I woke this Sunday morning to rain on my roof and what Richardson Wright named “RAIN MUSIC”, the title of his essay for April 28 in his “The Gardener’s Bed-Book”. I held my worn copy of his 365 essays, smiled again at the man’s powers of observation and accuracy.

The past twelve springs I’ve settled into my reading pillow, closed my eyes, and listened for the “sweet and appealing timbre that can lull the uneasiest sleeper into placid dreams. Even the tattoo of day rain on the roof has a tranquil quality not possessed by that which falls by night.”

My preference is to begin my day with reading Mr. Wright’s horticultural advice. Then I consider how and when to apply his wisdom in my home and gardens.

For instance, this morning with eyes closed, I envisioned rain falling on my lawn. That meant more nourishment for about two acres of grass sprouting dandelions and other wildlings. I’d just taken my maiden voyage on Mel’s new John Deere the day before, and mowed the front lawn under a neighbor’s supervision.

Today I wanted to start Mr. Deere’s engine before I forgot how, and mow more dandelions.

But you don’t mow a wet lawn, especially when hilly. This I learned from my late husband who loved nothing more than to turn the key on his John Deere. (Weed-whacking is another story.)

Therefore, I resolved to achieve quiet, indoor tasks after I returned home from church today. Nursing a sick hen. Feeding Cuddles and Mittens. Letting them out. In. Out.

Some email. Voicemail. Phone calls. All the while, my eyes turning to a window.

Front yard, back yard.

Dandelions.

Did they aggravate Mel like they do me?

By observation I learned no wise person dare tread tires on a lawn in these parts before 10 a.m. There’s something in Nature’s disposition that allows no trespassing upon her sod until that hour.

Growing a lavender farm taught me this. I dared not allow guests onto our rolling hills until 10 a.m. lest they slip and fall on wet turf. Golfers must be a rare breed to play in rain showers and truly enjoy it.

Considering tomorrow’s weather forecast offers heavy rain, it could be Tuesday afternoon or later before I can mow again.

Now I understand how Mel felt when the grass grew tall and messy, and he couldn’t mow. And I think of my neighbor and other homeowners who take time and pride in keeping their grass green and lush for little feet to run barefoot.

I remember Erna, a friend who lost her husband and my good friend, Wally. He passed a month before Mel left the home we built together for his eternal home.

Dear Reader, while waiting for the lawn to dry in this disorderly dandelion season, why not harvest dandelion blooms and make jelly? I’ve the pectin and sugar on hand.

Meanwhile, I’ll listen to the rain music on the roof.

(Dandelion jelly recipe:https://www.almanac.com/recipe/dandelion-jelly)

Contact Iris at irisfarmletters@gmail.com