Just a Little Damp

            When teaching third graders, I only focused on the long-range weather forecast for the one day a week when I had noon playground duty. Knowing the forecast for that specific day of the week helped me plan my clothing and footwear for the “yard duty” as Dad referred to it.
              As I tell my friends and former colleagues, I prepare for playground duty 365 days a year. In addition, my clothing often must sustain me for a much longer period of time than the 30 minutes of the third and fourth grade recess.
               For this reason, the weather forecast has become the most important portion of the news. Accessing radar from a couple different websites has been crucial. On the flip side, no meteorologist, no matter how trusted and experienced, has attained 100 percent accuracy.
               Frequently, my limited time, the nature of the task, or the daylight left demands that I proceed with the work I need to do. This occurred one morning this summer.
               I fed the eight adult cats here at the pink house. By 7:30 a.m., I had hopped into Mother’s truck. The online hourly forecast predicted rain at 9 a.m. My primary purpose was to get a solid count on the cattle herd. The previous day one of the white cows was not at any of the places I looked. I like to lay my eyes on each cow, calf, or Mother’s bull at least every other day.
               Upon opening the first gate, I sensed a few sprinkles tapping on my hat. Sure enough, raindrops appeared on the windshield. I thought, Well, so much for forecasting accuracy.    
                I prayed for guidance to at least see the one cow that had been AWOL. I spotted the herd so I parked and began walking to identify them one by one. Thankfully, Mother has a small herd.
                The rain fell on my hat and glistened on my multi-season Muck boots that I wear every time I go into the pasture. The bovines grazed unfazed as soon as they heard my low “sooking” as I meandered through them. I noted on my pocket-sized notebook each one I passed. Sure enough, there was the missing white cow. Mission accomplished!

My damp boots

                As I bumped along driving slowly back to the house, I thought I wouldn’t have gone out to check the cattle with rain in the morning forecast when I first started caring for the cattle. Then I remembered reading and meditating at length on a verse Solomon wrote in Ecclesiastes 11:4, He who observes the wind will not sow, and he who regards the clouds will not reap.

The wet glove palms and rain-glistening brim of
my hat.

                When I transitioned to college life from living at the farm, I read each night from The Living Bible, a paraphrased version published in 1971, and given by Grandpa and Grandma Smith. It succinctly conveys the point of the verse. This is how the verse is paraphrased. If you wait for perfect conditions, you will never get anything done.
                Reading it from The Living Bible reveals its application for every person, not just those in agriculture. No matter the age of the person or their occupation or the task needing to be done, this verse reminds how seldom the conditions are just right. Whether a project to be completed, a difficult conversation of reconciliation, admission of wrongdoing, reading the Bible daily or 1,001 other tasks or good practices , we can always find a reason to not do what in our hearts we know we should and need to do.
                If I did not seem eager to embark on one of many jobs in the garden, flower beds, or in the house, Grandma Gladys Smith always quoted, The dread is the worst part of the job.
                So I have tried to learn to just “jump in and get it done.” Another strategy is breaking a large task into smaller ones. Yes, I arrived back that early summer morning damp, not soaked to the skin, just damp. Yet what satisfaction to have a complete count on Mother’s herd! That’s a good way to start a day.