Rain, rain ... stick around
Rain seems to be the dominant force in weather around here these days.
The water that falls from the sky has gotten to be such a common occurrence that I'm confused when I look up and see blue sky or the sun -- for the few minutes those things appear each week. It seems like we live in a rain forest. I keep expecting to look up in the trees and see monkeys or tropical birds, maybe look down and see army ants or step in a puddle and get attacked by piranha.
This is in stark contrast to a few years ago when I was convinced there was a force field over my house that prevented rain from falling on my land. But we only needed so much course correction and folks can only take so much rain and its effects. At my house, the situation is out of hand.
Before I could cut my grass on Monday I had to use a hoe to scrape off all the red mud that had collected on the ramp to my building so I could open the doors and get the mower out. Of course, a couple of years ago I was basically mowing some weeds and dry, dusty, rock-hard red clay. Now with the all the rain I have grass. But it grows like, uh, weeds. So any break in the weather is a call for a mowing. But what did it do that night after I mowed? Rained some more.
There are other effects from going from arid plains to marshland in the course of a year:
I park on a hill and my truck collects so much water in the bed that all you'd need to do is run a hose from the exhaust up into the back and voila! -- redneck hot tub.
Saturday night when I got home there were three frogs around my front door. Monday night -- seven.
My siding is turning black and green, but it won't stop raining long enough for me to pressure wash it.
I made homemade ice cream on the back patio on the Fourth of July like a good American. It rained on me before I finished. We moved some furniture from my in-laws' house to mine. It rained on the way. If I had a parade, it'd rain on it. If I left a cake outside, it'd be in the rain (with apologies to Jimmy Webb and Donna Summer.)
So I should be like the rest of you and be yelling "Rain, rain, go away," right?
Ah, not so fast. Because you know the opposite of rain in these parts.
Heat. Awful, terrible, high-humidity, soaked-in-sweat, sweltering, mad-at-mother-nature, god-awful, why-does-it-have-to-be-so-@$#?*!-hot heat.
And I hate heat. My goal is to one day retire somewhere nice and cool, like the top of Mount Everest or the South Pole. A lover of summer in the South I am not.
So maybe my yard will wash away. Maybe I'll have to start wearing hip-waders to work. Maybe they'll shoot "Frogs 2: The Hoppening" on my front sidewalk. ("Frogs" was a real movie, by the way, starring Ray Milland and Sam Elliot. You can look it up.) But as long as it's raining, it's not 95 degrees outside, and that's quite all right with me.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to see a man about a boat.
Email Nate McCullough at email@example.com. His column appears on Fridays. For archived columns, go to www.gwinnettdailypost.com/natemccullough.