A couple of rain makers take break from summer heat

As a young boy, much of my summer was spent wandering around our woods. My woods were just a short hike up the hill behind our Limekiln Lake home, on an old logging trail up Seventh Lake Mountain.

One particular day the woods were filled with a musky smell following an overnight rainstorm. My dog Mutt and I had set out for a trek in the woods.

She was hot on my tail until she heard the chirp of a chipmunk and disappeared into the underbrush.

Along the way I reached out and shook a small striped maple which dropped water, like a mini rain storm, down my back.

A panting Mutt emerged from a fern bed and hung close to me as we continued deeper into the woods.

Whenever I had the opportunity I would grab the branches of small trees and shake the moisture from their leaves, creating a succession of little downpours.

Mutt and I stopped at a huge downed beech tree. I hopped up and walked its trunk. It was almost 50 feet before I ran out of branches to walk upon.

Mutt scampered alongside the trunk trying to find a way to climb up and join me. I used some twisted limbs as a makeshift ladder as I made my way safely to the ground.

I tried to clap some Deer flies that were buzzing around her head.

It was hot and muggy in the woods and the air was getting thick.

I cut across the rise in the hill and made my way over to a small creek so that Mutt could get a drink.

When we reached the creek Mutt laid down into the rushing waters. Her motion stirred up the dark black silt, clouding the water from top to bottom.

I laid myself across a moss-covered rock, pushed my face into a pool of water and took a big slurp.

The water was refreshingly cold on my lips and I held them there until they were numb.

My eyes were very close to the creek’s surface.

The water was so clear I could survey every inch of the creek’s bottom.

I got a close look at each dark decaying leaf and every pebble as I waited for my lips to turn blue.

After a while it became difficult to keep my balance without immersing my nose in the water.

I decided to hold my breath and stick my whole face in for a bit.

I had just counted to twenty when Mutt ventured my way and laid right down by my face. Swirling muddy leaves and wet dog hair swept across my cheek.

We both stood up and shook ourselves, making more rain.

Making rain was a great part of growing up Adirondack.

Mitch Lee, Adirondack native & storyteller, lives at Big Moose Lake.ltmitch3rdny@aol.com