After three days of hot, dry wind out of the south, we were praying for rain. There had been no significant rain for several weeks. The soil was cracked and the grass had turned brown. Then, two nights ago a huge cold front moved through, bringing a real Kansas thunderstorm.
Flashes of lightning woke me at one o'clock. Distant thunder rolled. The first pings of raindrops on the roof confirmed the front's arrival. I lay awake for more than an hour, breathing deeply of the rain-fresh night air and listening to continual rolling thunder, satisfied that our turn for rain had come.
The bluest sky and puffy little white clouds greeted us the next morning.
Corn fields seemed to have grown a foot overnight. The grass was green again. Our rain gauge showed two and a quarter inches.
Our neighbor Laurie, whose house I can see from our living room window, has three rain gauges. Rain is important to both of us, so we always talk about how much rain has fallen. Every time we compare, her three gauges register significantly less than ours. Consequently, we haven't trusted our rain gauge all summer.
This time Laurie's gauges all showed about one and a quarter inches. I asked her to bring one of her gauges when she came to visit our co-owned chickens that evening. We poured the water from our rain gauge into hers. To our surprise, her gauge, too, showed two and a quarter inches.
Now we are puzzled. How can two houses so close together consistently receive different amounts of rain? Another of life's mysteries, likely to remain unsolved. Still, I wish someone would enlighten me.
Flashes of lightning woke me at one o'clock. Distant thunder rolled. The first pings of raindrops on the roof confirmed the front's arrival. I lay awake for more than an hour, breathing deeply of the rain-fresh night air and listening to continual rolling thunder, satisfied that our turn for rain had come.
The bluest sky and puffy little white clouds greeted us the next morning.
Corn fields seemed to have grown a foot overnight. The grass was green again. Our rain gauge showed two and a quarter inches.
Our neighbor Laurie, whose house I can see from our living room window, has three rain gauges. Rain is important to both of us, so we always talk about how much rain has fallen. Every time we compare, her three gauges register significantly less than ours. Consequently, we haven't trusted our rain gauge all summer.
This time Laurie's gauges all showed about one and a quarter inches. I asked her to bring one of her gauges when she came to visit our co-owned chickens that evening. We poured the water from our rain gauge into hers. To our surprise, her gauge, too, showed two and a quarter inches.
Now we are puzzled. How can two houses so close together consistently receive different amounts of rain? Another of life's mysteries, likely to remain unsolved. Still, I wish someone would enlighten me.
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