Nineteen years ago I was living in a cabin in Western Mass alone, renovating a colonial house and taking classes 20 miles away at UMass. It was an unusually rainy summer, even for that area. If I wasn’t painting and patching walls, or doing class work I was watching the evening rains. It wasn’t that it was rainy all the time, just from around 3pm on.
The cabin sat in a clearing in a 75 year woods, the more it rained the more the fingers of the forest seemed to reach towards me. I was in a painting class where we did a lot Plein air work. Everything was so green and heavy that just to get away from it I started painting orange and ochers under all my leaves just to feel lighter.
By the end of the summer I had plans to move west, away from the green.
For the past nineteen years I have lived happily in a land of reds and ochers. There are greens but never the same engulfing sort. This is Colorado, we are supposed to have 300+ days of sunshine a year. It is no secret that people who live here need the sun, just like plants. We tend to act weird when we don’t get high doses of vitamin D.
Today I woke up to a rain storm, the same one that I watched flood the street the night before. Last month we had only two days without rain. This isn’t normal weather. I joke (probably too often) that if I’m going to have coastal weather at least the ocean should be less than a day’s drive. But here we are hanging out on the edge of the Rockies and it’s wet wet wet.
The farm has more mushrooms than seedlings, the South Platte river is over the bike path, and has been for weeks. We are all starting to go a little crazy around here, I even used an umbrella that I didn’t know I owned.