics of rainy windowsills on Pinterest. It’s almost pathetic, haha. But this morning, at 5am, I woke up to soft thunder and rain on with windows. I’m savoring every minute. Turned the AC off so I could really hear it.
In Southern Australia after a hot day a storm brews and lashing rain comes and goes rapidly filling our noses with petrichor , a deep smell of the moist earth after rain.
Beautiful to breathe from your lung again Neko beautiful writing , enjoy the rain.
The drier it gets here in Burien, the more I think about and miss the rain. If I sit in my yard, close my eyes, and still my breath, and can almost hear the plants whispering softly their request for moisture (when the airplanes aren't rudely interrupting).
Also "rain is more honest than the truth"
DAMN.
This is my first summer back in Tucson after 21 years. Last summer was deemed "nonsoon" because not one one storm came down. For the last week there have been multiple, epic storms. It rained, blustered, and hailed for hours last night, ending with 1-2 inches across the area; a tornado watch was in effect from Sahuarita to Nogales. Loved every minute of it and I live for petrichor.