Have you ever backpacked or camped in the rain? It is a unique experience to be so close to the wet, to have the odors of damp forest combined with campfire smoke (from that little tiny flame you coaxed into existence using your paperback you finished while hanging out in the tent, thinking the deluge will end and THEN you’ll hike like you had planned) permeate your hair, your clothing, your gear. If it rains long enough, you’ll either get out there and hike in the rain or pack up and go home because that 4-man tent shrinks into a barely 1-man bivy with every dark and wet hour that passes. The same thing happens here. We hide out in the house for drenching days upon end, then put on our boots, grab umbrellas, and go for a puddle jumping spree in the neighborhood (irresponsible mother that I am, don’t I know my kids will get sick from this!??!! accuse onlookers).
Monsoon in our town reminds me of wet backpacking trips I’ve enjoyed (endured?), except it lasts a lot longer (about 3 months) and there’s no dry place to hang all my gear after a weekend of wet. When I go in my bedroom, there is a mildewy odor, it’s our bookcase full of beloved books that will stink until the sun most likely returns in September. We have weeks on end where we don’t see the sun. I’ve never admired Noah and his crew so much to have endured so many dark, wet days and no sunlamp to chase away the blues (we don’t have one either, although every year I consider searching for one, not sure if they even make them here). Did they even know if the sun would shine again? I’ll have to review that part again.
Some of the life realities of this season:
- Hard to close the doors because they have swelled and the latches don’t match up
- Have to keep all the desk drawers open because the swollen wood gets stuck shut
- Books, papers, bedding all feel damp all the time
- Snack foods must be immediately consumed (this is a perk!) or they become a soggy mess within hours
- Towels re-hung after a shower don’t dry and quickly smell sour
- Outside walls turn green with the flourishing moss, our daughter is hoping it will cover our entire building so we live in a ‘green castle’
- Inside walls and cupboards sprout black mold
- One can easily understand why the British felt so at home here (our town was the British summer capital) and any desire I’ve ever had to visit the
Above: the stone walls outside our house...the blue is just a messed up part of the picture
Above: a monsoon day in town Below: a moldy wall in our family room
One miracle of this season is the LIFE the abundant water gives to everything. It’s a crucial season for all the farmers who depend on this water to grow their apples, cabbages, peas, potatoes, and beans. In the wild, vines climb every tree, paths are overgrown, even some roads diminish due to overgrowth of vegetation (or due to the earth falling out from underneath them or on top of them). Monkey poop sprouts like little Chia pets (my kids loved that one, and I thought it was pretty cool too) since they eat seeds. Every crack in walls, cement, bricks is a hospitable home to something green. Moss is abundant in various colors and textures. I never knew there were so many shades of green: shiny, dull, nearly yellow, nearly black. When there is a break in the clouds the hills display a new mantle of green.
Sometimes I stand in the cloud that envelopes our ridge, on the edge of the valley and cannot see the depths below me, nor the chasm ahead, much less that another side even exists. When everything familiar is shrouded in clouds and we can’t see majestic mountains and the shining sun is mere memory, it’s a great opportunity to remember what we KNOW is there and see with eyes of faith. I’d like that to translate a bit more into other intangible parts of my life. It’s all really there, whether or not it’s visible this minute.
