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Wednesday, March 10, 2010
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It's Just Rain
by Roy Perritt
“That’s it, I’ve had enough of this thing” I said
standing up from the computer.
Three hours was about my limit in front of a frustrating electronic box. “I’m going for a walk,” I grumbled. It was then that I noticed the rain. “Go ahead my family urged, its just rain”
Off I trudge in the light down pour. As I walk it crosses my mind that I had a lot of adventures in the rain. As a boy there was the time we got caught in a thunderhead while returning from a neighbours farm some two miles distant. Dad was driving the old narrow wheeled hand clutching two cylinder number fifty John Deere. Dad always said we kept her around to pull the new ones out. Us kids just called her Putt, Putt.
Dad was pulling an open wagon lined with loose maple planks that my brother and I stood upon with knees bent in order to maintain balance as we put putted down the road.
“Sit down”, came the order. “We’s got a bad one coming in and we gotta get home or this old girl’s gonna cut out.”
Me and brother dropped like rocks (Father didn’t like to say things twice). So it was sixth gear, hand throttle full ahead and old Putt Putt was screaming. As the wagon took on the pot holes the loose planks started to bounce about and us brothers were doing a kind of crab like dance to keep our butt cheeks from getting pinched while stone and mud flung from the open tires sailing over our heads.
The down pour hit us head on; dad standing behind the wheel and leaning into it like a Newfoundlander facing a north easterner. The exposed spark plugs skipping away as they fought for a steady current.
We were soaked to the ass as father would say when the
equipment shed came into sight. Just outside its open door he hauled back
the hand clutch, and stood on the brakes. The whole affair, engine still
screaming came to a stop, dead centre inside the shed. Putt Putt had got
us home. Of course if father’s timing had been off a second we
would have been blown out the back wall. That was one of the better times
in the rain. I grinned at the memory.
There have followed wet days on the hunt and trap line when it was a very shaky hand that lit the wood stove. And once during an army stint we sat in trenches for a week while it rained in our food, boots, helmets, rucksacks, in our rifle barrels, down our necks and down our pants. “ Its just rain” my sergeant had said (my grin fades a bit).
I have one special memory. It happened in Algonquin Park awhile back. It was a hot, late afternoon in June and we had just finished lunch. The group decided to lay about for the day, all but one lady who wanted to see a moose. She had never seen one before so away we went paddling the back bays. There it was; a cow standing knee deep. I though my client was going to faint with joy. Once she had composed herself, we slowly started to move in just as a light rain began. Closer in we noticed two young, light coloured calves at the tree line.
Silently we sat. Eventually gaining confidence, the young ones walked out and fed beside mom. My bowman turned to me, “Can we stay a bit”, she whispered. Sure, I motioned. The rain came a little harder. I leaned forward on my paddle glad of my big brim hat as it protected me well. Suddenly the youngsters turned about and began to suckle on their mother. This was a treat not often seen. My customer froze, an expression of wonder on her face . “Look at that.” As she spoke I could just make out evidence of a tear at the corner of her eye. At this point I had an overwhelming sense of job satisfaction. I wondered, did assembly line workers ever have days like this? Perhaps, I really didn’t know.
The rain came down harder, but I hardly noticed as my thoughts drifted from one past trip to the next; to people I had brought to this very spot. Somewhere in the back ground of the moment I heard, “It’s really getting wet, but do you mind if we stay longer?”
“Not at all,” I said half in a daze, “its just rain.”
Roy runs Timberrosa Wilderness Adventures
out of Peterborough, where he lives with his wife Tammy and their four
children.
he can be reached at email.
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