It rains in Oregon. A lot. In fact, rain is Oregon’s middle name and last name. I don’t like rain, but here I am, living in Oregon and complaining about the rain. I suspect most of the Oregonians do the same — complain about the rain.
Today not only did it rain, but it also hailed. Little round balls of white. Not soft and fuzzy and beautiful like snowflakes in Alaska, but slick and hard. I felt them hit my ears as I urban hiked with my dog. I had an urge to run, but we were already 4 miles in so it did not matter what speed we got back, we were soaked through and through already. Besides, I could see the sun on the horizon and if it stops raining while on the hike it will give me more time to dry up under the warmth of the big hot pancake in the sky (it is mid-May after all, and the sun is hot).
So we walked. We walked through the sidewalks that turned to rivers. We walked past trees dripping the wet careful not to step on piles of the white. Slippery buggers. And half way through the sun caught up with us and it was warm again. I could see the steam rising off my pants. The sidewalks became radiant reflecting the light as the hail melted. All was good with the world again. The runners were out and were greeting us with peace signs as they passed. It felt nice. Like we belonged and the hail did not happen just a few minutes ago.
This is life in Oregon. You stand by the window in hopes to catch that moment when the rain stops and the sun comes out. And the minute it does, you dart for the door so you can play in its rays. And sometimes, like today, it does not matter when you dart for the door, you get wet anyway. So you might as well walk out while it is still raining, otherwise, you just end up spending your life by the window.
Such is life in Oregon.
