It's raining this November election day. It's the first day, this Fall, that whispers "Winter is just around the corner." We've gone most of the day without a fire, but it's getting chilly now and my trusty farmhand is working to get it started; not an easy task with wet kindling. Thankfully, he sees it as a challenge and all the ladies in the house, their cold feet included, praise him for his diligence.
In case you didn't know, farms don't survive too well without rain. The Spring held great promise for the farm when we planted about four acres of produce hoping to sell most of it at the local farmer's market. We worked the soil with new implements and even bought a nifty planter that hooks up to the toolbar on the tractor. Several hundred tomato plants were started in a greenhouse by some sweet friends of ours and they'd given us at least, uh..I don't know, 500 or so? We planted three or four types of greens, broccoli, lettuce, onions, two types of potatoes, zucchini & crookneck squash, butter beans, purple hull peas, sweet corn and.....well, pretty much anything you can think of, we planted it.
Then, we waited for the rain. It never came.
Our hopes dwindled so we focused on our livestock and various other projects while watching the entire pasture scorch from intense heat with no rain. The thought of planting a pumpkin patch crossed our minds several (hundred) times but, with no rain in sight, we decided against it. That decision proved to be wise because it would've been a complete loss. And now, past the prime planting time for winter grass (green food for livestock during the winter), it's raining. Guess we'll be buying hay for the winter and prepare to repeat the whole process over again, come January. Maybe. It certainly takes a large measure of Faith and a strong dose of fortitude to be land owners. My respect for the pioneers of the Westward Movement runs deep.
That said, I'm obviously thankful for rain when it finally comes. It's been raining for three days now. The driveway is washing out, yet again, but the animal poop is soaking into the soil and that's good for the farm. The leaves are turning and sporadically falling to the ground and rain helps them decompose into rich soil. Rain washes away the pollen and fills the pond with fresh aerated water. But, I'd have to say I'm probably even more thankful for the lack thereof. Why? ...Because it continues to remind me that I'm not in control. Yeah, we painstakingly make our plans. We plow, till, and toil. We hope, we pray, and some of us. . .beg. Man makes his plans...
But when comes to rain?
It keeps me trusting in the Rainmaker.
It'll be 12 years in May that we've walked this rustic pigtrail we call a driveway. Yesterday, she obliged and walked with me to check the daffodils. She didn't have a golden auburn 'turkeybob' bouncing on top of her head and she wasn't wearing a tu-tu, or pilgrim apron, or cowboy boots with shorts. She wasn't singing at the top of her lungs or dancing with arms flailing in sweet abandon. But, she was barefoot. And the muddy puddles beckoned. 
