The rain drenched me. Large drops, falling on my head, slipped down my face and fell to the dirt. It didn't chill me, it warmed me. The first real rain for several months, this drought-breaking rain was a gift, and it lifted my soul. Working alongside me was my son, Shepard, who at only 20 months old would already rather be outside with me, whatever the weather. His little body was soaked, but ever-determined, he wrestled with a full-size garden fork, turning the soil.
Sensing the opportunity of the moment, I had come outside to plant, and he had followed. The seemingly ever present heat of the sun had made transplanting a difficult task; small seedlings had wilted in the heat, despite judicious watering, their disturbed roots struggling to transport adequate water from roots to xylem to leaves. But today was different. The heat of the sun was tempered by rain; the water was drops of delightful coolness. A moment to plant.
So that is what we were doing. A father, a son, six lettuce plants, and a punnet of coriander. And thinking about today, now late at night and my family asleep, I sense something ordinarily mundane had become a lasting memory. Inked deeply into my mind like a cerebral tattoo. A moment of togetherness with a common purpose. And after a summer of parched earth and failing crops its enough to keep me going. The prospect of the autumn rains, a refreshed land, and a deepening relationship between a father and a much loved son.