Remember that childhood verse, “Rain, rain, go away/ Come again another day”? Nobody in Texas ever sang that. We are always grateful for rain, even in July. But I’m getting a little weary of this nightly occurrence. My patio floods, my dog is terrified, and I’m terrified she’ll get muddy when she goes out after it stops. Some patio plants are wilting from too much water. The wonderful fresh air is a real treat though.
Such a richness of rain always makes me think of the late Elmer Kelton’s classic Texas novel, The Time It Never Rained. One critic called it one of a dozen or so outstanding novels written in the 20th century. Elmer grew up in West Texas ranching country, and he understood drought. But he also knew there came years when too much rain that meant weeds grew unbounded, sheep got burrs in their coats, livestock got diseases. He once wrote an article, “The Time It Always Rained,” about one of those wet years. But the novel about the drought of the ‘50s is his premiere work, winner of many awards. If you haven’t read it, do so—you'll be the richer for having read it.
A pleasant lazy Sunday. Jacob was an acolyte at the 11:00 o’clock service. In the car on the way home, he was bemoaning that he was told to do his reading and math after lunch, because he hadn’t kept up with his homework while at his grandparents. “No kid wants to read on a Sunday afternoon,” he said. I was sitting there thinking to myself, “Oh good, I get to go home and read all afternoon.”
I did read much of the afternoon but also cooked a Boston butt pork roast for supper. I’d had the butcher cube it (the butcher’s idea of cubes and mine don’t mesh, and I always have to cut the cubes into smaller pieces but at least it’s a start.). You boil the meat in salted water for an hour and a half or more until the liquid cooks away. The meat will be pale, and you keep it on the heat so the pieces brown. Serve with garlic/lime juice. I also made a radish salsa that turned out to be too heavy (literally) for chips. Christian grilled corn, and Jordan made a salad. Lovely supper.
Storm over and the lights go out. Now? Really? Everyone bustled around, made sure I had candles and flashlights, and then the lights came on. Ah, Texas!