Things at
the Sume House were very busy last weekend---doing all the final prep things;
mowing grass, spreading the mountain of beauty bark, hiding all the objects we
normally manage to ignore (I can’t tell you WHERE we hid them, but trust me we
still have a secret stash of what Shane lovingly referred to as “our white
trash pile”. We’re just pretending that we don’t... have a secret stash. And as
a side note: who knew they made camo tarps that big?)
All was
proceeding according to plan. Then on Sunday afternoon the heavens opened up
and the rains began. Rains of biblical proportions, frog strangling rains,
rains that could only be adequately described as a deluge. Rains that seemed to
be centered directly over my location. I ran around, moving pots of flowers
under shelter, propping umbrellas over the flowers in my gardens that needed
shelter from the storm-- while rain might not hurt the rhubarb it sure won’t
help the petunias. At one point during the down pour I had a near drowning
experience, holding a golf umbrella over a pot of pale pink petunias while
trying to brace a slightly smaller umbrella over another pot of matching
petunias eight feet away. I thankfully managed to keep the flowers dry but I
looked like a drowned rat.
Rain is
good for the grass, I tell myself, rain is a good dust suppression system. But
the truth is, rain is really harshing my mellow. Every day, the first thing I
do upon waking is check my phone for the weather and every day the weather app
assures me that Saturday, AKA Wedding Day, will be sunny. It might be 79*, or
maybe 84*, the app isn’t really sure. But sunny—no rain.
PROMISE?
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