For the past two nights the rains have come in torrential waves, in awesome deluges that drown out other sounds and restrict movements. Yesterday when I went to see the lowline cattle across town, the stock tanks that generally need filling with a hose were brimming full. After returning home, I had the privilege of witnessing Nature's power up close. With bright flashes of lightning just outside the window, immediately followed by resounding rumbles of thunder, I took the precaution of unplugging the computers--something I rarely even think to do these days, even though I was raised to pull plugs all around the house whenever lightning struck within three miles of home.
Sitting inside, sorting through mail, glancing up at the windows every so often, I was surprised when once I could not see past the porch railing. Since our view is generally quite grand, such restriction got me up and out onto the porch to see what I could (or could not) see. By the time I reached the door, the downpour had lessened but the photo looking off of the porch corner still captures the rain sluicing down over the gutter (which usually flows smoothly but just had more water than it could accomodate), the muddy ground that has more flowing water than actual soil or vegetation visible, and the dimness of the trees just at the bottom of the slope.
Of course, what follows such heavy rains but striking rainbows. Not five minutes after the first photo I looked up again to see bright sunshine on the hayfield across the street. When I stepped out onto the porch this time I was treated to two after-shower rainbows gleaming down in front of the recently-passed dark clouds, with our farm (and that of our neighbor) its pot of gold at the rainbow's end. I snapped a couple of pictures, then turned to go back inside, only to be struck by the blue sky unfurling across the heavens. The contrast to the dark clouds not-yet-past the ridge was a treat.
Once the rain subsided, I geared up to slog out into the barnyard. Before feeding time, I needed to finish closing the last opening in the perimeter fence through which the large dairy goats had thought to wander earlier that day. The three girls nimbly followed me as I slipped and slid down the hillside, and supervised as I unrolled a section of fence over the opening. They seemed entertained by my company--content to munch the brown leaves they picked up off of the rock pile near the fence--and not in the least concerned to be fenced in safely. Indeed, their priority was dinner, and they enthusiastically escorted me to their little shelter as soon as they could pry me away from the fence, and made sure I set out an ample portion of grain for the three of them.
Miss Pamela Chrysanthemum is rounding out more fully with each passing day, and although she will approach me, she still startles if she thinks I could be looking at her or even thinking of looking at her. I'm not sure what I'll do about containment when she kids, although I'm thinking of fencing in the low-lying shelter, adding a floor above wood pallets in case the heavy rains return, and loosing some dogs in the front area to keep the goats feeling safe. With their long legs, these goats travel rapidly and I am loathe to think of restricting their movements, but for the sake of newborn kids I can do it.
When the large dairy goats had received their grain, I turned to look up at the sky before wandering closer to our little branch of Spring Creek, that waterway that hardly moves when it has water at all. The roiling waters were a treat to behold with their whipped-up white caps and fast-moving debris . Branches that generally hang well clear of the waterway where now dipping in and out of the rushing waters.
I love these many gifts that Nature bestows upon us on a daily basis. From the lady bugs, earth worms, and ever-changing soil all the way through the joys of birth and the power of lightning, wind, and water each gift is special and unique. My life here in Middle Tennessee grants me ample opportunities to witness Nature in action and for that I am truly thankful.
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