Rain came with June. The forecast called for a 20% chance of showers for Haines Monday evening. We’ve noticed that anything up to a 40% chance for Haines usually means nothing for us, so while we hoped for rain, we made few special preparations, other than moving the table saw out of the shed yard, under cover. Just before bedtime, I checked the sky, and it really did look like rain, so I tarped the largest and driest of our firewood piles on the beach. The rain arrived shortly after—we heard big drops plopping on the metal roof. It lasted all of 30 seconds!
Tuesday morning we arose to mist, which turned after an hour or so to a light but steady rain.
The forest seemed to breathe it in. Every drop soaked in as it struck, and the gratitude seemed palpable. We went out to consolidate our wide ranging firewood piles under a visquene tarp, but also to soak in the moisture ourselves. We felt need of watering almost as badly as the plants. In the humidity, the aromas of the forest and shore rose to our grateful noses, reminding us of the richness around us. The mountains across the way, shrouded in gray clouds, felt like old friends we’d not seen for a while.
This country is stunning in full sunshine, but I feel that its true beauty lies in the rainy days. All we need is for the cloud cover to remain high enough to see the mountains. In that kind of weather, with a sweet summer rain, the land is at its very best, showing its most natural state to anyone with the sense to appreciate it.