After a while, it seems that the rain must be washing the good from the soil — the corn and squash, heavy feeders, look somewhat insipid, as though they’ve been wearing wet socks for too long. Rain, rain, rain — we see the sun briefly, like a doctor poking his head in through the curtain and taking a glance — is the patient still conscious? — and moving on, leaving us still waiting.
The field peas and oats are more than ready to cut, but our sources tell us to make sure the oats are dry standing before we cut them, and anyway we don’t see a forecast for even four clear days. Weeds are rampant in the potato beds and the mangels, and the tomatoes are already showing signs of septoria. And yet, we always need rain, and cannot wish this away even while the onions are being strangled by gallinsoga three feet tall.