A little rain

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist 

I wonder if this is what it's like to work inside a magic bubble. The rain pours down outside and beats on the glazed roof. It falls in wind-driven sheets. 

When I look up, I see trees, high on the hillside, bending to the wind, but my greenhouse is sturdy. Greg built it out of extruded aluminum with correlated poly glazing. Even if a panel broke free from its tracks, it would simply fly away in the wind and not cause me or anything else any harm. I feel safe and secure working inside my bubble world.

The greenhouse floor is covered with walnut mulch that we ran through the chipper years ago. I chose walnut, hoping that its tannins would help suppress weeds, but weeds still spring up, and if I don’t stay on top of them, they quickly take over. 

I wonder how wild the weed situation would be like if I’d covered the floor with a different kind of chip. I pick up my hard rake from its place against the wall and do a strong rake across the floor. Its long wooden handle is well worn from the hands of previous rakers. I remember when I brought this rake home from an auction years ago. It’s a good, sturdy tool.

If a weed is particularly stubborn, I reach for my long-handled triangle hoe. Its pointed tip allows me to dig deep into the dry greenhouse ground and pry up unwanted roots. I love this hoe. It was given to me by a friend shortly after we moved to the farm. He told me it would come in handy and he was so right. He is no longer here, but I know that he knows how much I appreciate his gift, and how I think of him whenever I reach for this, my favorite hoe.

With the floor raked and looking somewhat decent, I decide to sit for a spell in my greenhouse swing. Doesn't every greenhouse have a swing? I lean back and kick my feet off the ground and look up through the roof at the rain-washed sky. I slowly glide to a stop. After one more good kick back and slowing glide, I head to my next greenhouse task, the float bed.

I smooth out last year's plastic liner across the bottom and sides of the wooden frame. I inspect it carefully and it appears to still be in good shape. The real test, however, will be if it holds water. I pull on my rain jacket and head outside. The rain beats down on the wide brim of my oil cloth hat. I head over to the frost-free spigot and hook up the hose. 

I pull up on the handle and I feel the hose in my hand fill with water. I quickly crimp the end and drag it over to the greenhouse, weave it through one of the louvered windows, and drop it down into the bed. I watch as the water begins to flow and swirl around on the black plastic liner. It soon covers the bottom and then slowly deepens.

My swing calls. The rain falls. I glide through the air and watch as the bed fills. Water drips off the brim of my hat, but I could not be more content. I dream of my garden as I sail through the air. I know in my heart that this will be the year for the most perfect tomatoes, carrots, basil, dill, beans, squash, melons, and oh so much more. This is the way life should be. I am so very content. The bed seems to be holding water well.

In time the bed is full. I head back outside and turn off the water. As I coil the hose, I noticed that the rain has slacked off a bit, and I decide to head over to the pasture once I’ve coiled the hose. My little herd sees me coming and trots right up to the fence to greet me. Of course, I reward them each with a treat. They do look rather wet, but they seem to have enjoyed their shower. They are troopers. As we stand together either side of the pasture fence, it occurs to me that we are all troopers. We're not about to let a little rain dampen our spirits or hold us back.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in Ohio south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.