Brightening Up

The colors have all changed.

Last night we had a glorious thunderstorm blow through. I've always loved them, being one of the lucky ones who's never experienced the worst effects of one. Yes, I've seen trees that were blown down, hail dents in every car within 30 miles, even helped clean up after a tornado went through an old town destroying whatever it could. It just never happened to me.

When my then seven-year-old granddaughter was riding in my car for her weekend visitation (court-ordered, another story), a thunderstorm popped up on our route. I knew her mom was terrified of them, and expected it would have rubbed off on her by then. So even while driving and needing to pay attention to the road, I started telling her how much I loved them. I even had a screen house added on the back of the house so I could safely sit "outside" and watch them. I described counting the seconds after lightning until the thunderclap to see how far away it was, and we did that a couple times. 

Still not distracted enough to get past her mother's fears, I got completely inventive. Or so I thought. I made up a challenge, suggesting she watch for the lightening to see what color it was. (Color? What color? They were all white, right?) When one flashed, I asked her what color it was. One was yellow, another green, but her favorites were the purple ones. 

Success! Hey, still all white to me, but....

Last night's storm started close to bedtime. We heard the rain pounding on the roof, a very welcome sound in a summer of severe drought, Minnesota's effect from climate change. On a personal level, I had noted the dustiness of all the colors I was seeing, shooting. Part of this of course was the smoke blowing down from Canada's forest fires, the total lack of the blue skies I remembered, way more so than just from the humidity in the air. Eventually it became normal enough not to really see, though it has been keeping me from bothering to head up to Crex Meadows with my camera, a prime goal every trip up here.

This morning Heather Too refused to go out, no matter how full her bladder must be after not getting her usual just-before-bed trip out due to the storm. This morning the grass was still wet. She hates any grass on her belly when she squats, even more so if it's wet, say, from dew. (Definitely a desert dog.) I resorted to picking her up and taking her, shutting the doors to keep her from returning until duty done. Or, as it turned out, until I finally got chilly enough, still in my pajamas, to go back in myself.

I had plenty of time to look around. The sky was blue again, wisps of clouds drifting by. The two oak trees in the very back of the yard were more clearly two different colors than ever before. The grape arbor wasn't just green, it was three different greens, dark, light, and starting to bronze. The moss on the concrete blocks lining the stairs I was sitting on as well as in other parts of the yard was no longer dusty and dried, but a brilliant bright green, full and fluffed up, screaming for attention. (I'll be out with my camera in a bit, you can be sure.)

I've been watching the leaves start to turn early on one of the viburnum/cranberries, an early project for clearing out this summer. It's been very faint, just a hint of blush, an early harbinger of the brilliant red of fall. I've tried shooting it, but got just hints of color, nothing to really bother keeping photos of. This morning it was  much brighter, still not red, but a pinkish apricot in the leaves now turning coral, and more distinct reddening in the berries. This was the only cranberry bush which bloomed this summer, so the only one with berries forming on it. These usually get ignored until early spring each year, when it's finally an acceptable food for returning robins, cardinals, and cedar waxwings. They fascinated me years ago, and I love pouring through the shots I took back then, knowing I'm no longer around that early in the spring any more. Sitting on the back steps this morning was a nostalgic hint of past springs.

After finally accepting that the dog was more stubborn than I had patience sitting out for, I let her back in the house.  Some time later I'll have shoes on and actually carry her out well into the lawn where she can't escape the wet grass. Meanwhile I'll watch her like a hawk inside. But I wasn't done yet being out. Still barefoot, I went out the front way to see what the damages were to the tall plants in the front garden. Surprisingly, they were mostly standing tall, filled up once a gain with water from what a bucket bore witness to as being just over an inch of rain. The morning opening flowers hadn't yet, so no colors to compare, but the balloon flowers, heretofore white in their blooms were now bluer than I've seen this season.

Definitely a camera morning!