Welcome to May MEMOIR!
Day 24
For the entire month of May, I'll be sharing part of each chapter from my memoir, Ca va? Stories from Rural Life in Southern France.
Because our village has a Mediterranean climate, it is dry most of the time; however, in spring we can get monsoon like downpours. For a short time, the village goes through a complete metamorphosis: streams emerge from dry land, rivers are engulfed, and our spring swells beyond capacity. It’s amazing, but being cooped up inside day after day can be difficult.
Chapter 23: The Rains
It started out as a drizzle; an early spring rain we so desperately needed. It was light, but it prompted me to bring in the almost dry laundry and place it in front of the fire; a rain that we happily received because it’s been so dry and of our growing concerns of having enough water for the soon to be planted garden.
That was four days ago, and that light drizzle has turned into a nonstop torrential downpour.
“Would you stop pacing like a caged bear?” I ask Christophe as he passes from window to window staring at the sheets of falling water.
“I’ve had enough now,” he says referring to the rain.
“I know you have, you’ve told me that already,” I reply.
“I want to go outside,” he says.
“I know you do. Would you get away from the window now?”
Christophe looks sadly at the bucket we have placed on the living room floor. It’s there to catch the drips from the leaking roof.
“I thought I fixed that leak,” he says.
“I know, but there’s nothing you can do about it now,” I say.
“I could if it stops raining,” he says.
I’m starting to get annoyed. The wet days are dragging on and all Christophe is doing is staring out of the windows waiting for a momentary break in the rain so he can run out and get some fresh air.
“I can’t make it stop raining,” I snap.
He looks at me. “Sorry, I just don’t like being inside all this time without going outside.”
“You’re the one who told me seeing the spring rains here are something not to miss.”
“That’s true, but I was more referring to seeing everything after the rains have stopped,” he says. “New rivers appear from nowhere and the mountains are engulfed with water.”
I look out the front window into the square. A shallow lake appears from where puddles once where. The raindrops are large and heavy, and strike the lake giving it constant motion. A newly formed stream flows swiftly down the road, carrying with it the top layer of dirt that has run off an adjacent hill. The water is brown and cloudy.
“I forgot how long this can last,” Christophe says with a sigh.
“At least the water source will be refilled,” I say.
“Yeah,” Christophe says perking up a bit. “We won’t have to worry about the garden this year.”
He pauses and looks out the window again. “Hey, let’s go visit Monsieur and Madame Gousse,” he says. “They’ll take our minds of the rain for a little bit.”
“Alright,” I say while getting our jackets from the armoire. Christophe gets his keys and we pause momentarily in front of the open door. The rain is now pouring down in buckets.
“Ready?” Christophe asks while lifting his jacket over his head.
“Ready,” I reply.
We dart of the house, slamming the door behind us, and run towards his truck. We are quickly drenched. In the truck, the sound of the pounding rain on the roof is almost deafening. Christophe starts his truck, but I cannot hear the motor turn. He pulls out and creates a small wave in the shallow lake that has taken over the square. Driving down the road, he turns the corner that leads up to their house. The road is blanketed in sheets of water and its drainage ditches are filled to capacity, pulsing with rushing water.
No comments:
Post a Comment