We've had an inch of rain in just a few hours this morning. In a pathetic attempt to balance the wet and dry seasons I set my watering can out on the deck to catch some rain. That should do the trick. No more summer water needs at this house.
The downpour reminds me that I always wanted a water feature in my garden. Do overflowing gutters count? They make a lovely trickling sound on the front walk.
Looking out the window at the sheets of rain I ask, Why, oh why didn't I have the wit to buy a rain barrel?
It's not like nobody warned me. Wonderful David at Montana Wildlife Gardener gave me chapter and verse on how to install a rain barrel. He's a genuine wildlife biologist. But did I listen?
And only yesterday that sound fellow, John Black at A Verdant Life, offered a thorough analysis of the ways and means of saving rainwater.
It could be worse; our driveway is gravel so the rain soaks on in, helping the roots of the Incense cedars, oaks and Ponderosa pines.
But inside the house I grieve over my short-sightedness. The children's song keeps ringing in my mind:
You can't holler down our rain barrel,
You can't climb our apple tree,
I don't want to play in your yard,
If you won't be good to me.*
Here's a two-part question for you:
Do you have a rain barrel? If so, do you holler down it?
*Two Little Maids (Music and lyrics, Petrie and Wingate)
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