I Love a Rainy Night

Ever since I was a little girl, I've loved thunderstorms. I love warm summer rains, I love dry heat lightning, I love the mist that hangs in the air in the spring and the fall, but most of all, I love a good rip-roaring, gully-washing, angels bowling thunderstorm. And yesterday, I got to experience the first big thunderstorm at the new house.

It was fabulous.

The rain and thunder began in the afternoon, coming in several waves of absolute gully-washers; as the old saying goes, it was coming down "like a cow pissing on a flat rock." If there were any leaks in our roof, gaps in our windows, or cracks in our foundation, we would have found them in this rain. (Good news: the only dampness was a small spot in the basement and some water driven in under the garage doors.)

One creature (other than me) who was completely undaunted by the storm was a gray tree frog, who - much like the Carolina wren who sat on the fence and sang for us the other morning - solved the mystery of the chirring sound we'd been hearing in the woods by perching himself on the edge of the pool and yelling his mating call, loud and clear.

He happily sang in the rain all night long, and this morning we found him paddling around in the pool, along with a wood frog, both of which my husband dutifully scooped up and chivvied off into the bushes.

I've already mentioned how much I love watching the birds through our big arched windows, but it didn't occur to me that those windows would also provide a lovely view of rain storms. With the woods right behind, there's no clear view of the sky through those windows, but the flashes of light against the dark trees was just lovely, and the streams of water running down the huge windows made exquisite patterns. From the front porch, where a wide expanse of sky is visible, you can see the direction the storm is moving, and the pond across the street provides interesting acoustics that amplify the rumbles of thunder. It's a completely different feel from experiencing a storm at our old house. In fact, it reminds me of my second-floor apartment a block away from the ocean back in Gloucester, where I could watch and hear storms moving across the sky over the sea, feeling like I was jutting up into the angry clouds. There's a sense of wildness and power here, as there was there, that was missing in our cozy suburban neighborhood.

I love feeling so close to nature here, because of both the constant parade of bird and animal visitors and the closeness of the sky and the weather. With so much less light pollution here, the sky is more full of stars than I've seen it outside of secluded campgrounds and my stint in the bush country of Zimbabwe. I feel more part of the world here. I love the world here.

I love a rainy night for reminding me just how much I love it here.

Well, I Love a Rainy Night

Or, in this case, I love a rainy morning. I woke up this morning to an overcast sky and a warning breeze blowing through the screen doors. By the time I got the kids downstairs and ready for breakfast, the skies opened up and it poured. And then came the thunder and lightning. And what thunder and lightning it was! The first flash was incredibly bright, and I thought to myself, “Wow, this one’s going to be a doozie.” And about eight seconds later, a rolling thunderclap shook the house. When it started the kids both stared at me with uncertain expressions, like when they fall down and aren’t sure whether to cry or not. And just like that situation, I was able to stave off their tears by my reaction – in this case, by clapping excitedly and announcing, “Thunder!!!!” Both kids immediately grinned and clapped along with me.

When I was small, no-one had to convince me that storms weren’t scary. For all that I was terrified of the noise of fireworks, I was never bothered by thunder. I loved to stand in the window with the lights off and watch storms outside. And I have never grown out of that delight. Thunderstorms, hailstorms, snowstorms, windstorms – it doesn’t matter. Any time the sky puts on a show, I want to watch. And listen.

Listening is the reason that thunderstorms top my list of exciting weather phenomena. The whistle of a windstorm or hurricane is cool, the muffled near-silence of a snowstorm is fascinating, the plink-plunk of hailstones hitting their target is marvelous, but thunder is different. Thunder has…personality. It can be a single, resounding clap, or a long rumble that builds in intensity, or a few overlapping slams. Plus, thunder has an opening act – a herald, if you will. You get a second of advance warning on thunder. The lightning that precedes it is like the starter of a race announcing, “On your mark, get set, go!” You know to stop and listen for it. I love that.

Plus, thunder is informative. Who among us has never counted the seconds between the lightning and the thunder to calculate how far away the storm is? Who among us has never mentally compared succeeding thunderclaps to determine whether the storm is getting closer or moving away? You can’t trust how loud or soft the thunder is to determine distance, but you can be absolutely sure if you use the time between the lightning and the thunder. Meteorology + math = fun!

So I am sitting in my office with the window open and the lights off, listening to the muffled roar of thunder and feeling a vague disappointment as it recedes into the distance. The concert is coming to an end. But it’s still summer in New England, and I know there are more stormy mornings yet to come. And I’ll be listening for them.