Last year, the rainy season took a vacation. When I arrived, at the end of June, we got rain every day for two or three hours, but that only lasted for a few days.
Rainy season sunset
During most of July, it hardly rained. August brought back the rain, but each morning was sunny and glorious, and by evening, the sky had cleared up in time for a spectacular sunset. By October, the rain was almost gone. I can take this, I thought. In fact, I like the rainy season. Anyone who can’t take it is a wimp, I decided.
During the dry season, the dust blanketed cars and landscape alike with a film of dull, chalky brown. While we kept cool in the shade, and inside our non-air conditioned house, the sun punished anyone and anything in its path. I watered the garden morning and evening, lest it dry up and wither in the heat. I ventured outside, redolent of Deet-infused insect repellent and sunscreen, and never without a hat.
Heliconia
In the rainy season, which people here call winter, shades of green compete with each other here in the mountains. Native flowers line every road and multicolored little weeds pop out of every chink in a wall. Brilliant stands of heliconia and hibiscus billow around every curve in the road. In our garden, the vibrant shades of deep orange, yellow and pink canna lilies dominate, but stands of butterfly bushes and posses of impatiens compete- and that’s just one side of the house.
Rioting reds
This is the time of the year when you just can’t stop things from growing. Chop off a limb from a bush, stick it in the ground, and abracadabra, it starts to grow. Turn your back on the lawn, and it’s grown a foot.
But this year, the rainy season is back with a vengeance. It got off to an early start in April, and has hardly skipped a day since. Rain starts earlier in the day than last year. If I want to wash clothes, I have to jump out of bed at six, quick throw the clothes in the washer, and pray that they’ll dry on the line before the moisture sets in. I’ve left clothes on the line for three days. Maybe I could have gotten them down in two – maybe not.
The house has sprouted leaks. When we get really heavy rain, we have to strategically place containers throughout the house to catch the drops. One of Jack’s least favorite jobs is climbing up on the roof to repair the leaks. Because the wood on our ceiling is covered with a steel roof, it can be impossible to find the point of entry for the rain.
Our shoes have grown mold. Today, I treated them all to a good dose of rubbing alcohol. The books are limp, and the file cabinet drawers smell musty. I feel like a soldier in a never-ending war against dampness and mold.
Recently, the travel bug has invaded my mind. We’ll fly home to Philly in early October, nine weeks from now. Too long, whispers the voice in my head- feed me adventure, it says. I think of the giant Venus flytrap from the movie, Little Shop of Horrors.
Costa Rica beckons, but for the rainy season. I need to get away from the rain. I keep having visions of Ray Bradbury’s planet of rain in The Illustrated Man, and revisiting the damp Washington of Ken Keasy’s Sometimes a Great Notion. They could never get the towels dry- I can empathize. Let the vacation planning begin.
