”It was a blessed rain.”
the Words from my father Nils, who died just over eleven years ago, echoes in my head when I take me through the worst of cykelväder – winter rainfall.
He said it with a badly hidden smile, mostly to tease, when we children complained that it was raining in the summer holidays.
is something else if you grew up in Västerbotten’s inland. It feels in the marrow unnatural and wrong it rains earlier than possibly the second half of april. But, they have chosen to settle in the vicinity of the capital it is just to chew on.
This winter, however, I have discovered that I become less annoyed than usual when the ice cold drops whipped against the face on the way to and from work.
Last summer’s drought got the pump in my house to be totally silent in month after month. Only when the snow melted in January, and was followed by several more winter rainfall in February slurpade it in the basement.
got a rotblöta and the eight apple trees in the garden feel certainly good about it. In August I discovered how the lawn fallen together by the drought and some of the äppelträdens ytligaste roots suddenly stack up out of the lawn.
In the gravel path, which really needs a renovation, the stack a bit from the 30-talsgrunden suddenly up. As a raisins had the ground pulled together.
Therefore, may I, with climate change and low groundwater in the tanks, posthumously give my dad right when I stagger into the house and greeted by an equally wet cat Zorro.
”It was a blessed rain.”
Mats J Larsson is the web editor for the DN Opinion, which enjoy significantly earlier than last year to avoid using vintercykeln with studded tires on the front wheel.
