Nothing to do with chickens

The weather today is miserable. And you know what? I love it. I love the chilly weather. I love freshness of it. I love the feeling of an icy breeze on my cheeks and the warmth that they radiate when I finally find respite. I love wearing wool hats and jumpers, scarves and gloves, and big black boots. Last winter my mum knitted me a scarf. I like to wear it snugly around my neck because it feels a little bit like a cuddle. That’s what my mum does, she sends me cuddles for winter. There’s a smell of winter that’s kind of damp but at the same time incredibly comfortable; it’s wet, green, growing. It makes me think about planting trees and reminds me of living on the farm. Things were always tough in the summer and I was always acutely aware of how much rain we’d had. Then and there the rain really was everything. We weren’t connected to town water and lived off two water tanks. We had a little rainfall chart on the fridge that we’d compare with previous years. It always seemed to show the same thing: less rain. We had a barometer underneath the clock in our dining room. It had three faces and on one we had stuck some coloured tape over the numbers that indicated rain. I checked it every day. The warmer months were always filled with anxiety. We’d knock on the side of the water tank to measure the level, work out how much water we had left and how long that would last us. Laundry stopped being done at home, my parents started taking showers at work. Every year the grass got yellower, the ground got drier, the air got dustier and our dam slowly receded. 

But then, around this time of year the sound of rain on the roof would alleviate our stress. We’d light the fireplace, sit in silence and listen to the droplets colliding with the tin roof. Those moments were magical. Relief and happiness and life all swelled up inside us. And now I think about it, we never did have to buy water because the rain always came in the end.

So even now, I find myself thinking that miserable weather isn’t really all that miserable, because it means that no matter how bad things have been in the past, everything will be ok.

The things I do

Today I woke up to the sound of rain. The kind that rattles on the windows and thuds on the roof. In the warm, thick air of autumn I have been unpacking my bags, laundering my stinky clothes, cooking with fresh ingredients from the garden, playing games with Mr Bunny. Oh happy Friday. I’m feeling relaxed and refreshed and all set for an afternoon of teaching my students about auteur theory and essay writing.

It’s good to be home.