Making the best of a summer run of cold, wet weather
It was another cool and rainy summer day and myself and the rest of the Limekiln Lake gang of kids were stuck inside playing board games and cards waiting out the washout.
I sometimes liked a good rain-filled day, but four days in a row without any swimming or playing kick the can was getting a little old.
When I got up that morning the lawn was completely shrouded in fog so there was no way for me to determine if the sky was dark and gloomy.
I poked my head out on the back porch to see if my sneakers had dried from the day before.
Not only were they wet, but one had a giant orange slug creeping along on it leaving a gooey trail behind.
My dog Mutt budged the door and ran outside to check on the conditions. She chased a large Raven off the lawn and made a good jog around the entire back yard before disappearing into the fog.
I knew she was close because I could hear her tags jingling on her collar. When she finally came back inside she was wet all over.
As I reached down to give her head a stroke I could feel that it was more than just fog that had caused her to be so damp.
I could tell that it was not going to be a very good day to hang out at the beach, hike through the woods, or put in the canoe.
Mutt must have sensed my unhappiness. She gave a low groan as I rubbed her ear against my kneecap.
But despite the conditions I decided to go outside anyway. I put on my sweatshirt and slipped on my windbreaker—still damp from the previous day.
I placed my ball cap tightly on my head and crept outside on the cold flagstones. I dumped water out of both of my speakers.
A shoelace broke when I pulled it tightly. What else could go wrong?
Mutt and I made our way to the lake via a network of deep puddles.
I walked to the edge of each puddle and hopped as far into their centers as I could.
I judged the true spirit of a puddle by the height of the sprays of the murky chocolate-colored water.
And after four straight days of rain almost every puddle we came to was of world-class caliber.
We made our way along the road to the lake, measuring each new puddle.
As I made my plunge Mutt tried to jump up and eat the highest droplets mid-air.
After more than two hours of puddle-jumping my clothes were too wet and heavy to enjoy the sport.
Mutt and I headed home for soup and toasted cheese and to wait out the bleak weather.
