When Summer Went Wet
We began with the best-laid plans. Invitations for a June 29 event to revel in all things summer-y went out both electronically and by hand. For the patio that very morning I’d finished the new podium, a pie-slice-shaped, slightly raised platform for performers. A spotlight aimed directly at it. We’d arrayed chairs and tables for our guests’ sitting and dining convenience. The buffet bar held plates, cups, utensils. The trademark Green Man tapestry framed the green carpet treatment against the north fence. Signs pointed the way in from the front approach to the property. Summer-themed tunes waited in the sound system queue. All was ready.
But the skies had other ideas. At precisely 7:09 when the celebration was slated to commence, a big storm approached from the southeast and poured down on Chihuahua Hill. I deployed tarps on vulnerable items, including the outdoor stereo cabinet. A few early patrons huddled in their cars as lightning and thunder ker-powed overhead.
When the rains slackened a bit, folks slipped up the spiral steps and through the front door. We hadn’t counted on being inside, but Lina quickly rearranged the living room furniture to create a conversation circle. Potluck food offerings landed on the dining table and kitchen counters: handmade spring rolls and scones, homegrown apricot desserts, fruit salad, chile jicama, chips. In came the ice chest, which overflowed with IPAs, sangria, and fizzy water. Visitors admired the dwelling’s art and book collections.
Suddenly, joyously, precipitation became the celebration’s focus. From six loudspeakers blared strains about rain. No one can accurately predict when showers might fall, but I’m always ready when such opportunity arises. A couple guests opined that the songs caused the rain. OK!
All 30 of us feasted and guzzled for a while as folks formed small social circles in the boudoir, studio, sun porch, and even the laundry room. Guitars, drums, and a ukulele accompanied voices.
Long about 8:35, radar suggested that the worst was over. We used towels to dry off the external chairs and tables as best we could, then moved the beer and wine back outside, figuring that people would follow the booze. I banged on a metal pot and announced a shift to the patio. Folks obliged. Mounting the podium, I introduced Lina, who gave a stirring welcome to the crowd and read aloud an appropriate poem by Roy A. Keech from a 1941 handbound letterpress book. Former Austinite and current Silver resident Merri Lu Park recited a piece about birds and other musicians. Next stood Bijan the Austin Love Poet with several verses from his Language of the Heart volume. Another nearby neighbor, Larry Ollivier, offered words relating to seasons and wild burros. Stringed and percussion instruments provided ground.
Ah, but the rain wasn’t nearly finished after all. Big drops urged us to retreat indoors, which we did. Merriment resumed there. We belted out a string of hits as the guitar and uke players jammed in the kitchen. Bijan delivered two final poems as Kester accompanied on djembe.
Good night, dear friends! Thanks for making this monsoon gathering one for the history books. Let’s get together again real soon.
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